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thestupidhelmet · 4 months ago

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I'm disappointed That '90s Show isn't getting its third season. I wanted to see the end of that story, which very likely would've/could've wrapped in a 16-episode season 3. Instead, we've got an unfinished show -- like an unfinished fic (those are so frustrating).

I accepted (or viewed) it as its own show outside of That '70s Show. I enjoyed what we got, and seeing more of (mostly) in-character Red and Kitty in their relationship was a particular treat.

I can only speak for me, but I I think the reason T9S ultimately didn't garner enough of an audience is multifactorial.

1) It tried to appeal to T7S fans' nostalgia while also trying to get brand new fans for a show full of new characters (save Red and Kitty) as principals. This middle ground approach made the show neither fish nor fowl.

2) That '70s Show experimented with ideas new to network sitcoms: regular fantasy sequences, regular pot circles, and characters with emotional depth and psychological complexity who are also funny. It has a certain quirkiness -- along with approaching the 1970s setting in a non-gimmicky way; rather, depicting the sociopolitical and economic issues of the '70s seriously.

While the quirkiness remained for many sessions, the commitment the 1970s setting faded -- although the time period continued to remain relevant to the characters' core throughout and to plots through at least season 4, albeit to a lesser extent than seasons 1 and 2.

3) The writing on That '90s Show didn't go deeply enough. '90s references abound, but they're not essential to the who the characters are and the show's plots. The '90s setting is fun window dressing, but if removed, the characters' personalities wouldn't be affected. They're written closer to modern teens who have an affinity for '90s teen culture, not as actual'90s teenagers.

The characters (new to the show) don't have the same level of stakes as those from T7S, whether as an individual or in their relationships. Nothing is necessarily wrong with having lower stakes, but teenagers tend to experience everything intensely, whether or not that intensity reflects what they're actually going through.

For comparison, in T7S we've got the characters' first experiences with sex -- or adding sexual connection to their relationships -- treated seriously and realistically while also deriving humor from these character-developing stories. After Jackie and Kelso consummate their relationship, for example, Jackie's so afraid of losing him that she acts servile in "That Wrestling Show" -- a complete reversal of her behavior so far but substantiated by the writing. Feminist Donna makes Jackie aware of her faulty thinking, which Jackie interprets very much in-character and seizes back control of her relationship with Kelso.

In T9S, Leia and Jay's first time having sex is depicted as cartoonish -- and as an actual cartoon. In writing, form follows function. The emotional stakes are very low for Leia and Jay, which the cartoon device both represents and confirms. While Jay's revelation in the following episode that all the sex he had before Leia was meaningless shows depth, it doesn't lead to any changes for the couple. Jay had already made the shift in season 1 from being a womanizer to a monogamist.

In T7S, Eric and Donna having sex the first time in season 2 is huge for both of them. Donna has trust issues because of her parents' relationship to sex, how they use it to manipulate each other, their lack of boundaries in regard to keeping their sex life private from Donna. She's afraid that adding sex to her relationship with Eric will destroy it.

Once Donna feels secure about her parents' relationship, she feels secure enough to have sex with Eric. For him, connecting with her that way is very deep and meaningful. It's not just the fact he's having sex but having sex with her. The love Eric feels for Donna is very evident and moving during the scene where he kisses her neck and begins to undress her.

In the following episode, however, we learn that Eric and Donna had two very different experiences during their first time. Eric is emotionally high from a) having sex and b) connecting with Donna sexually. Donna, however, didn't orgasm. Worse, she felt so disconnected from Eric while they had sex that she disassociated. Likely because she was terrified and Eric didn't check in with her and remain emotional present for her. He also orgasmed quicky, which is a realistic detail for a male teenager who'd built up this moment in his mind for over a year.

Their relationship is negatively affected by their lack of communication during sex and afterward. They both end up feeling miserable. Eric feels humiliated when he learns the truth of Donna's experience from a secondary source, which is ultimately the result of Jackie's gossipy nature. But Jackie, as ever being the font of experiential wisdom in certain areas, tells Eric his first-time performance was normal -- as a way of taking responsibility and making correction for her not keeping Donna's truth to herself.

The emotional and relationship stakes in this storyline are high. They're depicted as such, and that creates an emotional connection in the audience.

Moving away from sex (mostly), Hyde's home life in season 1 is depicted as precarious. We learn that his father abandoned him almost ten years ago and that his mother is an alcoholic who's had many sexual relationships and exposed Hyde to most of them. We also learn that Hyde's mom has left him for stretches of time regularly.

He grows up in poverty. The state of his house, its furniture, and the TV is proof of that, along with the fact he has six dollars and some cents total at Christmas to buy a gift for Donna.

In "Career Day," we get a glimpse of how Edna treats Hyde. She either doesn't view or doesn't care that Hyde was a child (and still is at seventeen, albeit old enough by then as not to be completely dependent on her for survival) when she exposed him to her sexual partners and provided/provides no parental stability. She acts entitled to her narcissistic behavior, which unfortunately often goes with being an addict. She constantly equates him with his father, the man who abandoned him to the abuse and neglect of his alcoholic and selfish mother. She clearly expects him to take on the responsibilities of a husband in all ways but sex from the time Hyde is nine. She's transferred her resentment of Bud onto Hyde.

That's enough emotional trauma for any kid, but in "Prom Night" and "Punk Chick," Edna's abusiveness is expressed through her words to him whenever he leaves the house. His sarcasm (at times biting) is clearly inherited from her. His paranoid belief in conspiracy theories also stems from having the two people (i.e. his parents) responsible for his physical survival and emotional well-being creating an unsafe, unpredictable environment. His passive aggressiveness, (which is a lesser part of his characterization until season 5 when the writers intensified it to serve the season's final arc / plot) is inherited from his mother, as well

Then his mother abandons him. He's seventeen. His father's nowhere to be found. His uncle's in prison. He has no family. If Eric and the Formans hadn't taken him in, he would've ended up in prison himself or dead.

Once he does move in with the Formans, we learn even more about his home life with Edna. He lived in a house full of vermin. He was not fed properly ... and his mother hit him, implied to be a regular occurrence.

His emotional defenses are totally understandable. But "Prom Night" establishes that he cares so much about the vulnerable, even for people whose personality he finds abrasive and unlikeable, that he'll put his own comfort and safety aside to help and protect them. This is his core, and it's reconfirmed in the last episode of season 1.

In "The Good Son," he doesn't act entitled to the Formans' help. He's grateful and shows himself to be the opposite of what his mother always accused him of: being lazy like his father. He does chores around the house happily and without expectation of reward. It's his way of "earning his keep".

But when Eric gets jealous of Red and Kitty's positive acknowledgement of Hyde, Eric acts out by bouncing a bowling ball in the living room, with the unforeseen result of destroying the TV. Red is furious. Hyde, out of gratitude for Eric's friendship and being the reason he has a safe home, takes responsibility -- which could result in him becoming homeless vs. Eric being punished relatively benignly. Hyde again sacrifices his safety to protect someone else, this time his best friend.

All of the above about Hyde happens in season 1 and is depicted throughout a portion of its episodes. One season. A handful of episodes. Plot is created organically from the characters, and the plot -- in turn -- affects the characters organically. Humor rises organically from the characters and plots as to be informed by them rather than the characters and plot being manipulated to fit a punchline.

The depth of writing in T7S creates a significant emotional connection with the show's characters in the audience. This depth is what's lacking in That '90s Show despite its pleasures.

Leia, Gwen, Nikki, Nate, Jay, and Ozzie had the potential to become emotionally complex characters. The first few layers are there, but the writing needed to go much deeper -- at least for me -- for a deeper emotional connection to the characters. The emotional stakes had to be higher.

Accepting that T7S S4 Jackie and Kelso are Jay's parents, that Jackie and Kelso divorced twice and Kelso had a child with Brooke during one of them -- or that impregnating Brooke was the cause of the first divorce -- Jay would not have grown into a carbon copy of his father. He would've been a completely different character, affected by his parents' personalities and toxic relationship. I could write a meta about what I believe Jay's personality actually should have been according to the facts of his upbringing.

Nikki is, for me, the most deeply portrayed character. I think the credit goes to the actress for that, not the writing. She has a nuance to her performance the other younger actors lack.

Leia and Gwen, from T9S's first episode (and through season 1), have a massive amount of chemistry that season two (particularly the second half) intentionally dismantles. I'm not saying all the characters in every show evarrrr need to be LGBTQ+ in some way, but Leia's unhappiness in Chicago in the '90s could've had a much deeper, higher stakes reason than T9S gives us (which pushed the limits of my belief).

Leia being bisexual or gay and hiding this fact at her old school would have explained her misery believably, as she's written and depicted in T9S S1 E1. Discovering Gwen through Gwen's window (queue the Melissa Etheridge song if you want; it was released in '93😅), the freedom of expression Gwen displays, the obvious attraction Leia experiences to both (which doesn't have to be romantic or sexual and canonically isn't) -- with different writers (or Netflix allowing it because they can and have made mandates to showrunners about LGBTQ+ content in the past) -- a perfect set up.

I absolutely would've written Leia as bisexual or gay and Gwen as being gay. In the '90s, a teen discovering their sexuality doesn't fit heteronormative society was much harder than it is for teens today (and it's still difficult). Pushing the LGBTQ+ rep to a side character who is barely depicted as a character in season 1 is a safe choice. Making the protagonist not straight in a '90s setting would have opened the storylines and upped the emotional stakes.

As Cosima from Orphan Black says, her sexuality isn't the most interesting part of her. This would (and should) also be true for Leia and Gwen. But Gwen being out to her family and friends would've helped a very-much-in-the-closet Leia navigate her understanding of her sexual orientation and given her a group of people who accepted her vs. what she experienced at home: having to hide an essential part of herself to be safe and accepted.

Had That '90s Show taken writing risks instead of writing to the middle, it could have been a successful descendant of That '70s Show. The essence of T7S, at its best, is having emotionally complex characters, significant stakes, humor arising organically from the first two items listed, integrating the '70s setting into the characters' essence and plots, and innovating with the fantasy sequences -- which weren't all '70s references but the characters imagining scenarios for themselves and other characters (e.g., Red joining the circle; "I am Whipped-Cream Head. Fear me") -- and the 360 circle scenes.

The essence of T9S should've been, imo, to innovate not imitate. If Jackie/Kelso are together in that version, then write the consequences of that seriously for Jay. Kelso in T7S is clearly a product of his upbringing. We hear a lot about his family dynamics but meet his father only once and only one brother out of his six siblings. Jay would not be a Kelso clone -- but I'll save further discussion on that for another meta.

#that 70s show #that '70s show #that '90s show #that 90s show #leia forman #my meta #my essay #meta #essay #jay kelso #steven hyde #eric x donna

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wulvercazz · 4 months ago

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🌊Mesmerizing Views🪸

Some more exploring of Luna-Aqua for Thirteen and friens uwu💕See the previous part here~

There’s a moment where no word is said, but all three seem to come to an agreement that tired laughter is exactly the correct response to what’s just happened. Their breathings’ evening out as Tortuga gets them closer and closer to their destination, straightening up and putting themselves together– just enough to look decent; In case of passerbys, of course. And there’s a point where Atticus seems to struggle getting something off his mind, until he stumbles into a: “need help— cleaning up?” He says rather quietly, and Thirteen is almost confused about the question until they remember; right, Atticus made a cummy mess of them, didn’t he…?

“I have a feeling we’re going to get messier later–” They answer, rather undisturbed, just as Marina’s reigning Tortuga closer to the waves, and giving him a quick command to help them off his back.

Thirteen has the pleasure of watching Atticus’s face glow somewhere near purple in the face as they get off and into the damp sand. Marina’s laughter ever-present when it came to him. “They could be right you know-” she wraps her arms around his waist as soon as he stands tall on the sand beside them, sneaking her hands down to his ass and pecking him lightly in his rather hot cheek, before she lets go. (But not before giving the base of his tail a teasing stroke, Thirteen is happy to avert their eyes at that; despite everything, that seems too private.)

“No one’s here much at all.” Marina announces finally, “It’s our favorite spot for foraging for… pretty much everything Luna-aquua’s ocean has to offer.” Thirteen’s eyes widen in curiosity as Marina and Atticus show them around; pointing out structures far into the distance, mountains and islands, and close where the rocks create small pools where life gathers.

Beyond what Thirteen’s come to very quickly learn about Atticus, the guy sure knows how to talk when it comes to marine life. Pointing out to them his finds and explaining to Thirteen the species the dead shells came from, picking them up and showing them in detail like a teacher, Marina even straying away and coming back with more to further entice her boyfriend to chat about sea snails and clams and crabs.

“And this–” and he hands Thirteen a small, spiky and striped empty snail shell, “Is from a glowing reef snail; they can grow quite big and live very long, they glow when they’re alive too- hence the name, of course, it’s rather charming. And… I’m not sure about the veracity of it, so don’t take my word for it, but I’ve heard that there’s a way for properly cooking and eating one of these that will give the user a limited time to breathe underwater like a fish. It could also just be deadly poisonous, but… that’s the legend, at least.” Atticus chuckles at his own story, and Thirteen tries to remember all his words, you never know when one might need this sort of knowledge, but ultimately; what captivates them is the way his smile grows wider the more he has to teach. And Marina clearly knows him all to well as she stands close, just as captivated despite clearly having heard these stories several times before.

“Ah! Let’s show Thirteen the reef–” she bursts out suddenly, making Atticus’s tail puff up for a second before recognition had it placating on its own. Marina has them all strip down to their underwear, lest they have to get back with sopping wet clothes, and walk into the water with Tortuga; who’s hard to get back up on with how much excitement’s oozing out of him once water is mentioned.

Marina’s removed his tack and placed it all secure on a rock along their clothes, so it gets a little harder to hold on once his slow trotting becomes excited floating and then vivacious swimming; but soon they’re far in enough that the ocean floor’s painted with reef colors and fast fish swimming by.

“Lets go~!” is all Marina bothers to say next before she’s jumping off into the water, and before Thirteen has any time to ask, Atticus has quietly disappeared too. No time to doubt.

They jump into the water right after, immediately followed by Tortuga diving in past them to join his Master in her fun. Thirteen squints their eyes and has to remember not to gasp themself out of breath; the view from above has nothing on this. There’s coral and sponge and sea anemones of every color, some glowing in an othernatural brightness when the shadows cover them just right.

Marina and Atticus look even more at home right in that moment; moving naturally through the sea foliage and blending right in with the fauna that’s decided they’re okay to swim carelessly around. Thirteen still can’t decide what to do with themself, as they turn in every direction.

Then Marina points at something else for them to look, and Thirteen is ripped away by their own sick need to breathe. Rushing up for a gasp of air before diving back in. Marina’s quick to hide her concern, but struggles not to look a little guilty– like she forgot how Thirteen’s different from them.

It’s fine– Thirteen wishes that magical dish was real right then, hopes it comes a time that they can do something like that as they try not to pout every time they need an oxygen break. About eight of them for every one of Atticus, twenty for one of Marina’s.

They are jealous, alright?

Despite any obstacles, Marina and Atticus show them around just like they did above; pointing at beautiful color-changing fish, at pointy creatures hidden between rocks and at the seafruit Marina liked best. Picking a few for them to eat together during breaks only to dive back to the fun.

And almost as impressive as the scenery was, was Marina pulling of her thick arm bracelet to unfold into a makeshift bag made of thin mesh. Gesturing with excitement at them and showing them they could now carry their finds… Thirteen makes a note to ask her about this secret pouch later, they simply ought to get something like it for their next travels.

Slowly, Marina’s net is filled with seafruit, edible crabs for tomorrow that Atticus is kind enough to give a quick end to, and a few more curious finds; more empty seashells and shiny rocks that Marina promises she’ll turn into jewelry for all of them and what Thirteen believes to be some sort of sharp spearhead– made of a hard iridescent material that has all three perplexed and fascinated.

Marina also takes some time to hunt fish for the bearsharks along Tortuga, holding onto his fin to flow along his movements and work together to herd the fish while she traps them. Truly mesmerizing.

Atticus shows them a few more neat finds while Marina busies herself, guides them to catch the delicate grace of the long horse eel, and excitedly points at what looks like the dead glowing reef snail he showed them on the shore; but very much alive. Thirteen is as enchanted by it’s lively colors, it’s large size- like Atticus promised- as the cat seems to be about his girlfriend’s prowess.

They’re perhaps poking a bit too much, but when Atticus and them reach back up to the surface to rest on one of the higher rocks among the reef Thirteen has to ask further about him. Not surprisingly, he’s got advanced studies thanks to his adoptive parents, has a strong interest on marine biology and feels “, perhaps, a bit isolated from the rest of the town.”

“They adopted me somewhere far from here, unsure of what I am… and their obvious wealth doesn’t help the situation along either…” Atticus mutters quietly as they wait, but Thirteen has no time to feel sorry when his eyes are so softened by the sight of Marina still working hard.

“You really love her,” Thirteen muses out loud, and Atticus’s face goes through all five stages of embarrassed grief before settling on bashful acceptance.

“Yeah…” he finally agrees, softly. Thirteen tries not to smile too much, to avoid spooking him out of this mellow happiness. “She’s always liked who I was, even before we started dating, never made me feel different.” He reasons, and Thirteen has to heavily agree on his last statement.

“... Can I tell you something?” He asks into the air, and doesn’t wait for an answer. “I want to ask Marina to marry me…”

Thirteen is not sure why this keeps happening, keeps meeting people willing to open their hearts in ways they’re not sure how to react to– but they wouldn’t have it any other way, honestly. Their eyes widening as they listen in on their secret, sure of the emotional weight it holds despite words evading them.

“I don’t have anything prepared at all… but… I think about it often.” And then the look sours and Thirteen’s worried their lackluster appeasing skills won’t be enough to get Marina’s boyfriend back to good shape before she comes back. “I don’t believe her father likes me though.”

… Yikes. Thirteen’s really not sure what to say to that.

“I don’t think I’m the type he’d approve of to inherit his legacy… even if only as Marina’s support.” He laughs to himself, wincing when it’s clear he’s shared much more than he ever intended to.

“... As much as she loves her family, Marina really doesn’t seem the type to care about who approves,” Thirteen improvises. Relief washing over them when it cracks Atticus up into a barely held-back grin.

“You’re correct,” and the smile’s back in full force, glancing at Thirteen gratefully before he gets lost on Marina and her trusty companion making their way back up from the depths.

“I’m starving~!” Marina exclaims as soon as Tortuga breaks the water, their loot secure in her hands like a trophy. “Mom packed leftovers for us.” She sing-songs, the evening resuming to the carefree fun from before as everyone hangs back on Tortuga to take them to the shore.

“- the sun sets and the sky takes these bright colors that you don’t see anywhere else,” Marina explains between bites.

“The name of the town comes exactly from that instance that the sun hides behind the horizon– the sky gradually gives it’s glow, and in a way, it appears to bleed into the water,” Atticus joins in, eating along like they’re telling the story in the same breath.

“But it’s really that without sunlight, all the light form the coral and the fish shine through, so it looks like the moon is really shining from below.” Marina finishes with a proud little smile, both enjoying the way Thirteen listens intently with ever widening eyes and gaping mouth.

“We’ll have to walk back into the beach later– so you can see it,” Marina joins in on the excitement. “Words can’t truly hold to the actual view.”

“Mmh,” Atticus attempts to agree through a mouthful, “there’s really nothing like it.”

Thirteen eats a little faster, as if that could bring the end of the day a little sooner.

#Open World Series #Oc13 #OcMarina #OcAtticus #OcTortuga #Location:Luna-Aqua #oc art

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wings-of-ink · 9 months ago

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I'm rereading the demo again b/c its so fucking good, inject it into my veins. But I'm at that part where Nathanael asks MC if they feel OK (re: illness) on their birthday. There's mention that ppl in the town do gossip about MC's illness, and sometimes unkindly. I have so many questions and thoughts about this, sorry! Does MC's family/friends know, how do they handle it (I mean they probably do if MC is aware of it)? Is this a frequent thing that happens? Is MC subjected to blatant harassment (for a lack of better words)? Since Oswin and MC drifted apart do ppl take this as an invitation to shit talk MC to Oswin assuming that they don't like each other? Hes not a ppl person so I doubt many ppl gossip with him/he wont partake but not everyone is the brightest and can be quite shameless. Are ppl shit talking about MC to Nathanael? What does he think of this? Is he asking about MC or do ppl just spill the beans to him b/c its a (what I assume) small town and he travels all over with interesting stories idk??? AND ANOTHER THING, I'm sure this has some sort of impact on how MC views themself/their illness depending on their personality which is a totally other thing to dive into. I'm sooooo curious about how the dynamics of the community with MC and the other characters. I want to crack their heads open and read their thoughts. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

That's awesome, I'm glad you're enjoying it!

As far as the gossip train goes, it's fairly typical small-town rumor mill stuff that goes on. You have some whispering falsehoods and exaggerations, pity from others, and some speak highly of the MC for their perseverance. MC and family are very aware that it goes on; it's been hard to keep things private. All it takes is one person at Kavi's clinic to see an unresponsive MC being carried in for the story to spread like wildfire. And, poor MC has had a couple small public episodes as well.

When MC was a kid, Kip could get pretty angry about people running their mouths, and he'd confront them directly. Some would insinuate that he's a poor father, question his ability to do what's best for MC - things like that. Dov is the type to ignore it, and few would have the courage to challenge him directly on anything. He's a total softie but he doesn't look it, so no one is looking for trouble with him.

MC as a child also received more pity and sympathy from adults - nothing terribly malicious except maybe a question about what their parents are or aren't doing to them. The hardest part for them as a kid was with other kids. It will come up in a flashback sort of deal with Oswin, or will at least be talked about with the MC and him. Some kids could be hard on MC about it - some would say they were pretending to be sick for attention, things like that. And would you believe that little sweet baby boy Aster/Lakota viciously defended MC from such teasing? Generally, his bullies were the same punk kids, since he was also sickly as a child and got the same guff.

Along the same lines as the flashback and discussions to come between Oswin and MC, when it was clear there was something odd between them, they both had a lot of rumors going around about the reason. Oswin may have gotten into a tussle over something that was said…He never tolerated others talking about MC (even if it was only speculation and not necessarily malicious rumors) - but MC does not currently know that.

By the time MC is an adult, the word still gets tossed around, but it's all pretty common knowledge, so you're not getting as much in general. The kids have grown up too, and they've stopped heckling poor MC, Lakota, and Oswin. And, oddly enough, Oswin both is and isn't a people-person. He treads the line there and it just depends on the person - which made it more difficult when he and MC fell out because he was still sociable and friendly to other people. In his late teen and adult years, he's actually reached a lot of popularity with the townspeople and local guard, as well as people in the cities he's helped. He's just quiet about it and isn't energetic about socializing. (He's also picky about who he talks with.)

With Nathanael, he's not one to tolerate malicious talk about people he respects, and he does have genuine respect for MC and company. Kip was the first customer in town to give his store a chance, and they hit it off with a good chat. Others have told him about MC's history, since it's probably one of the more interesting things about the town, and he would have heard their "ideas" and rumors about that. He would not be one to tolerate shit-talk though.

I hope this helps sate your curiosity, and I love that you're interested in this since it's not something I can dive into a bunch in-story as it would make for some very boring prose, lol. But there is a whole social community there that the MC was steeped complete with rumors, gossip, and both kind and cruel words. I enjoyed your Ted Talk and I hope you got something out of mine too! ^_^

#god cursed if #asks #twine if #if wip #gc if world

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chrysalis-the-butterfly · 1 year ago

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My Thoughts on the Roger Rabbit Novels

Who Censored Roger Rabbit?

The Plot: It's the 1980s, and human beings and comic strip characters ("toons") live side-by-side, albeit not on an equal social standing. Roger Rabbit approaches private detective Eddie Valiant and asks him to investigate a dispute he has with Rocco and Dominick DeGreasy, the brothers who own his comic strip. Roger claims his life is in danger, but Eddie, who's somewhat racist towards toons, doesn't take him seriously - which comes back to bite him when he finds Roger's dead body. Now Eddie has to work out who killed Roger, as well as who killed Rocco DeGreasy on the same night.

What I Liked: This is a very well-paced story. It sets up the mystery straightaway, it cracks along at a good speed, and you don't have the full truth of whodunnit until the very end. The chapters are short and punchy, and even the time spent on plot points that turned out to be red herrings never felt wasted. I was always eager to pick the book up again and read just one more chapter!

Also, in any other novel, the twist regarding Roger's killer would be a massive "What the heck?" moment, but here, it's set up far enough in advance that it doesn't feel unnatural when it comes.

And as a fun minor detail, Eddie casually mentions being one of four children, and then the next novel, Who P-P-P-Plugged Roger Rabbit?, gives him two brothers and a sister! It was probably a coincidence, but I was glad to spot it!

What I Disliked: I really wasn't a fan of the way Jessica Rabbit was portrayed. Who Framed Roger Rabbit subverts her femme fatale image, but Who Censored Roger Rabbit? plays it straight, which didn't appeal to me as much. I prefer the "looks like she could kill you, is actually a cinnamon roll" trope over the "looks like she could kill you, could actually kill you" trope.

At one point in the story, Jessica claims she was forced to pose for a racy comic, but when Eddie speaks to the owner of said comic, the man claims Jessica posed for those pictures willingly and was actually eager to make more. At the time the story was published (1981), one might just about have got away with such a portrayal, but in a post-#MeToo world, it's discomforting that Jessica's allegations of coercion and sexual abuse aren't taken seriously. (Also, the man who owns the racy comic is a creepy crossdresser, which ... what? Why was that in there? That didn't need to be in there.)

As a consequence of Jessica's portrayal, her relationship with Roger is nowhere near as sweet as in the film. Their entire marriage is basically a sham. No, thank you. Give me "honey bunny" and "love cup" instead, please.

Verdict: I saw the film first, and I prefer it to the novel. Who Framed Roger Rabbit will always be my favourite piece of Roger Rabbit media. But I can appreciate Who Censored Roger Rabbit? as its own thing - a product of its time, to be sure, but also a well-structured and fast-paced read.

Who P-P-P-Plugged Roger Rabbit?

The Plot: It's 1947 (more or less), sometime after the events of Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Roger Rabbit, Baby Herman, and Kirk Enigma are three toons in line for the lead role in David Selznick's upcoming adaptation of Gone With the Wind. A box belonging to Selznick, a box of great importance, has gone missing, and Eddie Valiant has been hired to find it.

What I Liked: Who P-P-P-Plugged Roger Rabbit? has my favourite portrayal of Roger (after the film and the comics). We spend a bit more time with him than in the previous book, so we get to hear more about his worldviews and his backstory. We also get to see what a sweetie pie he is. He's an emotional bunny who loves his wife, just like in the film, and I frequently wanted to hug him.

A key highlight for me was the moment when Roger was singing like a Disney Princess and summoning a chorus of birds to wake Eddie one morning, which Eddie did not appreciate. Can someone animate that? I'd love to see it!

The second half of this novel also introduces Jessica's twin sister Joellyn (the six-inch-tall woman on Eddie's shoulder on the cover), and I enjoyed getting to know her. And, without giving away too many spoilers, I greatly preferred this rendition of Jessica over the one in Who Censored Roger Rabbit?

What I Disliked: Unlike the first novel, this one was pretty slow to get going. Eddie isn't actually hired by Selznick until Chapter 7, and most of the time before then is spent establishing Eddie as a down-on-his-luck private eye, using people and locations that show up once and then are barely used again. Some of that fat could have been trimmed, I feel. It made reaching the end of the book a bit more of a slog.

Something else that bothered me was the high volume of old-timey slang, brand names and Americanisms that I, as a twentysomething Brit, did not recognise. I could read an entire paragraph and think, "Well, he's either drinking alcohol, smoking cigar or eating a foodstuff, but I'll be darned if I can tell you which is the right interpretation." I think the noir detective vernacular was slightly overdone, to the point of incomprehension.

Verdict: I thought this would be my favourite of the novels because it seemed the most similar in tone to the film, so I was disappointed by my lukewarm reception to it. Maybe I was disappointed because I'd hyped it up too much in my mind? That's not to say I didn't enjoy it - I greatly preferred the second half to the first, once Eddie found out what was actually in this mysterious box - but I think it could have done with a few more edits before publication.

Who Wacked Roger Rabbit?

The Plot: It's the 1940s or 1950s, sometime after the events of Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and director Barney Sands is shooting a movie set in Toontown starring Gary Cooper and Roger Rabbit. He's been receiving threatening letters warning him to stay away from Toontown and stop making this film, but he can't afford to let down his investors. So he hires Eddie Valiant to be Cooper's bodyguard while filming takes place. But Eddie soon finds himself wrapped up in another mystery, involving a porcine crime lord called Willy Prosciutto and the corpse of Clabber Clown.

What I Liked: The majority of this novel takes place in Toontown, so we get some really cool worldbuilding details. We find out how the school system works, which churches are based in Toontown, and how crooked toons launder their money. I was particularly intrigued by the calm and serious toons in the Sanatorium - apparently, if you're not loud and goofy and bouncing off the walls, you're considered insane, which is the opposite of how humans think about mental health.

The blonde humanoid toon on the cover is Caitlyn "Honey" Graham, Willy's girlfriend. I really like Honey. In fact, she might be my favourite of the novel-exclusive characters. Throughout the book, you're trying to work out if she's a good bad girl or a bad good girl, or if she's really just a bad bad girl. If Who Framed Roger Rabbit ever gets a sequel or prequel or spin-off cartoon series, I'd love to see Honey on screen.

What I Disliked: The Roger we meet in this novel is a bit too stupid for my liking. In Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Roger made seemingly nonsensical choices, but he had his own (cartoon) logic to explain his actions, and he was even proved right in his assumptions a few times. So I much prefer to think of Roger as the kind of toon where you're never quite sure if he's truly dumb or merely playing dumb for the sake of a gag. Here, he's just straight-up dumb, and that's not as fun to read about.

Verdict: This was the book I knew the least about before I read it, so I was more cautious going in - but it ended up being my second favourite of the Roger Rabbit novels. I enjoyed learning more about Toontown and its residents. My favourite parts of the film had been the toony parts - Roger, and Jessica, and Roger and Jessica together - so I guess it makes sense that I'd enjoy the novel that takes place almost entirely in Toontown.

Jessica Rabbit: XERIOUS Business

The Plot: It's the 2020s, sometime post-pandemic, and Jessica Krupnik is a human in a toon-less world. She's working a dead-end job in a crime-ridden part of town, her stepmother bosses her around and belittles her, her stepsisters treat her like a servant, and her stepbrothers sexually harass her. She's basically a modern-day Cinderella. But instead of a fairy godmother, Jessica is rescued from her life of drudgery by an opportunity to apply for a role at XERIOUS, a crime-fighting organisation of secret agents. She gets the job, and is later put on a mission with Robbe, one of XERIOUS's most experienced agents, to catch a criminal mastermind called the Klown.

(And this is somehow a prequel to Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Despite being set decades after that film. And starring a human Jessica instead of a toon Jessica. Cartoon timelines be weird, y'all.)

What I Liked: This was the most fun novel to read! I think that's because it was a spy novel spoof, rather than a gritty noir detective story. The other three novels could be quite dour in tone - yes, cases would get solved, but people would get hurt in the process, and relationships would be irrevocably altered, so there was always this undercurrent of sadness in the seemingly happy endings. After three novels in a row of that, a story spoofing spy novels was always going to feel like a breath of fresh air. Gary K. Wolf has stated that he wrote this book in lockdown and had a lot of fun doing so, and I feel that coming across in his writing.

Robbe was another great novel-exclusive character. I can't say too much about him, because that would massively spoil things, but I can say that I enjoyed witnessing his development over the course of the novel. To give the most spoiler-free explanation I can, Robbe starts out as a suave and competent spy, but also a misogynist - until something happens to him in the line of duty that shakes his confidence. Watching him grow and try to be a better person, especially towards Jessica, while also dealing with the aftermath of his accident, was truly engaging. It even got me thinking about the portrayal of disability in fiction, which I did not expect a Roger Rabbit novel to do.

What I Disliked: For a novel called Jessica Rabbit: XERIOUS Business, Jessica herself was disappointingly under-developed. The first three chapters follow her miserable life and her desire for adventure, for respect, for something more. And then there's a two-year time skip and whoop, she's suddenly a confident and glamorous secret agent! And she's ditched her glasses and dyed her hair, so she's beautiful now! And she achieved her impossible hourglass figure with nothing but diet and exercise, despite being a human and not a toon! Sigh.

There was a real missed opportunity here. Robbe already has a plot where he starts off skilled and arrogant, but then has his worldview challenged and needs to learn to embrace vulnerability. So we could have had Jessica experiencing her own story of growth alongside him, but in reverse! We could have watched as, over the course of the novel, she transforms from the beaten-down self-conscious little girl into the sensational woman she was always meant to be. Robbe would start on top and fall down; Jessica would start at the bottom and claw her way up. The parallels could have been awesome!

Gary K. Wolf has admitted that, as a man, he would struggle to write a novel about women, and it shows. The sexism Jessica experiences doesn't have any nuance; the story just says, "Harassment is bad" over and over again. There's one moment where the Klown is sharing his nefarious plan to change the world, and Jessica responds, "I like the current world." And ... huh? You like the sexual harassment you receive on an almost daily basis? You like the system that trapped you in a dead-end job? You like all the poverty and crime and misery the world has right now? The story could have really benefitted from a feminist and/or intersectional analysis.

Also, in an effort to make Jessica seem smart, the men around her are extremely stupid, unable to see through the Klown's flimsy disguises. That is ... not the best way to make your female characters appear intelligent.

Verdict: My favourite of the Roger Rabbit novels! It's not perfect, but my criticisms are born out of love and a desire to see this concept reach its full potential. But even as it is, I still found this book a lot of fun to read, and I can excuse a few flaws if I'm having fun.

Final Ranking (Compared to Other Roger Rabbit Media)

Who Framed Roger Rabbit

Roger Rabbit and Roger Rabbit's Toontown comics

The three shorts

Jessica Rabbit: XERIOUS Business

Who Wacked Roger Rabbit?

Who Censored Roger Rabbit?

Who P-P-P-Plugged Roger Rabbit?

#who framed roger rabbit #wfrr #who censored roger rabbit #who p p p plugged roger rabbit #who wacked roger rabbit #jessica rabbit xerious business #roger rabbit #jessica rabbit #roger rabbit x jessica rabbit #roger x jessica #eddie valiant #baby herman #caitlyn “honey” graham #willy prosciutto #robbe #the klown #sid sleaze #david sleznick #kirk enigman

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v-era-18 · 1 year ago

Text

HoneyBee

Chapter Two: Chased or Chase

‘Why continue to chase after someone when they deserve the moon, and you simply can’t give it to them,’- Sam Witwicky

Tonight was perfect.

Not only was (Y/n) able to warm up her meal from ‘Honey’s Waffles’ without ruining the quality, but she was able to watch her favorite movie before falling asleep. The covers were warm, along with the hand sewn quilt her grandmother made her in the ninth grade. The stars were hand stitched, along with her favorite constellations.

It was beautiful, in the far right square at the very bottom was a stitched planet from her family's stories her grandfather told. She still remembers the tears she shed that night on her birthday, Sam’s laughter at how ugly her face scrunched up as fat tears rolled down. It was one of the memories she cherished the most, things were so simple back then, but here they were last year of highschool and college acceptance letters littered her simi neat desk.

She rolled over, snuggling into the bear on the other side of the bed as she thought about the handsome boy from earlier. The girl bit her lip as a giggle bubbled up behind her lips as she tried to keep the feeling at bay. He was a stranger, and yet he left her feeling like she was the only one in the world at that moment. She could still feel the lips that whispered against her ear at the soft promise to see her again.

(Y/n) will admit, she's looking forward to the possibility of the boy walking through the large doors of her family's library. It was another one of her pride that she did not take lightly, and sharing it with someone she saw as a romantic interest was something she most definitely wanted to share. She rarely had crushes of course, she spent so much time on school work and stories to really experience dating and here she was, imagining scenarios of her reading him her favorite book as they snuggled on the couch.

Her mind wandered back to the illusion episode she had in the car, it came out of nowhere but left her hot and heavy. The hands seemed to know where to go on her body as if they'd done it so many times before

A yawn escaped her plump lips getting comfortable underneath the warm blankets, now all she had to do was get a few more hours of sleep before-,

Her phone started to go off, the ringtone blaring to life with the three women's voices taking over singing ‘Soldier’. A groan left her lips as she slugged her arm over to grab the phone from the nightstand. The screen blinded her as the contact read ‘Lord Witwicky >:(‘ appeared with three text messages.

With a sigh (Y/n) answered, praying he wasn’t calling her to tell her about a dream he had about Mikaela.

“Yes Sam-”

“(Y-Y/n)! I need you to bike down to the end of your block right now! M-My car is being stolen-they're about to pass your street!” Sam's breathing sounded panicked and out of breath, he let out a yelp as the phone shuffled a bit.

“Whoa-wait that doesn't make any sense?!,” She was already putting on her shoes, forgetting the shorts and tank she had on before dashing outside to her black bike, “Why did you call me-Call the police!”

“I did! You try to speak to the police-when you can barely breath! It's been so long since I've biked this much I’m out of shape,”

She biked down to the end of her street and sure enough the black and yellow camaro drove full speed ahead, deciding to follow she made a full dash behind them. The windows were oddly tinted from what she could tell but it didn't make sense due to the fact they were not the few times she was in the car.

Sam soon caught up with her, their speed wasn’t as fast as the vehicle ,but they were able to keep on its tail the whole entire time. Her breathing was labored as they passed many streets in pursuit of the speeding vehicle, it was a miracle for the robber that the streets were clear this time of night. It wasn’t long before the pursuit led them onto private property, the car rammed right through the gate without mercy.

(Y/n) stopped as Sam kept biking on through the gate, “Sam! This is private property!”

The boy didn't seem to hear her as he was more focused on retrieving his car. Sam's form disappeared behind the corner of the building , the girl groaned in frustration and followed against her better judgment. She soon caught up with her friend on foot leaving her bike where he left his.

“Sam we have to leave-”

Sam covered her mouth, pointing up at the large emerging figure in front of the powerplant. (Y/n) looked up at the sight before her in great fascination. The robot's form was one to take a gander at. From the clear Chevrolet bust to the wings on the back being the doors. A quirk of a smile made way on her face at the sight before her

Sam ducked down and began recording on his phone, “Hello, My name is Sam Witwicky! I am here with my best friend (Y/n) (L/n)-who ever finds this my car is alive-okay,” He held up the phone to the robot, accidently getting (Y/n)’s curious expression in the process, “I-If this is my last words-I just wanted to say, Mom-Dad I love you and if you find ‘Busties Beauties’ under my bed it wasn’t mine! I'm holding it for Miles! No-no-wait that's not true it's mine-Miles gave it to me I'm sorry! Mojo, I love you.``

Sam hug up the phone and slowly picked himself up from the ground, He grabbed (Y/n) pulling her along from the massive robot shining the light into the night.

Her gaze never left the figure, something inside of her tugged her soul back towards the massive being. The same being from the stories her grandfather told her about each night. It was different from what she'd imagined, but she wasn't disappointed-not one bit. (Y/n) heard they came in a variety of many shapes and sizes, just like humans only their forms were more mechanical and they could live for ages in comparison.

The girl turned her excited gaze back to Sam,“What do you think it was? Pops told me stories about this-” She was cut off with the boy silencing her, it took a moment before she heard it, the low growl of a predator.

The two teens moved slowly, watching the dogs carefully looking for a means of escape; Unfortunately, (Y/n) wasn’t one to dwell with danger, in fact her first response was to run from it. Sam was hot on her heels, the growls of the two dogs growing near with each turn the two took. The two teens jumped and dodge obstacles in the wake, trying to escape the threatening jaws of punishment.

“H-hey! Good Dog! Good Dog-!”

“Shut up Sam! And Run!”

They both ended up in a dead end, both fending for themselves on a large crate to escape the large jaws of disapproval. One ended up biting the girl's shoe, leading to her yelling in panic, Sam tried to grab a hold of her before she could fall. Before the black dog could jump and attack again, the black and yellow car crashed through just in time, Sam never looked more scared in his life as the vehicle circled them drawing away the dogs from earlier.

“H-hey! Please-Please don't kill us! I'm sorry! Here's the keys-you can have em’! Cars all yours!” Sam threw the keys at the car, pulling (Y/n) along with him outside.

(Y/n) froze once the cop car pulled up in front of them, Sam was relieved rushing up to them in panic, “Woah-woah-listen-listen-listen!Good your here!-”

“Let me see your hands!” Both officers immediately pulled both firearms pointing at the two of them, the girl felt bile in her throat, and immediately placed her hands up walking over in compliance.

“Wait-no no no-what you mean? The guys inside-?!”

“Shut up! Put your hands behind your head, and put your head on the hood.” Both of them complied, Sam looked over at his friend noticing her expression. (Y/n)’s eyes were filled with tears, a bitter snarl on her lips as she was handcuffed first beside him. He immediately regretted calling her tonight.

~✯~

The car ride was tense between the two teens as Ron drove (Y/n) home. Their time at the police office was surely interesting, the two cops never let up on her, not once. She's been many things in her life, but never had she been called a drug addict and a thug.

It hurt, it hurt so bad and she never knew those two men in her life. It was the fact it took Sam asking, ‘Why are you guys only questioning her? I'm the one who called!’ for them to finally let up on their verbal abuse. She was so tired and worn out. It left a mental strain to know she actually went to jail, and was arrested for simply trying to help.

Sam shifted awkwardly in his seat, “(Y/n), I’m sorry-”

“Save it,” Her tone was bitter and hurt, a struggled breath left her in trying hard not to cry, “Out of all things I’ve done for you this is the one thing-the one thing I deeply regret.”

The boy looked at her hurt, “You don't mean that-”

“Sam,” Ron tried to shut his son up.

“No-she doesn't mean that! (Y/n) you always said were in it together-”

“When has there been an us as of late!” The Afro headed girl finally snapped, “Every single time you ask for something it's for your benefit! When have you ever done me a favor-!”

“Plenty of times!”

“Name one Samuel!”

Sam paused for a moment, rethinking the last time he actually offered to help her with something. Ron looked at his son in the corner of his eye in frustration, he knew this would somehow come back to bite his son in the ass. The boy sighed against the seat in frustration.

“I-I’m sorry-I didn't realize that I neglected this part of our friendship-”

“You did the moment you let Miles degrade me and keep him around-over and over-This! This is the tip of the iceberg Sam!,” (Y/n) sighed, “You’d rather have any friend to talk to-and any girl to stare at you and caress you without actually making the steps to build something, without thinking of them in a lewd manner-”

“Hey guys-let's not say anything we might regret-”

“I mean every-fucking-word. I've been nothing but a good friend-not only did I give you the car I wanted-but I helped you with a girl who didn't give two shits about you-who-hell-didn't even know your name till sixteen hours ago and I still corrected her-”

“Mikaela doesn't have to do with anything in regards to the conversation-”

“Of course she doesn't! But everytime shes not around and your with me you have to bring her up twenty four seven-”

“Guys-”

“Oh-oh really? You wanna bring that up? How about we talk about how you basically were talking with a stranger and was basically inviting him to fu-”

Ron smacked his son's head before he could finish, but the damage was done, (Y/n) sat back in the seat , tears seeped her lips as she stared out the window. Sam acknowledged his mistake ,and didn't say another word for the rest of the car ride.

Mr. Witwicky dropped the girl off and watched her sad figure walk inside the house, he looked back at Sam, a deep frown placed on his face. “Out of everything to say, you allude to her being a prostitute-”

“She was bashing Mikaela-”

“She wasn’t bashing that girl, and you know it!” Mr Witwicky threw his hands to the roof of the vehicle in frustration, “She was pointing out how you take the things you have for granted, especially your friendship. To be honest I thought you'd grow up and be smart and realize that (Y/n) is the one you should be running after, not some chick who messes with jocks and because she looks like a pornstar,”

Sam looked at the door (Y/n) walked through, the lights were on-signaling her Nana was awake, it was no doubt she would be interrogated. He knew his dad didn’t mean to insult Mikaela, so he let it slide; but he still didn’t like how both of them were right. He did have a habit of chasing after girls who focused more on popular guys than schoolwork.

“She’ll never see me that way, she only has stuck around because we’re all we have-“

“Oh so “friends” wake up at 2 o’clock at night, go on a car chase and get arrested for someone because their friends,” The boy's father was deeply disappointed, watching the girl he watched grow along his son wasn’t something to idle by. (Y/n)’s reputation would be described as pure since middle school and on; However, tonight tainted the innocent record that landed her many scholarships.

“Think about all the things she lost, do you honestly want to take away the one thing she wanted to achieve in life?! Her degree in robotics, her minor in creative writing-“

Sam sighed in frustration, his father didn’t even finish he was so heated with the night of events. It was his first time being arrested along with (Y/n), however it didn’t affect him as much since his father was head of the neighborhood watch.

“I-I couldn't see her that way! I chose to see her as a sister-and whenever I entertained that idea it just seemed wrong!” Sam looked at his dad, a pained expression morphed on his face from the night of events, “I know I'm not the one for her Dad, these past few years proved it. Yesterday, I was so jealous at the thought of another guy stealing what we have with each other, then I realized how toxic I would've been-to keep her single while I kept looking for someone else like her.”

Ron frowned slowly realizing what his son was venting. He knew the answer but decided to ask anyway. “Did you fall in love with her and give up?”

Sams face twisted and turned his head out the window once more, the night sky suddenly looked more interesting, “Why continue to chase after someone when they deserve the moon, and you simply can’t give it to them,”

~✯~

The two women were silent as they looked at eachother, it was overwhelming to say the least. (Y/n) had expected to see a belt, her laptop and favorite belongings on full display in front of Nana awaiting her punishment. Instead she wasn't seeing any of that, her grandmother simply sat on the sofa with her hands in her lap staring up at her with worried eyes.

She stood in the living room, tears running down her face, her twists were in a disheveled bun from the night of events and her pajamas were dirty. Her Nana gave her a once over, spotting the scrap on the girl's knee that wasn't banaged. You’d think the girl would have noticed her injury, she guessed the adrenaline as she ran from the dogs made up for it.

A sharp inhale caused (Y/n) to flinch, much to her grandmother's dismay, “You don't have to be so tense, I talked with Ron on the phone. I know it wasn't your fault sweetheart,” The older woman stood up from the sofa and waved a hand gesturing towards the kitchen. “Let's fix you up, then you can tell me your side of the story.”

(Y/n) stood still in the doorway, a sharp needle of anxiety pierced her heart, “You're not mad? Or disappointed-?”

“Not mad, just worried. And the only way I would have been disappointed was if you hadn’t complied when told to-that would have put you in more danger.”

The two of them made their way to the kitchen, the light in the room seemed to calm her down for the most part but she was still unsettled from everything that had happened. She couldn’t forget the words the men had spoken to her in such a derogatory manner. (Y/n) normally would’ve rolled it off her shoulder, but something about tonight hit her like a storm.

‘We get girls like you in this seat all the time, star students by day-druggies by night’

‘Such a shame, we've got nothing but good things about you on file. It seems everyone has a devil inside them-’

‘What do you expect? Their kind is more susceptible to the life of crime anyway. Especially females, they love the rush of a thug being their man-ain’t that right girl?’

The second cop was so racist to a point where she didn't understand. The other one was treating her and Sam to the same treatment where the other was just so discriminatory. She's sure a good bath and drowning herself in movies would help, after all it wasn't like racism didn't exist; everywhere- even on cybertron that's how she learned about the subject anyway-especially with Nana's concerns of her going to middle school not knowing about the subject.

(Y/n) flinched as her grandmother cleaned the cut, she felt like a little girl again watching how she carefully cleaned the cut with peroxide before dabbing on some neosporin. If she wasnt so traumatized she'd be convinced she had just fallen off her bike after learning for the first time. Pop’s carrying her back in the house as she sucked on a popsicle through blurry eyes of frustration.

“You're lucky it was just grazed, nothing too deep,” Her Nana placed a kiss over the band-aid before putting the medical supplies away, “Now do you wanna tell me why you chased after that vehicle?”

The girl let out a shaky breath before starting the disgruntled tale. Her grandmother had fixed herself tea as she listened, sometimes she would interrupt and ask questions; ‘How tinted were the windows?’ ‘Could you see the driver?’ ‘Did the motor sound weird?’. It wasn’t long before she paused mid story when she accidentally spilled that they saw something, Nana gazed at her telling to continue, but her mouth became dry. Her grandmother didn't react well last time when she mentioned the insignia, how was she supposed to tell her about the robot she saw? She could hardly believe it herself from what her own eyes had captured.

“You-you wouldn’t believe me anyway-”

“Try me,” The cup was sat down, the kind gaze never wavering as she looked at her, “Me and your grandfather have seen and experienced many things (Y/n), that many people wouldn't believe unless they've seen it for themselves.”

A nervous laugh erupted from her tired lips, she hardly believed what she said next, “Sam's car turned into a giant robot.” She laughed again, but this time it was sad as tears rolled down.

Then it hit her, whatever it was-the anxiety never left this time instead it boiled. Her mind couldn't take it-she was so tired. The sight that she had seen tonight was the one thing she had wanted to see since she was so young. She promised to help them-to fight alongside them in the war and achieve many victories for their cause. And here she was years later, and she didn't know if she believed it, or if she had simply gone mad after her grandfather died.

Whether it was the lost part of innocence tonight or wishful thinking, she never wanted that escape again more in her life, she missed it. The effortless journals she’d write of going on adventures, fighting, living a life as that character everyone loved and wanted to be. All of it, was it pointless?

“-Sweetheart?”

“I'm going to bed-I-Im sorry for lying, Nana. We only saw the burglars abandon it, nothing more.”

(Y/n) left the kitchen her form shaking and disgruntled, as her Nana sat at the table watching her leave. The older woman sighed, rolling her eyes before getting up and heading towards her room. A liar is not what (Y/n) is, her Nana knew. What emerged from her granddaughter's mouth was nothing but the truth.

Robots-no Cybertronians are a special case.

Their whole family knew the truth except the girl in the other room, sometimes (GM/N) wondered why they never told her the truth before (GD/N) died. Sure, it was best to keep her innocent for a while but after what she saw tonight only means she'll soon be tossed into something she never bargained for.

Nana took the box from the high shelf from the right side of the closet where her late husband stored his belongings. The box was a bit worn and dusty, but the contents were safe. She hugged the box close to her chest and sent a quick prayer.

Afterall, her granddaughter was going to need it.

~✯~

To many teenagers work was a chore they hated to get up and get ready for this time of day, but as far as this aspiring protagonist goes, she loved waking up in the morning and heading to her family's library. With her finals being done in comparison to Sam, she's able to take up earlier shifts than normal. Luckily Grace was willing to switch morning shifts with her this morning much to her pleasure.

It was around nine am giving her enough time to organize the return pile by genre and author. It was a nice ritual to get her mind off of the past few days, don't get her wrong; there were moments she'd mess with the band aid on her knee, or simply sipped her coffee anxiously as a police car drove by the large window. She didn't want to think about that night, and if she did she only wanted to think about one thing; the cybertronian.

It started to feel wrong to call them a robot after all she knew what the species were called. It was no secret to her family about the stories and now-truth be told she started to gain the suspension. They were not just stories. She thought long and hard about how gentle her grandmother was with her yesterday, she kept glancing at her as if she had something to tell her-just don't know how. Not to even mention she sat by the phone expecting Sam to call her-why she didn't know. (Y/n) just wanted the reassurance that they were still friends-family even.

(Y/n) placed the last neat pile over near the horror section, it had been quite popular the past few weeks after they hosted that horror book night last october-it was her idea for a fundraiser and it was highly successful. The only takeaway was hunting people who forget to return them. In the corner of her eye she watched her Nana walk out of the break room with a steaming cup and a cinnamon roll from the bakery next door.

If She had been a bit more considerate of herself this morning she might have gotten one as well, they were nice and soft, the icing smooth and sickenly sweet if eaten too fast. She had to think long and hard about where she was going to eat lunch.

(Y/n) finished her morning ritual in the library with ease, once she was sure everything was in order she was able to help out at the front. Some were familiar faces, others were simply students from other schools returning books required for the curriculum of english. It was all worth it; after the familiar face strolled in her heart began to thump anxiously, whereas her hands were suddenly busy in her coils.

The black haired boy looked around for a moment before locking eyes with her own. It didn't take but a minute before he flashed a smile heading in her direction, the others in the library seemed irrelevant at the moment in comparison to the male who remembered her quick words that day. He looked nice; His shirt was black with vertical white and yellow stripes down his chest, and he wore black jeans with a subtle chain on the hip. His converse were a bit dirty like hers, but in her mind all shoes were meant to be replaced after a while.

“So this is the famous (L/n) library,” Bee smiled brightly, he did another once over causing her heart to warm with his excited eyes, “I’m impressed! You own the place so young?”

She laughed, “No, it's a family business! It’s been here for more than sixty-eight years.”

He whistled low, the charm he had was starting to take effect. She licked her lips nervously as he took a gander at the ceiling, it was a renaissance styled painting with her family's stories. There were many robots stylized to show which were good, evil, and simply trying to survive crossfire. His eyes seemed to land on one figure specifically, a large sword was in the figures hands, they were leaner with a female build with an angular frame. What stood out so much was the male human by her side.

Blue eyes went back on her form, something glimmered for a second before a carefree look took on his features. He paused for a moment, looking behind her, she followed his gaze seeing that Nana was looking at the boy. It was a moment where (Y/n) could see them talking with their eyes, another moment passed before her grandmother smiled, turning to her.

“(Y/n) who is this? A New friend?”

The girl bit her lip looking over at a Bee, he seemed to be awaiting her answer, “Y-yeah, we met at the park last Friday. He was very nice,”

The boy seemed to approve of her answer, “Hello my name is Bee,”

“Hello Bee, Im (Y/n)’s grandmother (G/N), but you can call me Nana,” Nana smiled at her new friend, placing the new stack of history books on the desk to be organized later. “You're actually in luck, my sweetheart is on break! She'd love to hang out with you a bit.”

“What? But-”

“That's great! I'd love to hear more about the paintings above and the histories about them.” The black haired smiled.

Her Nana pushed her from behind the desk quickly, urging her to talk to the boy before them. (Y/n) grabbed her grandfather's notebook from the top counter, this one was the history about the library, in chapter two it gives short summaries about the paintings above. She’d tell her friend about the summary and they tell him what she remembered about the story to the best of her ability.

(Y/n) led Bee to the comfortable part of the library, in the far corner there was a circular table with two arm chairs. It was her favorite spot for breaks. They both sat down, she couldn’t help but notice how the boy felt up and down with the fabric as if it were foreign to him.

“Is it not comfortable?” She questioned quietly with a frown. Bee flinched with her question, planching his hands on his knees.

“No-no it's very comfortable-im just not used to the feeling,” He answered with a bit of nerves in his tone. “I'm sorry if I've offended you-”

“No you haven't, I just wanted to make sure my new friend was comfortable,” She offered a kind smile to ease him of his worries.

She gave him a once over, he did clean up nicely from the last time she saw him, however she couldn’t help but pause at his neck. There was a prominent scare on the right side, she couldn't believe she had never seen it before. If there was one way of describing it, it would be a star that she gazed at each night before going to bed, it rested right near the vocal cords.

“So about the femme-female in the middle, what story do you have for her my dear storyteller?”

(Y/n) actually let out a giggle, “Storyteller? Is that my new nickname?”

Bee hummed, “No you deserve something better, but that's what you do right? You tell amazing stories and draw people in.”

“Well yes, but it's only fun doing it. It's not like it'll be a job for me to do in the near future.”

The boy cocked an eyebrow, which apparently has a slit, “Why not?”

“It simply won’t pay the bills. As an aspiring author or writer you have to be smart, you have to have another area of profession to feed yourself until everything takes off.”

He nodded in understanding, “I see. I wouldn’t rule this out of your life forever. You do such a good job as is,” He scooted the chair closer once the girl flipped through the pages of the book. He seemed more preoccupied with staring at her than the varying pictures. “So what are you gonna read to me today?”

(Y/n) smiled, “The summary of Merlin’s Female knight. I’ll have to get to know you more before I tell you the full tale. These are our family stories.”

“Seems fair,”

The girl inhaled before starting the summary.

“During the dark ages of Merlin, a variety of knights were introduced from the planet Cybertron. With these knights came a new era of acceptance with humans; they fought many wars and formed many alliances. However with the new era the knights acknowledged something needed to be changed with predacons as well. A few of these predacons were highly intelligent femmes pledging their loyalty to the cause. Three knights took the predacons as sparkmates, leading to the next generation. One of these femmes was named-“

(Y/n)s words faltered as she felt Bee's breath on the nape of her neck. She finally took notice of how close he’d gotten. His hand was close to hers, slightly brushing as she flipped the page again. She was reading the words in English, skipping over the cybertronian language she’s grown to learn.

A hand clasped hers urgently, she paused on the page she was about to skip, the pages were filled with the foreign symbols. She looked at him, his mouth was moving as he scanned the page.

‘He can read it?!’

“You can read it? How can you-“

“I-I’m sorry I have to go.” The boy removed his hand from hers, the warmth that enveloped her body was gone; she was so tempted to frown right there. She stormed after him, questions filling her mind with urgency. It’s been so long since she had someone who understood the language other than her grandparents.

“Wha-what? Why? What did I do-?” Bee cut her off by grabbing her hands in his once more. He stared at her, his eyes were worried and deeply struggled to communicate.

“You haven't done anything. (Y/n) I know I haven't done anything to deserve your trust ,but I’m going to need you to trust me,” His frown seemed almost natural on his face as if he was more accustomed to the expression. It spoke volumes to her. “I promise, to explain later sweetspark okay?”

The girl nodded a bit, flustered from the boy using the tongue it took her many years to accomplish. He had her trust by just speaking the language. With the nod of confirmation, he made haste out the front doors. When she tried to watch him leave, he was already gone.

It was two hours after the boy left and oddly enough (Y/n) felt as if a huge weight was lifted off her chest in regards to the events that have happened lately. She could still feel the warmth of his hands against hers as she turned the pages.

It felt as if the hands on their own could tell stories, along with the scar of the left side of his neck. The intimate thoughts she had earlier returned, her lips would graze each scar with sweet whispers; (Y/n) could hear his playful tone teasing her for being so bold, yet so sweet with his battle wounds.

She paused for a minute at the thought-when had she decided the scars came from battle or even a war. Something about her intuition was going off, whether it was the sinking feeling at the thought of him being so young on the front lines, or the fact he had to keep such secrets of his injuries to himself. (Y/n) shook her head before closing the book, deciding it was time to clock out.

Grace had already clocked in thirty minutes ago and was ready to take over. Now all she needed was her book bag and-. A loud commotion of a familiar voice suddenly filled the space of the library much to her dismay, she hoped it wasn't her Nana reminding her not to work overtime and to relax. However, when she turned the corner from one of the isles she was met with an erratic and panicked Witwicky.

“Sam! What the hell is your problem?! This is a library-!” (Y/n) was suddenly embraced by Sam, his form was shaky and he had labored breaths. She didn't get to ask questions about it, as she was already being led outside the library with her bookbag in hand.

“We’re being followed by the car,” Sam spoke quickly, he grabbed her bike from the rack and pushed it towards her. She finally took notice of the fact he was riding his mom's bike, normally she would’ve laughed but at the moment she sunk in the situation at hand.

“Did you just say the car is following us?” The question rolled off her tongue with ease, it sounded excited, no hint of worry in sight. It scared her afterwards with how quick she got happy with the thought of the alien following them.

“Yes-it followed me home! Then when I biked here to get away, it followed me-only it didn’t take the same route, it took a faster one and parked behind the building. It knows where you work!” He hopped on the bike, (Y/n) doing the same quickly with her own, as anxiety rolled down her spine.

The two teens biked down the street quickly, it wasn't long before the sound of a roaring engine sped up right behind them-the game of cat and mouse being reversed from the other day. The girl didn't dare to look back, Sam did enough for the both of them combined. Judging from the way her friend was panting in panic she could only assume the car was close. They both decided to bike through a park, Sam was so focused on his escape from the vehicle to notice the uneven concrete in the midst of their path.

It was a domino effect, Sam flipped himself landing on his back with a pained groan. (Y/n) let out a yelp and tried to swerve the bike in time but ended up losing her balance and falling off. She bit back a whine from the new found scrapes and bruises on her elbow and right knee.

“Sam? (Y/n)?” A familiar voice called out to the two of them. Sam looked to his right to find Mikeala and her friends looking at them. A few were giggling and whispering while looking in (Y/n)’s direction, none of them had ever seen the girl flawed before. The teen always made sure to be poised in all conditions, however seeing the girl fall off her bike nearing tears was something to boost their egos.

“Hi,” He mustered awkwardly with a groan, whereas (Y/n) simply waved a hand clutching her arm.

“Um t-that was uh-that was really…..awesome,” The girl managed to ease up the situation, “Are you two okay?”

“N-no I'm not-alright? I'm losing my mind. My car is chasing us,” Sam bit out straightening his bike. He looked over at (Y/n) taking in her injury, her steps faltered a bit due to the pressure placed on her knee. Sam quickly helped her onto her bike, his hands rested on her hips longer than they should’ve though. “We gotta go.”

Mikaela noticed (Y/n)’s look of anguish for a moment before turning back to her friends, “Hey I'm gonna catch up with you guys later.” About the time the brunet made it to her Vespa the two friends were already on the move once more.

(Y/n)’s balance swayed here and there, her head was throbbing and her elbow hurt to bend. She was lagging behind, the car seemed to notice, as each time it got to close it started to slow down its pace giving her enough time to bike through each light.

Thankfully they finally found a place to stop, (Y/n) led the way underneath the interstate bridges where many cars were parked. She gestured to Sam to follow her, they had found a nice hiding spot for a moment,watching the car speed past. The two friends looked at each other before letting out a breath of relief.

“Are you okay? How's your arm?” Sam gently grabbed the girl's arm, trying to extend it a bit to make sure nothing was broken. (Y/n) winced a bit, fighting back tears, it wasn't that bad, she was sure it'd feel better later.

The silence was soon interrupted by a familiar siren, shaking the girl to her core. Sam on the other hand was relieved, he whispered a soft ‘stay here’ before moving from their hiding spot. Her breathing became labored, the foreign chill of metal on her wrists became a new fear. They couldn’t be arrested again, they couldn't!

“Officer!Listen-” Sam let out a pained yelp as the car door hit him, knocking him off the bike with one fell swoop. (Y/n) gasped, she suddenly forgot how to breath suddenly as she watched her friend wither on the ground.

“Offi-Listen to me! Thank god! My friend and I have had the worst day ever! We've been followed here-on my mothers and her grandmother's bike! Right?! And My cars right there-and it's been following me-us here! so-so get out of the car!” Right after Sam slammed his hands on the police vehicle it started to drive forward, knocking Sam off his feet and onto the ground. “Woah stop-!Okay-Okay!I'm sorry! Im Sorry! I'm sorry I hit your car!”

“Stop!” (Y/n) raced from her hiding spot, she tried to step between Sam and the vehicle. She kicked the hood showing she had enough of the abuse of power displayed. She however paused once the vehicle's headlights popped out, sharp metal sticking out around the lights sending a chill down her body. She soon looked at the side of the car, her body running cold; ‘to punish and enslave’.

“Run. Sam run!” She grabbed her friend, helping him on his feet; it was just in time too, she soon heard the sound of shifting metal behind her. The rise of bile was heavy in her throat as she pushed Sam to run faster.

“Oh Shit! Oh Shit!” Sam screamed as he made a turn through the rubble of trash. “What the hell is that?!”

“A Decepticon! Here on earth?!” The girl cried to herself, she was pretty sure her subconscious mind answered for her. She had never seen a Decepticon in person, but the way the con was chasing them with a threatening aura she was so sure.

Before she could get them to make another turn she felt herself flying through the air before making impact with the windshield of a car. She heard Sam scream her name, only for him to fall on top of her a second later. She made a move to push the boy off only to scream instead once the con pulled out a chainsaw for a hand, slamming it on the side of the car.

Out of all the questions she had running through her mind as to why the con wanted them only one was answered, and it was one of the most threatening ways of answering.

“Are you username Ladiesman217?! And are you Storyteller (Y/n) (L/n)?!”

The two teens looked at eachother frightened, “Yea”

“Where are the glasses! And the books of Luna One!”

#bumblebee x black reader #bumblebee x reader #transformers bayverse #transformers #transformers optimus #transformers x reader #black reader #Spotify

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asnowfern · 1 year ago

Text

Crimson Blade - Part Three

Summary: When Paris-based Feyre stops contacting their London home, Nesta engages private detective Cassian to investigate. The truth turned out to be much bloodier than she ever expected. ~~ OR a vampire Cassian and human Nesta Victorian love story

Rating: M, for vampire shenanigans WC: 5.3k Read on AO3 | Part One | Part Two

A/N: Phew! The final part! Writing the ending was quite a struggle for me😅 but I hope you like it and thank you so much for reading it so far. Please enjoy!💕

Dinner is ready on the stove. Help yourself.

Nesta sighs as she crumbles up the note and tosses it in the trash. Elain hasn’t spoken to her since the night Feyre stopped by. Not without frosted looks and curt words.

I can explain, she wants to say. Yet, she can’t. Not when she can’t give a reason Elain can accept or one that doesn’t require Nesta lying through her teeth and Elain knows it.

Nesta places a careful finger on the surface of the pot to test its temperature and hums in content. She scoops out the hearty soup into a bowl and grabs a piece of bread.

She is in the middle of her meal when Elain walks into the dining room with her own bowl. She barely acknowledges Nesta as she sits at the opposite end of the table. The two sisters say nothing, only the gentle sound of cutlery against chinaware fills the room.

Nesta sneaks glances, taking in her sister’s perfectly kept appearance. Elain has always maintained a flawless disposition: from beautiful golden curls to prudent but stylish outfits. But there is something that is different lately, she notices. Nesta can’t quite put her finger on it but Elain is simply radiant.

“How is the employment with the Vanserras going?” She asks, gently dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief. She keeps her movements deliberately slow as she keeps her empty bowl.

“Good”

“Learning a lot?”

Elain puts down her spoon to fix a wary stare at her sister. She asks flatly, “Are you going somewhere with this?”

Nesta raises her hands in platitude. “Just making conversation.” She pauses, azure eyes narrow as her brain pieces together the information, “Should there be something I should be aware of? Someone?”

Dusty pink floods the tips of Elain’s ears even as she answers resolutely, “No”

“Elain-”

“No,” she cuts in, her lips folding into a thin line. Her fingertips turn white where she is holding on to the spoon. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

Nesta bites down a sigh. She gathers her dinnerware in her hands, ready to exit the room. Her movement halts just enough to say, “Just be careful.”

***

The sky darkens as it always does, the glittering stars and waxing gibbous moon illuminates the night. Inside Nesta’s bedroom, a lone gaslight cast its gentle glow on her novel as she reads in bed. Her fingers grip loosely on the edges.

In a single moment, the room feels startlingly still.

The book clatters to the floor as fingers go unwittingly slack. Every hair on her body stands - a familiar and terrifyingly different sensation. Nesta scrambles to stand, grabbing blindly for anything she can use as a weapon. Her fingers close around a candlestick.

Elain’s scream ring through the house as rough hands grab at Nesta around her waist. She swings the candlestick wildly. It makes an impact with a low “oomph” but only incites a low chuckle.

“Oh, you’ve got fire.” Sharp pointed edges skim along the surface above her jugular. Her attacker sniffs deeply from behind her, “You are going to be exquisite.”

A scream rips from her throat as Nesta thrashes around with all her might. The hard grip around her middle tightens as he laughs again, amused by her futile attempt.

She refuses to let up, stomping her feet, thrashing about, as her assailant drags her out to their sitting room. And then she sees Elain’s tear streaked face as another vampire forces her to her knees and Nesta freezes.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” She bellows, terror holds her in a tight snare. She does a quick look of her surroundings.

One, two, three. Three atrociously strong vampires, judging by how easily they manhandled the Archeron sisters.

A cold startling clarity washes over her when she realises exactly how out of depth they are. Without prompting, Nesta sinks to the ground, begging, “Please. Just take me. You don’t need her.” Her voice drops to a weak plea, “I’ll do anything.”

A beautiful woman enters the fray. With long cascading blonde hair and high sharp cheekbones, she looks around the room with a bored ease. When she turns her sapphire gaze on her, it chills Nesta to the core. Nesta is pinned in her place, unable to move as the stranger raises a gnarly scarred finger to her chin.

She angles her head to the side in mock contemplation, “You must be Nesta, and that,” she directs the same scarred finger to her sister, “must be Elain.”

She follows Nesta’s gaze to her hand and draws it back to her chest, cooing, “You see this? Courtesy of your youngest sister, I’m afraid. So vicious.”

A pit forms in her stomach. Nesta doesn’t deign to fight back. She whispers, “Please.”

The beautiful female throws her head back in bone chilling laughter. Her smile is wide and cruel as she taunts, “I’ll give you a front row seat,” and lunges for Elain.

In a moment, everything seems to be happening at once. Nesta begins to scream, every muscle in her body seizes in the attempt to break out of the stone hold pinning her down. Then there is a loud crash of glass and large wings descend on her and the weight on her lifts.

Cassian stands over her, his face contorted in rage, his throat practically trembles with a low feral growl. Blood splatters his leathered armour from where he ran a long blade through the other male. He looks down at her, hazel eyes meet panicked blue grey.

“Elain”

His head snaps towards the middle Archeron where the female has her fangs poised at her throat. Elain is silent as tears stream down fair skin.

He crosses the room in a flash but is blocked by another male, sparks fly as Cassian’s blade clashes against another sword. He easily disarms and strikes down the male but it is too late when the blonde sinks her fangs into Elain.

No, no, no.

Nesta tries to run towards her sister but is almost immediately pinned down again by yet another male. Rage stirs in her, an all encompassing black hole that eats everything in its way and devoids her of any other emotion.

Cassian turns his blade on the female next but she simply laughs and roughly releases Elain, who falls to the ground, bleeding freely from her neck. He dives towards her. It proves to be a deadly distraction as the blonde uses the opportunity to throw a small blade that punches a hole through his wing. Her other hand swiftly empties a dark crimson syringe into his exposed arm.

The reaction is immediate. Cassian convulses, colour leeches from his face and he plunges his sword into the ground in effort to keep himself standing. “Ianthe, you bitch!”

“Dead man’s blood,” Ianthe explains to a thrashing Nesta, “you might as well say your goodbyes now.” She walks casually back to Elain, long graceful limbs step into the pool of blood to prop Elain on her lap. Thoroughly unbothered by the carnage, she runs a delicate finger down an increasingly pale face.

“This on the other hand, so beautiful,” she tuts, “it would be such a waste to let you die. Not when you can be so much more.”

She lifts her own wrist to scrape her fangs over the surface and draws blood. She rubs it against Elain’s bleeding neck, mixing the blood. She drops Elain back to the ground like a broken doll and casually wipes her chin on her sleeve, smudging the crimson stains. She smiles, a terrifying vision of fair beauty with a blood trail miles long.

Time stills as Ianthe focuses her gaze on Nesta.

Nesta ignores how heart is wailing as she raises a chin to spit at Ianthe, echoing the words from Cassian earlier, “You bitch. I’m going to kill you.”

Fate tightens the noose around Nesta’s neck as Ianthe simply laughs. “Finish her.” She orders dismissively, like it means absolutely nothing to her.

Her head is forced upwards by a painful grip on her hair, exposing her throat. A cold metallic surface presses against her neck and it is all Nesta could do to level a cold stare at the Romanian vampire. In the next moment, the metal blade against her neck swiftly slices against her jugular.

Nesta crashes onto the floor.

There is a loud roar, Nesta notes distantly through the overwhelming agony. But her world is eclipsed in red as she gurgles on her rapidly spilling blood, her body convulsing on the cold ground.

Just as blissful darkness is about to claim her and take her pain away, Ianthe’s blood smeared face enters her view, her mouth lifting into a smug smile.

“You see, brainless brute.” The cruel voice taunts, “We still win.”

Impossibly, the pain amplifies and all Nesta feels is her body burning in a raging fire. After an endless eternity, the darkness finally, finally takes her.

***

She is drowning. Nesta is sure of it. How else would her body feel so heavy and weightless at the same time? Why else would her lungs feel such a burning ache?

It would be so easy to give into it, surrender herself but there’s something else.

A music. It’s familiar. Light and dreamy - an eternal dance. Debussy’s Arabesque.

The flowing keys tug at her heartstrings insistently. She reaches for it in response and pulls, immediately transporting her to a different scene.

Rich hazel eyes, a warm sparkle with flecks of green and gold. A large hand on her waist, effortlessly supporting her through each spin, jump and dip. Thick lips curved into an amused smile, and though they form shapes - words, there is no sound other than the music. A beauty that fills her with so much joy.

Nesta follows the music, the dance. Let a charming smile and strong hands spin her closer and closer until her vision is enveloped by a blinding light.

Then the music stops abruptly, taking the light and dance with it.

Once again, she is plunged into cold, merciless darkness.

***

There are people talking in a hushed worried tone a short distance away. It’s distracting, almost irritating. She wants to frown.

Or maybe she did because the voices halt and a warm hand envelopes hers, calloused fingers rubbing soothing circles. Reluctantly, Nesta opens her eyes.

Inky jet black hair, golden brown face with bright hazel eyes, accompanied by a fair, freckled face with familiar blue grey eyes.

“Nesta?” A concerned feminine voice asks. Feyre.

She groans. A multitude of arms supports her as she tries to sit up. Immediately, she sways violently though not because she’s feeling faint but from the sudden and unexpected influx of senses.

She squeezes her eyes but there is still the chatter of voices, three pounding heartbeats in the room in different tempos, the scratching of fingernails on fabric sheets, the ticking of clocks, the rush of water within the pipes.

Nesta can’t breathe. It is too much, it is all too much.

No, she will be damned if she lets this get to her.

Breathe. In.

The inward flow of air.

Out.

Outward flow of air.

She repeats this a couple of times. Forcing herself to focus on nothing but the flow of air in and out of her lungs. Slowly, the pounding in her ears recedes to a calm reassuring lub dub. Nesta takes a deep inhale before she lets her eyes open.

Cassian stands before her with one hand still reaching out. He draws it back, the action bellies uncertainty and doubt even as he radiates concern.

Her gaze shifts to his thickly bandaged arm hanging in a sling and the gnarly wound in his wing. The events from before rush back to her.

“Why?” She croaks out, her throat dry from disuse, “Why not just kill us and be done with it?”

She looks down at her hands, noticing how her skin has changed. How it glides with the moonlight, its sole and ever companion.

Why did they have to turn us into monsters?

Cassian looks pained by her question. He answers with a tension in his jaw, “There’s an old blood practice that the newly turned will always belong to the clan of the one who turned them.”

Bile coats her tongue. A vision comes to her, of a beautiful stone castle sat high atop in an evergreen coniferous forest - an image that she is sure she has never seen before. To be trapped, nothing more than a bird, prized for as long as they had political value.

“The Floareas?”

“Rhys is sorting it out with Tamlin. I expect even Tamlin never expected Ianthe to take it this far. But even if he does…” Cassian shakes his head, saying fiercely, “I will never let them take you or Elain.”

The world stops moving beneath her feet and she crashes back to Earth.

She swallows thickly, “Elain… is she?”

“She woke up a day before you did. She’s…” he trails off, wincing slightly, “she’s not doing well.”

That is all Nesta needed to hear. She braces herself, gathering her strength, and nods briskly, “I’ll need to be there for her.”

A gentle arm stops her in her tracks. A rare look of hesitancy appears on the detective’s face, “You need to feed first. It may not feel like much but the urge will hit you sooner than later.”

He holds up a crimson glass, the scent drifts to her nose in a tantalising sizzle. Her stomach tightens even as every other part of her wants to turn away in disgust.

Her gums begin to ache slightly - a wild feral instinct eggs her on. She bites down on it to force out, “No”

He reaches out with a sigh. “Nesta, there is so much more to drinking blood that you need to know.” His thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of her hand, “for sustenance, yes. But never to cause pain and occasionally,” his eyes darken, “for pleasure.” He shakes his head slightly, mostly to himself. “But first, you need to drink before you lose yourself. Please.”

The clock ticks away. The urge gets harder to resist with every second. Saliva drips down her chin and seeps into the fabric of her bedsheet.

“Nesta”

Something in her snaps and she grabs the glass and down it in one gulp. The life sustenance flows down her throat like silk, and she could’ve, might’ve moaned, she isn’t sure. All that matters is the rush of warmth that spreads throughout her body, it opens her senses and flings them wide. The world spinning beneath her feet, the clicking of horse hooves from three blocks away, the faint buzzing of street lamps lined for a mile below. While the earlier expanse of senses felt over stimulating and overwhelming, this felt natural and empowering.

Her feet carry her to the nearest lifeform and she places a slender hand on firm chest, feeling the flow of blood rushes underneath skin, how it connects to the organ pumping it through.

Slowly, carefully, rough calloused but oh so warm hand envelopes hers and presses it firmly against the pounding organ. It says what the male knows she is not quite ready to hear just yet.

Yours.

Forever.

Swallowing thickly, she drops her hand like hot coal and turns away.

The door closes with a click behind her but the sensation of hazel eyes burning into her back lingers for a long time after.

***

The days pass in a blur. The world moves around Rhysand’s Parisian home.

Nesta steps into the room Elain was in. Her sister is curled into a comma on the bed, her arms wrapped around herself. Nesta wonders what’s going through her head as she sits on the floor right by where Elain’s head is. She cautiously takes her sister’s cool hand and just sits.

Later, she walks past Cassian without saying a word and pretends not to notice the way his eyes dimmed as she does.

She watches Feyre futilely tries to needle Elain into getting out of bed with the promise of continental travel - the way Elain always dreamed of.

Elain barely stirs.

With despondency clouding her head, Nesta returns to her room where she finds a well read paperback novel sitting on her bedside table. Curious, she picks it up to scan through the blurb.

It’s a romance novel. Not dissimilar to the ones sitting on her shelf in her London home.

With a small upward flick of her lips, the elder Archeron flips to the first page and begins reading.

She glares at the glass full of ruby and ignores the familiar ache in her gums. She is stronger than her baser instincts, she chants in her head.

Everything can be beat with an iron will, she tells herself as a drop of saliva hits the floor.

A bird lands outside her window, chirping loudly. Nesta startles, her head snapping to the window to turn her venomous glare on the flying creature. Even its squawk sounds terrified as it scatters into the sunny skies, far away from the shadows she is trapped in.

She pants as she re-settles her gaze back on the filled glass.

She hates that it’s emptied in the next thirty seconds.

With an irate heart, she picks up another novel left by the armrest of her favoured plushed chair in the sitting room, and lets it transport her to a different continent, far away from the entrapping French house.

“No.”

“Nes-“

A vice grip closes around her heart. A muscle in her jaw twitches in response as she cuts him off with a snap, “I said no.”

Cassian crosses his arms, the action squeezes bulging muscles tight against his chest, emphasising biceps the size of her head. He frowns, creasing the scar cut brow. “It’s just a walk.”

A walk. Outside in the streets. With other humans around.

She bares her teeth.

“Get your ears checked. I’m not repeating myself again.”

A light sparks in his eyes and he leans forward with a smirk, his lips a hair width away from her ear, sharp canines skirt the shell of her ear. Hot breath raises bumps at the back of her neck, extending downwards with each puff of air. “You’re welcome to check them for me.”

She rolls her eyes even as she fails to suppress the shiver. She walks past him with a rough shove of her shoulders, heading for her bedroom. Her head hits a hard corner when she collapses backwards into the soft mattress.

Scowling, she rubs her head with one hand, the other stretches underneath the thick blanket. Her fingers grab blindly for the small rectangular object and pull it out. Opening to a random page, she comes across a passage so lewd she snorts.

The sheer audacity of him.

Nesta closes the door behind her with an empty ruby stained glass in hand. She lets out a shuddering exhale after it snicks shut. The image of a largely unresponsive Elain, sitting by the window, staring blankly down at the Parisian streets slices through her each time she sees it. Convincing her (or really, leaving it to her natural instincts) to drink the blood is the limit to all Nesta could do to reach towards her sister.

Elain still barely moves from her spot, barely speaks a word and Nesta is nearly at her wits end.

She numbly heads down to the kitchen and puts the glassware under running water. A chatter pulls her out of the fog of her brain as a door above opens and the voices of Rhysand, Feyre and Cassian float down.

A sudden bout of weariness hits her. With no inclination to see any of them, she stays in the basement, settling into a wooden chair by the plain table.

She pushes away that inner voice telling her that she’s hiding.

That voice could piss off too.

An all-consuming presence enters the kitchen and she knows that there is no avoiding it. But still she remains unmoving, keeping her eyes trained on the swirling pattern of the rough wooden surface.

His footsteps are soft, his gruffy well-worn Oxford shoes stop right at the edge of her peripheral vision, and a soft thud lands right beside her.

Nesta knows what it is without looking.

The steps move away and wordlessly settle at the other end of the mid-sized kitchen table. There is the distinct click of a document bag, followed by the rustling of papers. Nesta pulls the paperback print towards her, flipping it to its back to scan through the synopsis. The edges of her lips flicked upwards.

“Do you enjoy hanging around bookshops picking out erotic novels?”

Cassian looks up from the newspaper clippings he was flipping through. Surprise overtakes hazel eyes before melting into a soft, amused glint. “Oh yes, I even ask for recommendations. I believe my exact descriptors were - the filthier, the better.”

She drawls with an arch of her brow, “And they didn’t arrest you?”

He drops the papers, abandoning the news clippings altogether. His expression turns almost thoughtful, asking, “Would you bail me out if they do?”

She huffs and dips her head back into the spine of the book, “No.”

She should have known.

“You’re unbelievable.”

The replying grin from behind steel bars is unrepentant and stokes a homicidal urge in her. She pushes it down and switches to fluent French with a sigh, affirming his identity to the policeman next to her. The gates soon swing open to release the hulking vampire.

“You came.” He remarks warmly after they step into the dark streets of the French capital.

An annoyed tsk rolls off her tongue and she snips, “You owe me a hundred francs.”

It does nothing to dampen the man’s spirits. On the contrary, the shit-eating grin widens. “Worth it.”

”If you ask for me again, I’ll leave you to rot in that cell for the rest of your immortal existence.”

Nesta narrows blue grey eyes at the shrug she received, suddenly struck by the notion that the male next to her could have left anytime he wanted - be it with his skills as a detective or as a vampire.

But he got her to leave the house, still his victory. She admits sourly to herself as she glances around. The street lights buzz in the air, illuminating the streets for Parisians still wandering around despite the late hour. The slight tinge of fresh dirt permeates the air, emitting a comforting scent Nesta ever only associates with the early hours. It soothes her as it always did, as if nothing has changed, as if she hasn’t changed.

A crash of glass shatters the peace so abruptly that even the stars above seem to flinch with the disturbance, winking disapprovingly at the shouting that ensues.

There is a distinct shout of a keeper as he swings the door open. Two drunken men stagger out of the dingy tavern, shouting profanity. One of whom is waving the broken edge of the wine bottle threateningly at the other.

Nesta scrunches her nose in disdain.

She stills, noticing the danger just a second too late.

The bottle descends sharply and easily penetrates the skin, tainting the air with the delectable metallic sting of blood.

Her treacherous body reacts instantly - it withholds her breath, filling it with nothing but the scent of fresh blood. A familiar soreness develops in her gums, her muscles seized in an overwhelming urge to pounce.

Rough fingertips close around her wrist, another strong arm wraps around her waist, lifting her until the force of her feet against concrete pavement is nothing more than a featherweight. The world whirl past her in a flash until the broad street has collapsed into the tight space between buildings.

Nesta raises her chin to meet bright hazel lined in gold. A low snarl builds in her chest, accompanied by the heated roar in her ears. Even with the distance, the smell of spilt blood is lodged in her nose, an inextinguishable flame.

She sniffs deeply as Cassian angles his head to bare his neck.

Despite the act of submission, his words are commanding, sending a jolt down her spine. “Take it.”

Her world narrows to a bulging vein.

She stops herself, her open mouth barely an inch away from the rich expanse of brown skin. Her heavy breaths linger cloyingly and raise bumps. The back of her neck is enveloped in a comforting warmth that pushes her in and closes the distance.

The pressure doesn’t leave her neck as sharp incisors pierce into flesh like a hot butter knife. There is a gasp, a low guttural moan. Nesta barely registers the sounds emitting from her, or him.

She thought her decanted meals were sinful. It has nothing on the rush of liquid silk down her throat. All sweet and decadent but somehow still savoury and rich.

Her hands wrap around the all too large body and pull him closer. Closer closer closer, a devil purrs.

The grip around her tightens and there is suddenly a cocoon of wings shielding them from the world. With her body flushed tightly into his front, there is no denying the hard length poking insistently at her stomach, the coil tightening in her core, the moisture pooling between her legs.

The blood still flows even as a large knee wedges between her legs to apply a delicious friction. The bruising grip on her hips has never been more tantalising.

“What the fuck?”

A drunken slur.

Their heads snap up as protective wings unfurl slightly to reveal a solitary man. His steps are uneven, his grey eyes trying desperately to focus and process the image before him.

Cassian is next to him in a flash, rivulets of blood seeping into his white shirt. His golden pupils glow frighteningly in the night, his mouth split into a terrifying white grin, baring elongated fangs.

The commanding growl, impossible for any humans to resist, reverberates through the air.

“Don’t move.”

***

There is a commotion below, the noise uncharacteristically loud for the stuffy house.

Nesta jolts awake, the quilted blanket slides down to reveal her bare body underneath. Beneath her, her bed begins to move and she hears the gruffly protest through the vibrations of a broad chest. “It’s early.”

Nesta is tempted to drop the weight on her palms to collapse back into the comforts of her muscular pillow.

“It’s almost evening.” She reminds the arm snaking around her neck, dragging her back under the covers.

Cassian hums as he moves to rest his head on her chest, effectively pinning her down. His reply is muffled by ample bosom, “Early for a graveyard shift.”

“Is that what we are on?” She asks. The sleeping cycle she had been following the past month had been a jumbled mess. Not quite day but also not quite night - her body craving the moon just as much as it misses the sun.

Cassian moves his head from side to side, enjoying his position a little too much, in Nesta’s opinion. He shrugs, “We follow whatever hours we choose.”

Nesta looks up at the ceiling, struck by the daunting prospect of an infinite number of dark hours of just existing.

The weight of messy curls lifts to reveal a frown, perspective hazel that sees all too much. Cassian continues a tad gently, “There is a freedom that comes with not being beholden to society and the fragile hold of mortality. You can be anything you choose to be, spend your hours the way you want to.”

The door outside Nesta’s room slams shut, a room suspiciously in the direction of Elain’s. It forces Nesta to push her own worries out of mine, springing into action. She dresses quickly and hurries down, Cassian following closely behind her.

“What happened?” She sharply asks the room, occupied by her younger sister and her beau.

Blue grey eyes follow the eye line of a twin pair of blue grey to find the innocuous opened letter sitting on the floor. She snatches it up with the slight tremor in her fingers.

Reparations in the form of enough gold to set her and Elain up for decades and perhaps more crucially, release of any binding claim from the House of Floareas, personally signed by Tamlin.

It’s a good sign, right? Yet, the sound of slamming doors earlier remains a perplexity Nesta’s mind can’t seem to be able to explain.

She asks again, “What happened?”

Feyre answers with a sigh, waving an elegant hand. “It’s not the letter, it’s its courier - a dashing Vanserra that Elain seemed to know well. I’m not sure who seemed more distraught by the encounter, really.”

She looks back down at the letter. The image of Elain numbly sitting by the window for weeks contrasted against the Elain that sniped at Nesta for being nosy and overbearing, her pretty face flushed at the thought of a clear romantic interest.

Nesta has failed her sister terribly but perhaps there is still time for them to heal. And just perhaps, the place of healing is not the City of Lights but their home across the channel.

With her fists clenched by her side and a warm bear paw of a hand supporting her with the lightest touch on her back, she announces to the room, “Perhaps it’s time we return to London.”

***

Nesta clutches on to her umbrella, her enhanced hearing picking up clear voices despite the pitter patters echoing off the roads and roofs of dreary London.

“Tomas,” the young Clare Beddor, still too fresh into her first season, squeaks even as she tries to keep the fluster and panic out of her voice, “people can see us!”

“Let them,” he mutters, his head leaning in to muzzle into the crook in her neck, his larger frame closing in on her trembling body, “you’re mine sooner or later.”

The flesh where Nesta’s fingers meet the thin handle of the umbrella turns white. She grits her teeth. Where on earth are they?

“Tomas, please!” The young girl’s voice rose an octave.

Every muscle in Nesta’s body tenses, her knees bend slightly, ready to-

“Mr Mandray!”

Nesta lets loose a breath.

A pair of Scotland Yard’s finest round on the couple, successfully extricating them, much to Clare’s relief and Tomas’s chagrin. Tomas glowers at them, though its effect is undermined by the tomato shade of red his face and neck are turning.

“I am Inspector Smith, this is Inspector Donovan.” The officer gestures to himself and his partner, “We need you to come with us.”

He demands, “Do you know who I am?”

“Mr Mandray, we have the necessary paperwork to take you in. Whether we do so nicely,” Inspector Smith says with a huff, his hands sliding to his waistband where his cuffs are, “or not is entirely up to you.”

The officers stare expectantly, only swiftly reacting to disarm the noble born when his arm swings high in retaliation. Within the span of seconds, they have Tomas’s arms twisted uncomfortably behind him and locked in a pair of cuffs.

Nesta turns back into the shadows of the building’s rooftop. Her fingers tap at the memory of the mountain high evidence detailing the bribery and blackmailing activities of the younger Mandray sitting on the officers’ desk. With Cassian personally vouching for the integrity of these inspectors, Nesta has no doubts that the man’s days of terrorising young females into submission are over.

She closes her umbrella and circles her arm around the offered elbow, looking up into glowing hazel eyes. A tightness around her chest eases and she feels herself relaxing into a smile.

There is still a lot that needs to be overcome, a lot of her new life that needs to be figured out. But just maybe, Nesta can take it one moment at a time.

Afterall, she has the rest of an eternity to do so.

#nessian #nesta archeron #Cassian #nesta x cassian #vampire victorian AU

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chickensarentcheap · 2 years ago

Text

In a Heartbeat- Part One

FANDOM: EXTRACTION

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC)

WARNINGS: angst. Big time angst.

SUMMARY: Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began. In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be. And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/122826046

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @secretaryunpaid @arrthurpendragon @karimac @ninjasawakenedmystar @starryeyes2000 @kmc1989 @timbradfordsboot @themaradwrites @asirensrage @residentdormouse @thesirenrealm @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @thebewingedjewelcat

My tag list is OPEN. Just let me know if you’d like to be added :)

*****

Author’s note: This is a little three-part companion piece to the Tyler and Esme series. However, it follows the timeline of Extraction 2 and contains canon events from the movie. So there are slight spoilers ahead! You’ve been warned :) You do not need to have read any of the other fics to understand this one.

This has been a ‘thing’ in progress for a while now. Something wanted to write about Tyler’s time in the hospital and Esme’s decision to give up her life as she knew it to stick around and support him through it. I think @tragiclyhip had probably heard about my plans for this about a dozen times in the past two years alone LOL. But the hospital scenes in E2 encouraged me to finally get off my butt and write it.

A huge thanks to @tragiclyhip for the incredible story cover and to @youflickedtooharddamnit for coming up with the perfect title! Love you guys :D

*****

She’s used to it now. The steady hums and beeps of the machines that keep him alive.

Every new day is like the one before it. Four months of repeating the same actions from morning until night. And despite the sterile confines of the Intensive Care Unit, she’s managed to settle into a familiar and somewhat comfortable routine; on a first-name basis with many of the nurses and support staff, and the ‘on-ward’ coffee shop baristas able to recite her usual order from sheer memory. Extra large tea. Three milk. No sugar. A toasted bagel with peanut butter for breakfast. A fruit and yogurt parfait for lunch. A bowl of soap or a salad for dinner.

Sometimes both.

Her brain is saturated with mundane and useless details; ridiculous little tidbits of information that help keep her sane and functioning. She knows it’s forty-seven paces to the private washroom, another hundred and ten to the kitchen and common area set up for patients’ family members. And that the vending machine by the communal laundry room is temperamental; every third quarter is only accepted if you first vigorously rub the edge of it along the metal slot.

It’s as far as she’s gone. She hasn’t dared to venture beyond the ward; filled with a sense of dread that the moment she steps foot outside of it, the worst will happen. As if the shadow of death is just lingering in the corner; licking its lips as it anxiously and patiently awaits her departure. Feeling as if she can somehow ward it off if she stays nearby; not giving that cold and unforgiven hand a chance to get close enough to grab hold of him. And she’s determined to fight the demon off as long as she possibly can.

Whether that’s weeks or months. Or even years.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Nik had lamented, attempting to cut through that wall built with immense stubbornness and unshakable paranoia. “You can’t let yourself get rooted to this place. This SPOT. This isn’t what he would want.”

She’d wanted to tell Nik that perhaps she didn’t know Tyler as well as she thought she did. After all, she’d never been privy to the sides of him that existed beyond being mercenary; at her beck and call whenever a job required ‘the best of the best’. Was it through her own disinterest? Did she simply not care about the human being and only the seemingly fearless ‘gun for hire’? Or was it Tyler’s doing? A case of not allowing or wanting her to get that close? A defensive mechanism perhaps; weighed down by layers of trauma and loss as he somehow tries to prevent himself from drowning in an angry, unrelenting sea of guilt and regret.

And she’d found herself irrationally angry at Nik’s mere suggestion; that somehow she knew him THAT way. After all, Nik hadn’t experienced those five days in Dhaka. Not in the way SHE had. It hadn’t been Nik sharing a bed with him; her body that his mouth and his hands roamed and expertly and effortlessly drove to the heights of a passion she’d never experienced. She hadn’t been the one he’d been kissing; her face cradled so delicately within the confines of rough, calloused palms. And it hadn’t been her that he had opened up to; openly talking about the death of his son and the horrible decision he’d made in the lead-up to his last weeks on earth. Nik hadn’t served as his confessional; her heart breaking as he poured out his entire heart and soul and trusted her with his deepest and darkest -and damning- secret.

Instead, she’d stayed civil; appreciating the friendship and the help too much to let her hurt feelings and wounded pride destroy her one and only support system. Remaining calm and quiet as she reminded Nik that the intimacy between herself and Tyler had extended far beyond the physical; they’d confided in each other and found a shared level of trust and faith that neither had ever experienced with another. They’d made plans; mused about visiting each other’s respective home countries and then taking some of their payouts and travelling the world. Making no concrete plans; instead packing lightly and choosing destinations on the whim. It would give them a chance to get to know one another; concentrating on nothing but each other and seeing if they could make something -something good, something permanent- out of the five-day whirlwind they’d experienced in Dhaka.

They’d been excited. Optimistic.

And then the world opened up beneath them and swallowed them whole.

******

Every morning begins the same.

Stirred awake by the arrival of the day shift nurse; a young woman fresh out of college that possesses both enormous compassion and remarkable wisdom. The only one that doesn’t look at her with a mixture of pity and irritation; who doesn’t sigh in annoyance when she’s asked the same questions during EVERY vitals check and who always has something positive to say instead of the usual doom and gloom. Always feeding into the hope that Esme so desperately clings to; sharing stories of patients who’d been through worse and had ‘been under’ much longer, but had one day come out of things and gone on to live healthy, successful lives.

She sees how the others look at her; the way they huddle together at the nurse’s station and whisper as she passes by. As of yet she hasn’t addressed the issue or called them out; too lost in her own little world powered by fear, worry, and stress unlike anything she’s ever known. But she has daydreamed about it; the moment when she’ll finally have enough and stand up for herself. How satisfying it will be to see their shocked and embarrassed expressions when she addresses them in Arabic; one of the six languages aside from English that she’d long ago mastered during her time in the Corps. And she’ll let them know that she isn’t the weak little girl that they view her as; that she is a grown-ass woman who isn’t delusional or crazy for clinging so desperately to any sign of hope.

Yes, it’s true; she and Tyler HAVEN’T known each other for long. Only a week if their initial meeting and the twenty-four hours of mission planning were taken into consideration. But she isn’t pathetic for fighting for the best possible care for him. Or for holding onto the optimism that one day she WILL get more time with him. That he’ll fight his way out of the coma and begin that long road of healing.

Sleep hasn’t been her friend since Dhaka; plagued by bloody and brutal nightmares that replay those desperate moments on the bridge. The events disjointed and out of place, but extremely vivid; witnessing him taking the bullet to the neck and seeing the fear and panic immediately take over his face. The terror in his eyes as he attempted to get get to safety; a hand clasped tightly over the wound as blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down his arm. Her screams as clear as the day they’d escaped from her mouth; repeatedly calling out his name as fought her way out of Nik’s protective embrace.

It’s so real when it happens; as if she’s transported back to the exact place and the exact time. Able to smell the mixture of spent gunpowder and spilt gasoline and the polluted water wafting up from the river. Feel the oppressive humid and choking humidity; the sun ferocious as it pounded down upon her, and the cement so scorching that when she kneels upon it burns her skin through the fabric of her pants. The weight of his much larger, stronger body as it lays upon her thighs; a fear and desperation in his eyes as he clung desperately to the front of her t-shirt and struggled in vain to speak through the damage done to his body.

And the blood. So much blood.

Pouring through her fingers as she attempted to cover the wound and keep pressure on it. Her entire body and her voice trembling as she tried her best to remain calm; repeatedly assuring him that help was on its way while trying to succumb to the fear that no one was coming to save them. They’d be left behind with no possible means of escape. And Asif’s remaining men would find them; either putting bullets in their head to kill them immediately or leaving Tyler there to die while dragging her back to days, weeks, even months of sheer hell under their boss’ roof. Trying to ward off the thoughts of the ‘worst case scenario’, she’d instead focused on doing whatever it took to keep Tyler alive. Tears streaming down her face as she apologized for having to cause him more pain in order to help him, then proceeding to push two fingers through the bullet wound in an attempt to pinch off the flow of blood right from the source.

Asleep or not, she can still hear the strangled scream he’d given; see the way his eyes briefly fluttered and then rolled towards the back of his head as he lost consciousness.

It’s a sound…and a sight…she will never forget.

*****

She isn’t in the mood for being social. Normally she’d cheerfully greet the nurse and then force herself out of bed; her back and her neck aching from a night on the rickety folding cot as she made her way to Tyler’s side. It’s a mixture of things; the hope that she’ll be told of even the smallest improvement in his condition and a lingering fear…a paranoia…that someone will further harm him. That news of his survival will prompt the need for revenge; Asif sending someone under the guise of a nurse to perhaps put something…some kind of toxic…into his IV line to ‘finish the job’.

It’s absurd, of course. And a sign that she’s truly starting to lose it.

This morning she ignores the nurse’s arrival and opts to stay in bed; completely wrapping her body in her blankets as she rolls onto her side. Despite the sunshine that pours into the central courtyard, her mood is dark and troublesome; she feels empty and incredibly lonely and wishes she’d simply died that day on the bridge. It would have been so much easier; if death had just claimed them both instead of banishing them to a wasteland of fear and dread. Scared every time she even goes to the bathroom or to take a shower that something terrible will happen; her absence being the precise time that his body decides to give up the fight and move onto a far more peaceful, pain-free existence.

She doesn’t entertain those thoughts often; managing to hold onto that shred of hope that carries her from one day…one hour…one hour…one second…to the next. But every so often the doom and gloom creeps in; the times when she considers all the negativity that the doctors have been spoon-feeding her for months. The way they’ve gently pressured her to simply move on with her life; she hasn’t known him that long and surely his loss wouldn’t be THAT big of a tragedy.

They insist they know what’s best for BOTH of them; a peaceful demise for Tyler and her finding a way to forget that he ever existed. And when she refuses to budge and reminds them that she’s calling the shots, they change their tactics; speaking of massive brain damage and considerable loss of cognitive function IF he comes out of the coma. Issuing warnings that he’ll likely need one-to-one care for the rest of his days; someone that can help feed him and dress him and get him in and out of the shower. Is that really the kind of life SHE wants?

“I don’t care if I have to take care of him,” she’d angrily informed them. “I don’t care if I have to help with ANY of that. If I have to spend the rest of my life helping him to the bathroom, I’ll do it. In a heartbeat.”

It’ll be days before they approach the subject again. Allowing her time to ‘cool down’ before once more bringing it; the badgering to turn off the machines and let ‘nature take its course’. And they meet the same brick wall time and time again; unable to win the battle against her stubbornness as she digs her heels in even deeper.

Her eyes close as the nurse’s footfalls grow closer; smelling the aroma of freshly brewed tea as a cup and placed upon the window ledge. And she remains perfectly still as a hand is placed upon the top of her head; a fleeting yet affectionate and concerned moment before the blankets are tucked protectively around her body. Her chest immediately tightens and tears threaten; it’s been decades since anyone -outside of romantic partners- had shown that level of care and concern. Her own mother had been void of any kind of love and tenderness for her; showing nothing but the utmost disdain and showing no interest in bonding with her daughter in any way, shape, or form.

Yet here was a woman -younger than Esme herself- in possession of such tenderness and compassion; willingly accepting the role of caretaker in regards to a non-patient.

A complete stranger.

She wants to bury her face in her pillow and cry; let out all of the emotions that have been weighing her down for the last five months. A multitude of so many things; guilt and hopelessness and emptiness beyond anything she’s ever experienced. A stark contrast compared to what she’d felt in Dhaka; behind closed doors when the job could be temporarily forgotten and they’d become nothing more than two broken and lonely people finding solace in each other. It had been the first time -in what seemed like decades- that she’d ever felt that connected to someone; able to be honest and transparent and not feel pitied or looked down upon. Her ex-husband had destroyed her; mentally and physically. And she’d sworn that she’d never…ever…trust a man again; refusing to hand over her heart only to have it ripped from her chest and thrown on the ground and stomped upon.

Tyler was different.

Even with the mountains of baggage and his extreme self-loathing, he had shown a genuine interest in not only her, but in her interests and the things she had to share. Whether it was in that bar in Dhaka the first night -when they’d shared pitchers of beer and lost count of the number of tequila shooters they’d pounded back- or two days later; when they’d found themselves caught in a mess of tangled sheets and sweaty, naked limbs. Surrendering to an intense sexual attraction in the midst of the craziness and unpredictability of the job; unabashedly using one another for not only physical pleasure, but as an escape from the profound emptiness that haunted them both. And they’d somehow segued so seemingly and effortlessly into something much more meaningful; quickly trusting and opening up to one another and forming a unique and powerful bond within the confines of that dirty little hotel room.

He hadn’t been the least bit ‘put off’ by her backstory or the emotions she showed while sharing it; an infinite amount of patience and understanding in both his eyes and his touch. Making her feel ‘seen’ for the first time in her entire life; able to truly be herself and not feel judged or ridiculed for it. She was finally wholly and completely accepted. By a man with even higher and thicker walls built around his heart and soul.

And above all else, he’d made her feel wanted. Needed. Beautiful. Desirable. Looked upon as if she was the most incredible woman in the world.

How could she possibly give it…ALL OF IT…up?

****

Waiting until she hears the soft click of the door as it closes, she tosses off the blankets; yawning noisily and rubbing at her stiff neck and shoulders as she swings her legs over the side of the cot. She’s slept in worse places; off-the-grid caves and huts and bombed-out towns in both Afghanistan and Iraq. With not even the tiniest bit of comfort that the pencil-thin cot mattress provides her with; memories of using layers of broken down garbage boxes or piles of dry and withered leaves and even just the rocks and sand as a foundation to rest upon.

But she’d been younger then; fresh out of university and full of life and energy and possessed by an unshakable lust for adventure and danger. The intel field was her specialty; her tiny size and ‘girl next door’ looks and ‘apple pie’ personality opening doors that were inaccessible to others. Earning a well-respected and rock-solid reputation as she easily and effortlessly wormed and weaved her way into the tightest of circles. Surrounding herself with dangerous and shady characters that were enabled and empowered by even more deadly and vicious leaders.

It had been those experiences and their accompanying successes -along with her tumultuous, failed marriage- that had eventually led her to Nik.

And that little rundown shack in the Australian outback.

Shoving her feet into a pair of nearby Crocs, she gathers her messy, dark tresses in both hands; fashioning them into a ponytail that she secures with an elastic she keeps around her left wrist. And taking a single sip of tea, she returns the cup to the window ledge before approaching the bed; snagging that chart that hangs from a hook on the footboard and quickly scanning through the notes that the nurse had left behind. She’s not sure what she’s actually looking for; perhaps the smallest bit of information that signals some kind of change in his condition. It’s that hope again; the little shred she clings to when she’s at her lowest. Not a praying person by any stretch of the imagination, but always begging to some higher power to give her a sign…no matter how minuscule…that things are on the upswing.

Today is NOT the day.

Returning the chart to its resting place, she moves to the side of the bed and lowers the safety railing; frowning when she notices the awkward placement of the pillows meant to keep his upper body well supported.

“I’m just going to fix something real quick,” she says aloud, then carefully slips an arm between him and the bed; the back of his head cradled in her palm as her free hand fluffs and realigns the pillows. “I don’t do this? You’re going to have a hell of a stiff neck when you get up.”

It usually gives her a sense of normalcy; talking to him as if he’s going to respond. Helping to keep her sane; imagining his accent, what he’d say in return, and what his facial expressions would look like. In some ways, those five days in Dhaka had felt like a lifetime; feeling closer and more connected to him than people she had known for decades. Even for her entire existence. Able to read him so easily during both the quiet and more intimate times; every emotion and feeling laid bare on his face and especially in his eyes. But today she almost feels foolish; the pit in both her heart and stomach open and raw and allowing the negativity of all of the naysayers to ooze and fester.

Attempting to keep the darkness away, she places a knee on the mattress; allowing her to get closer to him as she navigates her way around all of the tubes and the wires connected to his body. A hand resting on his chest as she presses a series of kisses to warm, smooth skin; the middle of his brow, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth. Her eyes briefly closing as she rests her forehead against his temple and breathes in his scent; saddened that the familiarity of sandalwood, cedar, and slight citrus have long been replaced by the sickly, almost sweet smell of hospital.

Antiseptic. Illness. And lingering death.

The latter she refuses to consider. And she forces away the tears as she pulls back to look at him; her fingers moving slowly and adoringly through his hair. It’s so much fuller now; a testament to just how long it’s been since they escaped death on the bridge. The longer top strands continuously falling across his forehead and into his eyes; the shorter ones now tumbling down and curling over his ears and skimming the nape of his neck.

It’s so hard to see him like this. The change more apparent with every passing day. His skin gray and sickly; replacing that slight tan that had once given him colour. Dark circles taking up residence under both eyes and his lips painfully dry; his cheeks becoming hollow under the thicker, darker beard. And the loss of weight and muscle tone clearly visible; the hospital gown slipping off sharp, pointier shoulders and hanging loosely over a once broad chest and chiselled stomach.

But he’s still Tyler. The man that she’d been quickly and unabashedly drawn to the moment she’d met him. Nothing could EVER replace that person; those brilliant blue eyes that attempt to mask the pain of his past and the lingering humanity he possessed, that tightly drawn mouth that betrayed his sadness but -when she lightly teased him and flirted with him in the hotel bar- had transformed into a slow, almost boyish smile. Who tilted his head to the side while listening to her drunken rambles; shy and withdrawn at first, but the liquid courage consumed through the evening bringing out a more talkative and charming side. Surprisingly well-read and intelligent; a man that had seen, done, and experienced the worst yet hadn’t let it completely tarnish his spirit. Not as empty and hollow and dead inside as he believed; his laugh and the way he teased her and the moments when his fingertips intentionally brushed against hers paying testament to a man who was still very much alive.

Who could still FEEL.

“Good morning,” she greets, and places another kiss at the corner of his mouth, smiling as she lightly and affectionately tousles his hair. “First thing we’re going to do when you get out of here? Cut this mop of yours. I mean, it’s not THAT bad; it’s starting to grow on me and I guess it is kinda cute. But I DO have my preferences.”

She carefully lowers herself into a sit; folding her legs in her lap before taking one of his hands in both of hers. Tightly squeeze before using her thumbs to lightly massage his fingers; paying extra attention to each misshapen knuckle before moving down to his wrist. Last week he’d shown a small response to the ministrations; his fingers giving a slight twitch and his heart rate climbing several beats. It had given her a newfound sense of optimism; further fuelling the hope that he was fighting his back. Until the neurologist told her it was likely involuntarily; a common and unexpected hike in the numbers and nothing more than random nerve ‘flinches’.

She waits for it now; eyes on the monitor, anxiously chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Nothing.

“I don’t care what they say,” she informs him, and turns his hand over; setting it on her thigh with the palm facing upwards. “I know you meant to do it. It wasn’t just something random. It was totally intentional. I know it. I know YOU.”

For several minutes she sits in silence. Listening to the beeps and the hums of the various machines as her fingertips glide over his palm; alternating between repeatedly tracing slow, methodical circles and gently picking at the calluses at the bottom of his thumb and each finger. Such big, beautiful hands; able to inflict both immense pain and mind and body-numbing pleasure. Capable of not only taking a life in the most bloody and gruesome ways, but also possessing a tenderness unlike anything she’s ever experienced. Moments when he smoothes hair away from her face and loops wayward strands behind her ears. Or he cradles her face in his hands as he kisses her; her mind and her pulse racing from the juxtaposition of rough, battered skin and smooth, soft lips.

She’s looking at the monitor when she both feels and hears it; the slight bump of his leg against the side of her thigh and the quiet rustle of the skin against sheets. For a brief moment her heart stops and she forgets to brief; eyes snapping away from the numbers displayed on the screen to his face. Hoping and praying for something more; the flutter of eyelashes or the twitch of his lips or even the slightest murmur or mumble from around the tube held securely in his mouth.

“Do that again,” she implores, and tightly squeezes his hand in both her own. “I know I wasn’t imagining it. And I know it wasn’t what the doctor said; something random and involuntary. You MEANT to do it. I know you did. So do it again. Please?”

She returns to massaging his hand; focusing once more on fingers and wrist as a form of encouragement. Alternating behind studying his face for any subtle change and glancing back at his left leg; silently begging and pleading for it to move once.

“Tyler…” Sighing, she tightens her grip on his hand; tears burning her eyes, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice. “...you need to give me something here. I’m not expecting much; I don’t expect you to open your eyes or squeeze my hand or anything big like that. But I need SOMETHING. ANYTHING. That lets me know you’re in there. That you’re not going anywhere. That you’re fighting your way back.”

She wants to break down but refuses to give in to the darkness; adamant to not surrender to her own issues and weaknesses. That’s the last thing he needs; sensing and hearing the pain and the desperation in her voice. Right now he needs her to be the strong one; the steadfast rock that he can depend on.

“I’m worried,” she admits. “They’re really getting on my ass now. About taking you off the machine. I can only fight and argue so much before they bring out the big guns. They’ve already threatened it; taking me to court and getting an order to halt all your care. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them just give up on you. I WON’T let them. But I need your help. I need you to show them that this isn’t a lost cause. That I’m not just fighting a losing battle. So if you could just do SOMETHING…just something really small…to show them that you’re still here. I know you don’t want to die. A man that wants to die doesn’t talk about the things we talked about. They don’t make the plans we did. So please…” She’s unable to contain the tears that slip down her cheeks. “...Tyler…help me. I need your help. I need YOU.”

She waits for several minutes and then issues a heavy, dejected sigh. The optimism quickly fading as he remains motionless; stuck somewhere between the living and dead, frantically searching for the correct exit. And she uses the back of her hand to swipe at the tears that glisten upon her cheeks; silently scolding herself for a moment of weakness during a time that calls for courage and strength.

“I’m going to let you rest,” she says, and slips off the bed. “I’m going to go and have my tea and do my yoga and then take a shower. Once that’s done, I’ll be all yours. But for now…” Her voice trails off as she feels the movement against her hand; the light and feathery brush of a finger along the side of her wrist. And it feels as if she can’t breathe as she glances over her shoulder and down at the mattress; choking back a sob -one of immense relief- at the sight of his hand partially covering hers.

The hope returns.

“I knew it.” Placing a hand on the top of his head, she tunnels her fingers tunnelling in his hair as leans over him. Her eyes closing as she presses a kiss above his left eyebrow and then nuzzles his temple with the tip of her nose. “I KNEW IT.”

*****

She’s asleep when Nik arrives in the late afternoon; awkwardly slumped forward in the bedside chair with both her hands clutching one of Tyler’s and her head resting on his forearm. And she’s stirred awake by a hand passing gently over the top of her head; sliding down her hair and settling in the middle of her back. The fatigue is crippling; emotional and physical exhaustion unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. But the moment that morning has kept her spirits uplifted, and she glances up at Nik and gives her a sleepy smile in greeting.

“You’re going to end up in traction falling asleep like that,” Nik teases.

“Guess I dozed off. I meant to just rest my eyes, but…”

“You need to sleep. Properly. You can’t tell me you’re getting enough rest on that thing,” she nods in the direction of the cot. “Let me get you somewhere to stay. A hotel. An air BNB. Somewhere close by. I know you won’t come as far as my place; even a half-hour flight is way too long. Just let me…”

She’s made the offer several times over the past five months; gently suggesting one of the finer hotels or even a short-term apartment rental. Willing to pick up the tab; the weapons dealing gig and the mercenary business leaving her with a healthy share of disposable income. Despite a fairly lavish lifestyle.

Yawning, Esme smoothes wayward strands of hair from the side of her face. “I’m fine here. I don’t want to leave. I CAN’T leave.”

“He’d want you to take care of yourself. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

“My cup is nowhere near empty.”

Nik arches an eyebrow and stares down at her pointedly.

“It’s not,” she insists. “I know my own cup. I know how much it can take. I’m fine.”

Nik relents. The heels of her simple black pumps click noisily against the polished tile as she heads for the small sitting area; setting her purse and a small duffle bag on the sofa before shrugging out of her trench coat and draping it over the back of one of the armchairs.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back in until sometime next week,” Esme says, as her friend joins her at Tyler’s bedside; pulling over an extra chair and sitting down across from her. “Didn’t you have business in Brunei?”

“I got home last night; I was able to wrap things up quicker than I anticipated. I thought I would come by. Check on things.”

“Things have been good. Well, as good as they can be, I guess.”

Her entire body stiffens as she watches Nik engage with him; the way she smooths his hair away from his eyes and continuously brushes her thumb across his forehead. She tries to tell herself that she’s reading too much into it; the softness of Nik’s face and the tears shimmering in her eyes and tenderness in the way she touches him. She knows of their past; a strictly physical ‘arrangement’ that had gone smoothly until Nik developed feelings and suddenly wanted more than he was willing to give. His brutal honesty had caused friction in both their friendship and their work life; Nik understandably hurt when he’d informed her that he didn’t feel the same way. And never would. If she wanted something like THAT, she’d have to find it somewhere else.

She wonders now if there’s some kind of residual anger on Nik’s behalf. Maybe even some jealousy. It would be a bitter pill to swallow; the man that you wanted not feeling the same way in return. Who’d told you that he’d never be ready to commit to ANYONE that way. Only to do a complete three-sixty less than a year later.

“Any change?” Nik addresses her, a hand now resting on top of one of Tyler’s.

“No.” The lie rolls easily off of her tongue; not in a hurry to share what had taken place earlier. She needs more proof; more instances of voluntary and meaningful movement and interaction before she confides in Nik or even thinks of taking the information to the nurses. She’s been ignored and ridiculed before; excited about progress he seemed to be making only to be told it was ‘all in her head’.

Nik smiles. It’s meant to be comforting. Reassuring. But it’s laced with pity. “Maybe soon.”

*****

They sit together in the seating area on the opposite side of Tyler’s room while a personal support worker tends to trimming his nails and beard. And she has to struggle to hold back the urge to tell the woman to leave; much preferring to do even those tasks herself. It makes her feel useful; helping with even the most basic of needs. As if she finally has some kind of purpose in life; someone that she can nurture and care for and feel as if she’s achieving something meaningful.

Something GOOD.

Perhaps in a way, it’s a form of seeking absolution. A chance to prove that she’s deserving of forgiveness for all the wrongs she’d committed in the course of the last few years. She’s done some questionable things in the name of the job; the lying and the conning and the forming relationships and bonds with people only to lead them to punishment and certain death. The mercenary word is a double-edged sword; a life spent hunting down the most atrocious of people only to find yourself resorting to the most atrocious of behaviour to bring them to justice. And not a justice that involves due process or human rights or judge and jury. But one that included horrendous violence and bloodshed.

And an enormous payout.

Nik has brought food from home; Khoresht-e fesenjan, Persian rice and Sangak bread. Admitting -somewhat sheepishly as she loaded up two plates with the various offerings- that Yaz had prepared it. His interests extending far past soccer, TikTok, and pricey designer clothes. And they engage in small talk as they eat, Esme listening as Nik shares the details of her recent business trip to Brunei. Taking on an extremely high profile client in the weapons dealing department; someone needing to protect themselves and their family -via an army of heavily equipped bodyguards. And for a brief moment, she considers the surreality of the conversation, wondering when -and how- her life had gone off the beaten path and found its way HERE. In this business. Her closest friends…HER FAMILY…gun runners and mercenaries.

“I’ve been doing a little searching,” Nik announces, as pushes her empty dishes and containers of food aside; laying sheets of paper on the top of the coffee table. Images that she’s printed off the internet; different angles taken of a small cabin -situated mere feet from an icy lake- surrounded by towering pine trees and snow-covered mountains. “And l found a little place. It’s perfect.”

“I didn’t realize you were looking to add to your collection of houses,” Esme chides. “Doesn’t really seem your style. Unless maybe it’s for the job. A place to hide people away. A safe house.”

“It’s in Austria. Gmunden. On the outskirts of town. Remote. Peaceful. And it’s not for me. Or the job.”

“Nik…”

‘I know you think I’m overstepping. And maybe I am. But I care about you. And I’m worried about you.”

Leaning forward, Esme scoops up a handful of pictures. The cabin and its surroundings remind her of home. Or what USED to be her home. Raised in a small town in Colorado situated at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. She hasn’t been there in years; estranged from an abusive mother and five older brothers. And she hasn’t had the desire to return; enjoying life in that small little apartment in Prague; settling down in the Czech Republic after troubles with The High Table had caused her to flee New York City.

She sighs as she tosses the photos onto the coffee table. “I can’t afford this.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a gift. From Yaz and I. Somewhere YOU can recuperate. Mentally.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need a place to hide away. It’s beautiful and I’m sure I’d love it there. And I appreciate the offer. I appreciate EVERYTHING you’ve been doing for me. For US. But…”

“You don’t leave the ward. You barely leave this room. You haven’t seen the sun in nearly five months.”

“I see it every day.” She gestures to the wall of windows that give a view of the central courtyard. “Unless it’s raining, of course.”

“You haven’t felt it on your skin. You haven’t breathed in fresh air. You haven’t seen or spoken to anyone NOT connected to all of this.”

“I’ll get a chance to do all of that when this is all over. When it’s all behind us. Once he’s better and he’s out here and we never have to see this place ever again. Once that happens…”

“And if he doesn’t?” Nik gently challenges. “Get better? Get out of here? What then?”

“He WILL. He’s going to open his eyes and he’s going to get off that machine and he’s going to breathe on his own and…”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that he won’t. Why are you giving up on him? Why is everyone in such a hurry? Why does everyone just want to wash their hands of him and count him out? Why…?”

“No one wants to do any of that. But some of us…as much as it hurts…are being realistic. We are being truthful. You’re hanging on to this very thin thread and it is getting thinner every day. We care about YOU. We’re worried about YOU. This isn’t healthy. This vigil you’re holding. Having hope is one thing, but THIS?”

“He’ll be fine,” Esme remains steadfast. “He’ll come out of that coma and he’ll be alright. It’ll take some time, but he’ll do it. He’ll be Tyler again. Why won’t anyone believe me?”

“Look at him! Do you really think this is fair? Leaving him like this? Do you really WANT him to be like this?”

“It’s not permanent. He’s not always going to be this way. This is just temporary. He’s going to be fine. He’ll get back on his feet and…”

“He has a machine breathing for him! Keeping him alive. I know you think you’re doing what’s best for him…”

“I AM. I AM doing what’s best for him. I’m the only one that is. I’m the only person not giving up on him. The rest of you are so caught up in just pulling the plug that…”

“Esme, I care about you. You’re my friend. You’re the closest thing that Yaz and I have to other family. And I am not saying these things to hurt you. I’m saying them to get you to open your eyes to what’s really going on. This isn’t living. He’s not doing this on his own. Machines are doing it for him. How long are you willing to leave him like this? A couple more weeks? Months? Years?”

“Just until there’s a sign. Until something happens where he shows that he’s going to be okay. I just want everyone to give him a chance. To prove you all wrong.”

“It’s been five months. Since you got here. And there’s been no sign. Not even the slightest. Not a twitch of his eyes or his fingers or…”

“His MRI last week showed brain activity,” Esme reminds her friend. “THAT’S something.”

“Then take him off the machine and…”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He needs more time. Just a bit. To get a little stronger.”

“You won’t do it because you’re afraid of what’s going to happen. Keeping him on it ensures he stays alive. There’s no guarantee that he’ll breathe on his own once he’s off it, and that’s what scares you; the fact he might die. As long as you keep him hooked up to that vent, he stays alive and you don’t have to face the worst-case scenario.”

“He just needs a little while longer. Once he’s a bit stronger, I’ll do it. I’ll tell them to take him off. I will. I promise.”

“You said that two months ago. You made that same promise.”

“And he’s improved. Even the doctors have said so. That there’s some sign; that things are functioning okay and there’s some healing going on and…”

“But there’s not enough. He’s nowhere where he should be IF things are working properly. How long are you willing to prolong this? To leave him this way? Another month? Two? Half a year? A year?”

“I don’t know. As long as it takes, I guess.”

“Esme….” Standing, Nik pushes the coffee table aside and then kneels in front of her friend. “....look at me.”

She vigorously shakes her head in refusal.

“Look at me,” Nik sternly repeats, and takes her face in her hands; the light pressure of her fingernails in the other woman’s cheeks enough to force eye contact. “I am NOT saying these things to hurt you. I’m trying to get you to see what you are doing to him. And yourself.”

“I’m doing what he’d want.”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t known him long enough. To know what he’d want in a situation like this.”

“I know what happened. In Dhaka. In that hotel room. You weren’t there. I WAS. I know the things we talked about; the plans that we made. And he’d want to go through with those. So I’m giving him a chance. To get better. So he can have those things.”

“So he can have them or YOU can have them?��

“What’s wrong with wanting them? With wanting time with him? It’s what we talked about; travelling the world, spending time together, getting to know one another. What’s wrong with wanting that?”

“You’re wanting them at his expense.”

“That’s not true. I just want everyone to give him a chance. That’s all I’m asking for. Why can’t you give him that? A chance? He deserves that. He paid his dues, Nik. He’s made his amends. Now give him a goddamn chance. Please.”

“I have been. For months.”

“If it’s the cost you’re worried about, I can find more money. You don’t have to pay for EVERYTHING. I can get it somewhere. I know Tyler has some; at his place in The Kimberley. I don’t know where it’s kept or how much there is exactly, but I know it’s there somewhere. He told me about it. Keeping a million stashed away. You know, for a ‘rainy day’. All you’d have to do is look for it. It’s not like it’s a big place and if it’s not enough, then…”

“I don’t care about money. I don’t want any from you. Or him. I said I would take care of things and I am. No matter how much it ends up costing That’s not what this is about. This is about YOU. And the decisions you’re making. I know you want to believe they’re what’s best for Tyler…”

“They ARE what’s best for him. I am doing what he would want.”

“You don’t know that. Not really. And I think if you were to be totally honest with yourself, you’d admit you’re really doing what’s best for you.”

“That’s not fair, Nik. I know you think I’m being selfish and that I’m…”

“I don’t think that. And I’ve never said it, either. I think YOU think it; when you really stop and you get a chance to realize what exactly is happening. I think you feel that way about yourself. Do you feel that way? Selfish?”

“Sometimes.”

“And then it makes you feel guilty; when you realize you’re doing it more for yourself than you are for him. You’re trying to hold off the inevitable. But for how long? How long can YOU live like this? Staying in this room? Putting your life…a REAL life…on the back burner? How long?”

“As long as I have to.”

“You think Tyler would want that? For you? This kind of life? Do you think he’d want you to spend years like this? That would make HIM selfish. And we both know that he’s not a selfish person. He’s selfless if anything. And he would not want this for you.”

Esme glances towards the bed; the PSW having long departed, leaving him in that lonely, terrifying void between life and death. It’s heartbreak unlike anything she’s ever known; watching someone waste away and become nothing more than a shell of themselves. He deserves so much better; his willingness to sacrifice his own life in order to save her and Ovi had earned him a second chance. An absolution. And despite his inability to interact with her, these last five months have brought them closer together than any amount of travelling could have ever possibly achieved.

******

“You love him.” It’s a statement. Not a question.

She chews on her bottom lip; shaking her head as she looks back at her friend. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do know. But for some reason, you don’t want to admit it. Especially to yourself.”

“There’s no way you can feel it this soon. Love. It takes longer than this. WAY longer.”

“It takes as long as it takes. Whether it’s a quick process or a long, drawn-out one.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a week. It’s not like you can count any of the time after Dhaka; he hasn’t actually been able to put anything into it, you know? It’s all been pretty one-sided; the time we’ve spent together here, the conversation, the bonding. It’s not like he’s been able to take part. Through no fault of his own.”

“I would say that under normal circumstances, perhaps a week IS too soon. But these are hardly normal circumstances. Look at everything you’ve done for him; everything you’ve given up. Do you really think just anyone would do this for someone? A person they barely know? Abandon their entire life…their entire being nearly…to stick by their side? Through all of this?”

“I don’t want him to be alone. Regardless of the outcome. He deserves so much better than that. I know he’s made some mistakes. But he doesn’t deserve to pay for them for the rest of his life. Or WITH his life? I wasn’t going to leave him here, Nik. I was going to let him go through this by himself. And I especially wasn’t going to let him die alone.”

“Because you love him.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m just grasping at straws or if I’m just imagining that we had something really good…really special…in Dhaka. Maybe I’m reading too much into it; the things that happened between us, the things we talked about. Maybe…”

“You’re not. You were there. You know what was said. What happened. In that hotel room. And you know what your heart is telling you. You just have to believe it. TRUST it.”

Heaving a shaky sigh, she blinks back a flood of threatening tears. “It scares me. Feeling this way.”

“Why? Because it is so soon?”

“The last person I trusted? The last person I gave my heart to? They broke me, Nik. Physically. Mentally.”

“Tyler isn’t Mark,” Nik reminds her. “He’s not even close to being him.”

“I told myself that I’d never get this close to anyone ever again. That I’d learned my lesson. That it was just better if I stayed by myself. Didn’t get attached. You don’t get hurt that way, you know? I’ve gotten used to fighting my own battles. Protecting myself. And then I met him and everything changed. I changed.”

“You love him.”

Nodding, a hand swipes at the tears that manage to escape. “I love him.”

“You should tell him.”

“I don’t even know if he can hear me. I want to believe he can; that all those little times he’s reacted to my voice weren’t just something random. Some muscle twitch or nerve reaction. I want to believe that they’ve been intentional; that he’s listening to me and he understands what I’m saying. That he’s fighting his way back. To ME.”

“Do you really want to take a chance? Not saying what you need to say? What if he CAN hear you? And understand what you’re saying. Do you really want to hold back? Because what if something happens and you never get the chance to say those things to him?”

Esme gives a dry laugh. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of better this way, right? Saying them while he’s like this? Can’t get rejected when the person you’re pouring your heart out to is in a coma.”

“That wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t reject you. Unconscious or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I DO know that. I also know you’ll regret it; if he doesn’t make it and you never told him. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t let yourself live with that kind of regret. It’s a horrible existence, believe me.”

“I just don’t want it to blow up in my face. When he wakes up. I don’t want him turning around and saying, ‘I’m flattered. But thanks and no thanks.”

“I know Tyler. More than he even realizes. And trust me when I say that is NEVER going to happen.”

“So just spit out? Hope for the best? Hope he can actually hear me?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last five months? Hoping for the best?”

Esme nods; sniffling noisily as she uses the front of her t-shirt to clear excess tears from her face.

“I know you’re scared,” Nik sympathizes. “For a lot of different reasons. But trust me when I say that there’s no reason to add THIS to your list.”

“I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. Stay behind on that bridge. Stay here. I’d do it time and time again. No questions asked. You know that, right? That I’d do it a million times over?”

Smiling, Nik reaches out to loop wayward strands of hair behind her friend’s ears. “I know.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Tyler Rake fanfic #Extraction fanfic #Tyler Rake x OFC #Chris Hemsworth #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Nik Khan #Esme Drummond #Esme Drummond-Rake

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blueiight · 2 years ago

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is this a safe space? im gonna bring up the antoinette thing. not necessarily the photos being taken from her ig and her going private bc you talked about that already and i agree but just how i don’t understand the response. they said that were going to revisit things that have happened along with what you said. it seems only natural that she would be a part of that to me. i don’t really understand the reaction i guess. or maybe i just saw a few people and most people are coolin. but i just feel like they are telling a story yall. let them. there’s so many scenarios where it makes sense the actress is there to me.

well what i & abnegative on twt thought was like.. louis has shown a propensity for states of mania & delirium.. the second cour of interview is the longest bender between 1860 -1970 everrr for lack of a better way to phrase it.

in the show u have the state of mania he describes his past self being in

The state I was in, I was what... I was manic.

& louis does not describe this, but s1’s finale ends with louis in a disassociative episode in the present + shows us the meltdown he had over lestat’s ‘death’ before the armand reveal..

people talked about louis having visions of lestat no problem which i imagine would require sam reid to film something, but the possibility of maura grace athari there to film louis’s visions of lestat’s side piece of a few odd decades cant be the end of the world. i mean who knows why athari’s even in prague.. what if shes on a regular vacay and this is all for nothing? lol. i imagine reactions could be the classic fujo impulse to react reflexively at a female character ‘breaking up’ the gay pairing mixed w/ the fact that antoinette as a character is in no small part a juxtaposition to louis as ive said before where antoine was essentially a parallel to louis (& later to nicki) and only was revealed to be around in the final book trilogy after all.. i can imagine some people under the assumption the show would do another fakeout w/ antoinette’s death but i dont think theres enough credence for that so far.. in fact making sure antoinette was dead seemed to be the one thing louis & claudia agreed upon in 1x07 lol but who knows man who knows. theres a lot they can do, but i dont think its fair to fall into camps of definitive much less even a paranoid line of speculation off one picture on a [private?] instagram. its summertime and prague’s a decent sized city that gets tourists🤷🏾

#yn.#yn answers #iwtv #idk if im a safe space but u can always be real w me

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servarreginam · 2 years ago

Text

the crownless king in the frigid north

For mirae, who wanted some thoughts on Saber in Rigel. And oh boy do I have thoughts.

(Cut for length. I mean it.)

First and foremost, let's look at some stats. "But tches," I can hear you say, "it is literally the first sentence of this meta". I know, I know. Now, as far as his role as a unit and as a character in the story, Saber is most easily compared to Lukas in Alm's story: he's the experienced older man who leads the plucky group of kids from the start of their journey, and keeps them safe along the way. They're meant to be bulkier and easier to use units to allow the player some leeway in their playstyle in the early chapters of the game, but if we look a little closer we find something interesting.

Here I'm going to show two sets of bases and two sets of growths:

Set One:

Set Two:

Just by looking are you able to identify which is meant to be the speedster sword unit, and which is meant to be the armored tank unit? I'd forgive you if you aren't - both sets are remarkably similar, and both have a notable emphasis on HP and DEF, which is the Armored archetype's wheelhouse. (If you were curious, Saber's set is on top giggity)

Now why did I bring out the stats so early? These are his base stats to start Celica's journey, and we're here to talk about Saber's time in Rigel.

Well, I think when Saber was in the Rigelian army, he was an armored unit. And I think this shapes his entire skillset and even the development of his personality as he went from hotshot armyman to hotter shot mercenary extraordinaire. I even think it has a factor in him losing his eye.

But we'll get to those in a minute. Let's take it back all the way to the start of Saber's military career. Or rather, his father's.

We learn from the Accordion book that Saber grew up as part of a poor family. Well, we learn he grew up in a family that wasn't noble - but from everything else that we learn about Rigel, especially with regard to its outlook on the caste system, we understand that the nobles consider it to be a very "us vs them" situation, and we can infer that anyone who is not a noble (or even a specific class of noble) was quite poor. And historically, those who could not farm and were not of a merchant class ended up in the military, ergo it's incredibly likely that Saber himself came from a long line of hard Rigelian military men.

During Saber's recruitment conversation, we learn that despite his reputation, he's hesitant to put his life in danger - while that seems like an obvious statement, Saber finds it noteworthy enough to bring it up twice in the span of a couple sentences. And then again when the group decides to fight the Pirate King (which he is very vocal about avoiding). This leads me to believe that he has some disdain for the sorts of men who lay down their lives easily, for grand ideals or for a supposed grander purpose or otherwise - which further leads me to believe that his father died in battle.

It might seem like a stretch, but given the hyper-masculine, battle-focused society that we understand Rigel is, I feel it's a logical conclusion. There are only so many routes available to a military man, after all, and I feel like Saber's hyper-vigilance of his own mortality isn't just a consequence of being his own boss.

This is not to say that I think Saber is without ideals, and certainly not when he enlisted in the Rigelian army. His face-heel turn from army man to private contractor has a certain feel to it that seems most analogous to "grew up Conservative, became disillusioned by how bad things are, becomes Libertarian" in modern contexts - indeed, he would have needed a reason to join the army to begin with, or at the very least a justification beyond simply "this is how things are done".

When Saber joined, I believe he truly thought that he'd help make a difference - either the Rigelian propaganda machine is very strong, or he was naïve and optimistic, or both. Regardless, because he's described as an "ace" in the army, it's clear to me that he tried, he put forth genuine effort during his enlistment, and due to a combination of perhaps some natural talent and this own enthusiasm to make a change in the world, not to end up like his old man, he rose in the ranks quite quickly.

Probably too quickly.

Once more from Accordion, we learn that an unnamed noble set a trap for him which resulted in the loss of his eye. Since Rigel is so stringent about its belief in divine right of kings and hierarchy of nobles, it's easy to see what happened - Saber was a hotshot and performed well in his role as a soldier, and this pissed off someone who was richer but less capable. It is unclear what the trap is or how it was set, but I don't believe it was meant to be a fatal trap - I think it was meant to be something that put a man of lower status in his place and failed terribly.

I've mentioned already that I believe Saber was likely an armored unit, due to his stats, and I have more thoughts about this which I will go into in a bit, but with regard to the trap, I believe it was most likely an ambush using crossbows - a one-on-one ambush wouldn't have gone well for his rival, and I think he knew that, and arrows wouldn't have been effective against someone with Saber's defensive capabilities. Crossbows, however, can pierce most plate armor. Ergo I think it's likely that when Saber was caught in this trap, one missed, and ended up taking his eye out with it.

We learn that this was a separate event from his departure from the army, and Rigel at large, which tells us that this incident - while it surely infuriated him - wasn't enough to make him want to leave. If anything, this likely spurred him on further to reach even greater heights.

And since I mentioned his departure from the army, let's talk about that really fast. Once again citing Accordion, we learn that Saber was "betrayed by someone he considered his best friend", who he then challenged to a duel. Since dueling was illegal, Saber became a criminal because his opponent died. And while it's all very Aaron Burr, this is quite a dense couple of sentences, so let's unpack it a bit.

First, let's address the fact that this is clearly after Saber has been mutilated, as he lost his eye before leaving the army. This means that this asshole, even after losing an eye, was still so good at what he did, that he couldn't (or wouldn't) hold back just enough to prevent his opponent dying during battle.

We don't have much of a timeframe, necessarily, but we do know that Saber is 34 when Celica recruits him, and he's been doing the mercenary gig for quite a while by that point. We can reasonably narrow the window of his time in the army to probably around 20-25, give or take a few years on either end. If we assume that he was rising through the ranks the first couple of years of his enlistment before losing his eye in his early-twenties, this still means that he recovered and retrained himself and rose back to his previous skill level in only a couple further short years.

I cannot emphasize how insane that is.

Second, let's address the fact that he challenged this man to a duel. Duels, especially illegal duels, are an incredibly interesting plot point to put into the history of a man we're supposed to believe is a mercenary lacking in scruples. Duels carry such a heavy insinuation of the concept of honor and the preservation thereof, and adherence to fairplay.

Accordion is specific that Saber was the one who was betrayed, and Saber was the one who challenged his once-best friend to a duel, which emphasizes to me that there was still some lingering idealism in him - not defending his life, which we understand he is more than capable of, but defending this intangible concept of his honor. This is Rigel, where combat is king, and Saber is combat-tested - he could easily have stricken the man down (we know he could, because he did that thing). But instead of simply lashing out, he challenged the other man to a duel.

For those who don't know, historically, dueling isn't just an opportunity to kill someone. They're highly ritualized humiliation, designed to spank a man and do him dirty in front of his best friend (the second) and make him bear the burden of shame forever. The challenge tells me that Saber wanted the other man to live with the knowledge of exactly how badly he fucked up - the death, and his subsequent flight, tells me that his rage wouldn't let him leave the other man alive.

Which is strange, to me. Up to this point, with all of my overthinking, and with his following turn as one of the better units in Celica's army, how could a man as skilled as Saber have overdone it so much, when it's clear that his intention was otherwise? Was it arrogance, was it his opponent's ineptitude?

Or was it really rage?

Which brings us to point number three in regards to the duel: what are they fighting over? This was Saber's best friend, someone who fought alongside him, understood him, saw the warrior on the battlefield and presumably got to know the man underneath the cocksure battle prowess. To give us a hint, let's harken back to Saber's mutilation: a noble, angered by this hotshot peasant, jealous of the good name this nobody was making for himself.

Further, I think that his best friend was a member of minor nobility - not of high enough station to avoid the army, but perhaps of good enough pedigree to easily get into an officer's academy (hey, that's us!). It's certainly unlikely for those of lower financial straits to betray someone they consider a comrade - studies have shown those with less money to be more generous, and vice-versa - and with Saber's stratospheric rise in the army, I believe it's likely that he ended up rubbing elbows with quite a few nobles of similar rank to him.

What do best friends betray each other over? What else but love? Could it have been an event less than this? I struggle to come up with something that would be so important to both parties - both for the betrayal, and for Saber's insistence on defending his honor. I believe that as time went on, Saber caught the eye of a woman outside of his station (or vice-versa), and they fell in love, and frankly I think this pissed some people off.

Now, I connect the two events (Saber's mutilation, and his betrayal leading to his flight from Rigel), but they're marked as separate events, presumably with some time in between them (as I mentioned earlier). However, they're some of the most important events that a young Saber could possibly go through, and at the hands of people who want to push him down and force him to see his proper place, a commoner allowed to exist amongst nobles.

Between his mutilation, between the nebulous betrayal (which I think led to a loss of love for Saber), all the humiliation that must have been attempted to drag him down - by this point, Saber must have been well and truly furious, blinded with his rage and his disillusionment of the army, of Rigellian society as a whole. It's easy to see why, even though he must have initiated the duel in good faith, he lost control.

And so we come to the final arena of his life before he meets Celica - the journey from Decorated and Capable Army Man to a man who "smells like a tavern floor" on an island in a different country.

I mentioned at the top of this essay (pensiveclown) that I believe Saber started his combat career as an armored unit, due to his stats being so similar to Lukas's. I believe it's around the time he leaves the army that he, slowly, piece by piece, starts to abandon the identity of a Rigelian soldier in full plate. In a practical sense, what this means for a man who's already trained in combat is that he's suddenly going to seem a lot stronger and a lot faster in comparison (but with perhaps a little less control over his swings, indicated by his slightly lower base Skill).

As a man who's already trained formally in military combat and tactics, and been tested over the course of several years (enough to rise head and shoulders over his peers, even handicapped), the transition from soldier to mercenary must have been an absolute cakewalk.

Very suddenly, this man who has spent his entire adult life thusfar being commanded to kill (and possibly die) for another person's higher ideals, has the option to say fuck that, and he's quite at his leisure to take whichever jobs he chooses - and we see that he does. We see that he's quite choosy with what he does, but that he doesn't shy away from jobs that others consider too dangerous.

Because, I mean. Look at those stats. With a skillset like that, how could he resist making a name for himself again, as a middle-finger to the country that failed him so horribly.

#out of character #meta #blows a kiss to the sky for the ping in headcanons #this turned out much longer than i was anticipating #i tried to keep it as cohesive a narrative as i could but there's a lot

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unknownjpegs · 9 months ago

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moby dick

“There,” Nomi says, softly petting up along Matilda’s neck. “This is very handy shit, Til.” She turns the aresol spray can around in her hands. Unsurprised that Matilda would have hairspray with SPF in it. No hair part sunburn for her; Matilda had everything, really. Thinks of everything. Nomi curls her finger around a long strand of her hair and softly tucks it back up into the bun she’s wearing it in.

Lark stands there, hands in his little pastel blue shorts smiling. The sun is behind him, which makes all his wild dyed blond hair look like its a bit on fire. Sometimes when Nomi catches Lark looking at her friend, he has this far off sort of distanced look. It says, holy shit, I’m lucky and she wants to shake his hand over it, because he is.

When Matilda rises up from the blanket, swiping hands over her thighs to wipe away imaginary sand, he steps forward. Lark’s finger toys with the zipper of her suit, pulling it down a little bit further and exposing the skin of her stomach. It’s like he forgets they’re standing in front of the little beach camp set up, because the back of his knuckles brush over the skin above Matilda’s belly button.

Benny had jokingly said to him, every guy alive is gonna stare. And Lark had said, that’s alright, I know how to fight.

She watches them go then, Matilda with a surf board slung under her arm. Lark following with the volleyball tucked under his. One of his hands dances across her lower back—he trails her all the way to the edge of the water. Gets his last little seconds being hip to hip with her. It’s soft. Cute. Makes Nomi sigh.

She hates the beach. Truly not built for it. She burns, even with sunscreen and she hates sand. Can’t figure out why a single person would willingly put parts of their body on something this disgusting. So she stays tucked up under the umbrella, on the blanket with her book and the best part is that Benji joins her.

He’s laid out, hands settled over his stomach with Xavier’s baseball cap over his face. It’s a faded eggplant color with an angry raisin cartoon on it that says RAISIN HELL. It’s almost corny enough to be endearing, and if the graphic isn’t, the way he’d knelt down and softly put it over Benji’s face had been. Shh, he’d said to Nomi with a finger raised to his lips. The boys sleeping. And Benji had slapped the back of his hand over Xavier’s thigh and made him laugh as he scrambled back to the volleyball game.

Benji had asked if she’d read out loud, which had startled her a little. They’re in a private enough spot that the noise from the volleyball game (and Mouse, chasing children, laughing wildly) isn’t reaching them as bad. Nomi finds the wind pleasant and even that isn’t too loud so she thumbs a cream colored page and does as he asks. Softly at first, maybe just to him, until she gets into the story and reads a little louder. With enthusiasm, maybe she even laughs a bit here and there because Moby Dick is so ironically funny sometimes.

After a while of it, she pauses though, mid sentence even, and looks over at him. He’s wearing muted pastel pink, a matching soft top and shorts and it looks good against his dark skin, the contrast real pretty. Nomi’s thumb brushes over the pages of the worn out paperback a little. She leans then, one hand to the blanket, the book sliding into her lap as her other hand lifts up the baseball cap belonging to his boyfriend.

Benji’s head rolls slightly to look at her. His brown eyes blink, lazy and content. And then Nomi breathes in a little, because suddenly it feels less like she’s looking at him and more like she’s Xavier looking at him. For a moment, it feels like she’s him, that big red head in love with this man. Because, God, he’s beautiful. His cheeks are a little ruddy from all the sun, his eyes lidded with thick dark eye lashes. His skin has a little shine of sweat to it, beads of it collecting across his throat. Nomi’s heart does a strange flip in her chest as he blinks.

It’s like she’s suddenly noticing that he has such heavy eyebrows and that his nose is curved in a way that makes perfect sense for his facial structure, brings all his features in perfectly. That his facial hair is thick and soft looking, like if you rubbed your cheek against his, it wouldn’t hurt, it would feel nice. Benji blinks again, and he smiles in such a gentle way—like he’s bone deep happy right now, here on this blanket, in the summers heat, like this is all he’s ever wanted—that Nomi gets it. Sometimes Xavier stares at Benji with a look on his face that suggests something is crashing around inside his head, loose and wild. She gets it.

Nomi remembers what it was like with Benny too. Like sleeping and suddenly waking up and realizing; he’s so pale you can see the blue veins in his thin wrists, he has a dimple in his left cheek when he smiles in that sleazy way he does, he walks with his hands in his pockets and he likes standing behind people because he doesn’t like others behind of him and his hair always looks bad because he can’t stop fussing with it and he’s beautiful, really, pretty and soft looking sometimes.

She remembers looking at Maran and realizing his hair was getting too long, to the bothering point and remembers shyly asking if she could be the one to shave it down. She recalls, in perfect clarity, like she will remember looking at Benji and finding him more beautiful than the sun, that her slim, pale hand fit perfectly between Maran’s shoulder blades. She even remembers leaning in and kissing the top of his head because that feeling had overwhelmed her and then sneezing from the little hairs.

“M’awake,” he says and Nomi gently puts the baseball cap back down.

“Okay,” she says, a high note in her voice before she clears her throat. “Good, ‘cause we’re at my favorite part. Ishmael is about to start in on whales.”

“He’s been doin’ that the whole book?”

“Just wait,” Nomi says, laughing as she picks the book back up and cracks the spine for the hundredth time to get it to open perfectly. She scoots closer to Benji. She lets her hand idly pet into his dark curly hair. Like petting a cat, she thinks fondly, with a rare smile on her face. “He gets weirder about the whales, trust me.”

—

“That broken?”

Xavier hold’s the ice cold bottle of beer to his nose and shakes his head as best as he can. He’d smudged off a little of the blood, the back of his hand somewhat wet with it.

“Noses are just dramatic,” he says, pulling away the beer. He clears his throat, because some of that blood had slid down his throat. “I’ll get a really hot black eye out of this, that’s all.” The volleyball had definitely made a horrible cracking sound against his face, but Xavier had probed all along the cartilage. It burned, but the beer helped. The cold, but also, Xavier gets a canine under the top and pops it, catches the cap as it comes off and takes a long pull.

He sighs dramatically when he wipes the back of his mouth and then he and Maran are staring at each other.

Sometimes, they occasionally still have those moments where Maran has this clear, you’re dating my best friend look on his face and Xavier has that you’re my boyfriends best friend look on his face. They’re not bad looks; because they get along. They can’t not get along. It’s not that Benji tethers them together (he does, really) but that they have so much in common occasionally. Make nearly the same joke, in different cadences, or have ideas on the same linear path. It had been easy, natural and effortless even if sometimes, it’s weird.

Xavier isn’t jealous, but sometimes, he wishes he could have been there, along for some of the stories they tell. Big, remember when moments that he finds himself wishing he could superimpose himself into. But, loving also that Benji has these moments with someone. Makes loving Maran also easy, because he got all that, with him. Makes Xavier’s heart feel a little too big sometimes, like all these people keep piling in and he likes the stretch.

He holds out the beer in offering with a smile.

“Aw, you sh-shouldn’t have.” Benny’s hand snakes around Xavier, snatching up the beer. The pale slip of a blond man slides easily between the two of them. “Nasty, what the fuck? Is this a Corona?” He then immediately shoves it back into Xavier’s open palm, sneering at him. Xavier watches Benny’s other hand as it dips a finger into Maran’s swim shorts, drags all the way across the length and snaps it. He’s got a slippery look on his face as he pats the man’s olive toned skin, darkened somewhat from the sun.

Ew, Xavier thinks briefly. Wait, is this how people feel looking at me and Benji? And then he immediately takes a few more swigs of beer.

Benny’s gone then, as quickly as he’d interrupted. Turns instead on the innocent pair under the umbrella.

“You have bad taste in men,” Xavier comments. He watches Benny take the book from Nomi’s hand. He tosses it down and slowly pulls her up. She’s squirming around, pale legs kicking as he hefts her over his shoulder. She’s yelping, no, Benny, stop, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Maran, stop him. Maran! “But like, really good taste otherwise.” Maran snorts, taking the beer from Xavier and killing it in one quick drain.

“Well, he’s free now, yeah, mate? Can go slobber on Benji like you been wantin’ the whole day,” it’s a quick and painless jab because he isn’t wrong. Half the reason the volleyball had gotten him right in the face was because he’d been staring at Benji. The umbrella didn’t fully obscure him from the sunlight. It caught against one leg, one dark calf. His foot would occasionally twitch like he was sleeping. Maybe he was. Looked so fucking content laying there with Nomi.

So when Maran inevitably ends up following Benny and Nomi to the waters edge, Xavier does wander over to their little spot they’ve staked on the beach. Benji hasn’t moved, even though Benny has definitely ruined the little bit of peace—he lays there, still, with his hands tucked up under his head, the hat Xavier had worn to keep sun out of his face on Benji’s instead.

He sinks onto the shorter man’s thighs, straddling there. Xavier leans over, bites the hat and tosses it to the side, grinning toothily when Benji’s face is revealed to him. His hands flatten on either side of Benji, fingers curling into the blanket Matilda had brought along. Benji smells like summer; like sunscreen and sand and the beach and himself. There’s a magnet in his chest that brings Xavier’s right to him, snaps them together nice and snug.

“Why’s your nose bleedin’?”

“Don’t ask,” Xavier replies, laughing and kisses him.

#writing #hj #nw #bp #xw #wow the beach episode #bp x nw

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monocaelia · 3 years ago

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the kisses they give

sometimes a kiss is all you need to know that they love you.

feat. childe, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, and xiao

genre : headcanons. fluff. slight angst for xiao.

note : a pick-me-up cause these past few weeks have not been nice to me TT i hope everyone's weeks have been good though! lots of love <3

❀ childe

to childe, giving affection is like breathing. he loves showering those he holds close to his heart with love or gifts or whatever he deems necessary to show that they mean the world to him. and kissing is no exception.

considering cheek kissing is a common greeting in sneznhaya (russia) and he grew up in a family where he was heavily doted on and spoiled by his elder siblings and parents, childe has absolutely no problem kissing the people he loves as a greeting or as his form of affection.

which is why cheek kissing or showering your face in kisses is the harbinger's go-to when it comes to loving you.

childe's kisses are filled with love and pure affection reserved for you, as if you needed him or anyone to tell you that directly. you would be able to tell from the way his slightly chapped lips peck the skin all around your face and from the way his eyes of ocean blue nearly twinkle when they focus on you.

due to his duties of working with the fatui and being stationed anywhere in teyvat, childe hardly gets any time to spend with you. so he treasures the moments shared with you during his time off.

the door to your home would slam open with a loud thunk and his hurried footsteps would get closer and closer to you before you're swept into his arms, your laughter intermingling with his as the ginger spins you around the room. it's not long before the spinning stops and your vision is obscured by orange tufts as the cheeky sneznhayan plants kisses all over your face.

no amount of protests will stop him until he's gotten his fair share of loving from you. and even if you do manage to wiggle your way out of his arms, childe would see that as a competition to see who was quicker; you getting away or the harbinger and his hungry lips. [spoiler alert: it's him and his hungry lips, to no one's surprise]

mornings on his days off aren't any better. usually they start off quiet with the golden morning rays seeping through the curtains of your shared room and the faint chirps of the morning doves outside.

but it always ends up in a fit of giggles and smooches when the sneznhayan is in need of your attention once more and decides to kiss you awake. despite your light protests for the man trapping you in his arms so he can kiss you again and again, it's not like you ever want him to stop kissing you.

each kiss that finds its way onto your face [and occasionally your lips] is proof that childe, your sweet ajax, is absolutely enamored with you and you wouldn't have it any other way.

❀ diluc

despite how diluc is around his brother, the young master of dawn winery is not one to shield his heart from those close to him. diluc is just not as affectionate as others are in a relationship, so don't expect him to shower you in kisses when he gets home or scream at the top of his lungs how much he loves you, though it would be a funny sight to see.

instead, he shows his love through his actions. shielding you from the rain with his coat, bringing you closer to him when you both have something to do in dragonspine so you won't get cold, ensuring that you get enough sleep while he stays up to keep watch of the team. it's subtle, but enough to tell you he cares.

kisses on your knuckles are what diluc would give you due to the polite and gentle nature of the kisses.

diluc would kiss your knuckles as a polite greeting, as he was raised to have respectful manners. when he first did it to you, you were quite flustered at seeing the vigilante bow before you and gently plant his lips on the curves of your knuckles.

however, now he gives them to you in more intimate situations. like after you've cleaned him up after a rather rough evening patrolling the grounds of mondstadt. diluc had come home to you in a disheveled state; ponytail messed up, dirt coating his clothing and face, porcelain skin covered in scrapes and bruises. luckily, nothing horrible on the surface.

you're shocked at the state he's in and quickly clean him up. you don't say a word to him however, in fear that he already had gone through enough and you scolding him would just add more to the weight on his shoulders. your fingers brush against diluc's skin and he leans towards your touch, the gentle and caring nature tending to his heart.

he kisses your knuckles, lips warm and soft, as a thank you for taking care of him and as a silent way of showing you how much you mean to him. you're the only one he trusts to see him this injured and the only one he's comfortable enough to let his walls come crumbling down.

diluc kisses your knuckles as a gentle reminder that he is devoted to you and only you. he finds you one night standing alone on his balcony, eyes glued to the vast orchards of grapes that surrounded the winery. it's hard to hide what you're thinking of from the attentive eyes of the vigilante beside you.

when you tell him your concerns that he should marry someone with more influence than you, diluc's brows furrow and his frown deepens. you are the one he loves, and he could care less about the winery or his business. he hesitates when you shy away from his touch, but you quickly find his hand again to hold.

the thick wall that shields diluc's heart crumbles when he's around you, and nothing proves his loyalty and true feelings more than his gentle kisses along your knuckles.

❀ kaeya

a playful and cheeky person, kaeya is someone who makes you want more and more of him. from his mischievous smile to the way your name melts off of his tongue. you can't help but miss his presence when he leaves for a mission and misses a night at the bar with you.

it's hard to miss the smirk that grows on kaeya's face when he catches word of you ever missing him. and it's even more difficult to avoid him as the calvary captain needs to tease you about it and shows up at your work or at your door to bring up the news to you, much to your dismay.

kaeya gives you brief, yet enticing kisses at the corner of your mouth to not only tease you with the idea of wanting more from him, but also because he absolutely loves to fluster you.

the calvary captain kisses you goodbye one night while dropping you off at home after a night drinking at angel's share. you weren't expecting it at all, but maybe you should have once you saw the playful glint in your companion's eye and the cheeky grin growing wider each second you stepped closer and closer to your door.

it's a quick kiss, short yet long enough to feel how soft kaeya's lips were against your skin and how good he smelled from the brief proximity. dazed, you can only stare at the captain with your jaw slack as he chuckled and closed your mouth for you so you wouldn't "catch flies."

kaeya's kisses are even more dangerous when he has an excuse to kiss you. while catching lunch at angel's share one afternoon, his eye catches a piece of your sandwich at the corner of your mouth while you're telling him a wild story about how the traveller killed all of timmie's pigeons one day as a bet.

you don't even have time to react as kaeya's cold hand grabs a hold of your chin and presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, successfully grabbing the grain from your face. the familiar scent of his fruity cologne fills your senses and it takes everything in you to not pull the calvary captain in.

there's a knowing smile on his face when he pulls away and sees your expression. his tongue pokes out from his lips as he licks it clean, smile growing when your eyes flit down to watch his movements.

it's hard to judge kaeya's true intentions when his kisses are so brief and you barely miss them, but everyone around the two of you can see the way the captain's gaze always lingers on you when you're storming away from his teasing lips.

❀ kazuha

polite and yet, always the romantic, kazuha isn't a stranger to showing or receiving affection. although he's reserved and grew up surrounded by nobility, affection is nothing the inazuman traveller strays far from.

fleeting and soft touches are what kazuha is fond of, his fingers always brushing against yours when you walk beside him or linking your pinkies together when you sleep after you've had a nightmare.

inner wrist kisses are ideal for someone like kazuha to give; intimate yet delicate, private enough where only you can see and feel the love he gives you through the simple kiss.

kazuha kisses you on the wrist in the intimate moments shared with one another on the crux. it's always when the two of you are alone and admiring the night sky and the sound of the waves gently brushing up against the side of the boat. the rest of the crew is either sleeping or drinking with the captain on the other side of the boat.

you brush his bangs aside, fingers lingering on the side of his face as you admire the beauty that the inazuman traveller holds.

he always catches you off guard by complimenting you in the most poetic ways. "the stars pale in comparison to you, my love." or "every time i look at you, my heart flutters as if carried by the sea breeze. you alone make the stars dance as if they are rejoicing that you were born into this world, the most beautiful and the pride of the universe."

his laughter floats in the air, as if twinkling like wind chimes dancing in the wind, seeing your flustered reaction to his words and he presses a quick kiss to the inner wrist of the hand that remained by his face. truly, you are the most mesmerizing being to ever grace teyvat.

kazuha's kisses are gentle against the skin of your wrist when he wakes to sound of your gentle humming. he had fallen asleep while resting with you underneath the shade of a thundersakura tree, though it's hard to blame him when your fingers are delicately brushing through his white strands of hair.

his heart swells seeing you so at ease beside him, with your ethereal smile and the way the sun seeping through the branches of the tree illuminated you like the god you were. celestia above must be so jealous of your divinity, but they could never have you so long as he was here to love you.

kazuha wishes there were more words to describe how much he loves you, but no words could ever describe how enamored he feels when you simply gaze his way. so kazuha kisses one of your wrists in hopes of showing you the devotion he has for you.

❀ xiao

xiao isn't one for affection. he doesn't seem the appeal to it: how mortals like the enjoy the feeling of another's hand in theirs or how they find peace with the feeling of another pair of lips on their own confused the poor adeptus.

not like he found any need for it anyways. being affectionate to the one you love was a mortal tradition and what did xiao know about being a mortal. more so, did he even deserve to be loved the way mortals loved one another?

xiao finds it terrifying to love you, a mortal that could easily succumb to the aftermath of his karmic debt. this debt was his own burden to carry and you don't deserve to love a corrupted being like him, someone who only brings despair and destruction to anyone who crosses his path, innocent or not.

forehead kisses are the only kisses xiao allows himself to give you.

they're intimate enough to communicate his feelings for you without saying a word, yet simple enough so that he doesn't overwhelm himself with your presence.

they're to bid you farewell before he leaves for one of his missions as the sole adeptus of liyue. xiao does not know how long he'll be gone, or even if he'd return to your warm embrace. and so, his featherlight kisses are pressed to your forehead before he disappears without a trace, leaving you to worry about his safety on the deck of the wangshu inn.

xiao gives you forehead kisses as an apology for being the one you love. anyone else could have given you a better love than he ever could, could even promise you a future together and grow old with you.

you deserve someone who could openly love you and show you off to those around them, someone who didn't have a high chance of never coming home. all the adeptus has done for you was give you the crystalflies whose light reminded him so much of the stars that inhabited your eyes and the slightly crinkled qingxin flower he picked up on the way back to you.

xiao wonders why you're so happy when he brings you those small gifts when someone else could be giving you gifts of a grander scale.

and yet he's also thankful for you for finding love in someone like him, for showing him the gentleness and compassion the adeptus seldom received in his lifetime. the pain surrounding his heart ebbs away every time you smile at him, like the warm spring sun melting away the frigid winter ice.

one day, xiao would be brave enough to kiss you the way you kiss him, to indulge in all of the different ways he could properly show you just how much you meant to him. but for now, his lips against your forehead is enough.

#genshin #genshin impact #childe x reader #childe headcanons #kaeya x reader #kaeya headcanons #diluc x reader #diluc headcanons #xiao x reader #xiao headcanons #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #didi writes #kazuha x reader #kazuha headcanons

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astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

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Brothers Accidentally Make the MC Cry

Hello, this is the obligatory italics blurb that I have to put under my titles or else things look weird and it bothers me. Don’t mind the blurb. The blurb is a friend. (Though I could start writing pieces of a little story up here just to see if anyone even reads them… Hm…. Ideas, ideas...)

Warning: Angsty

Lucifer

If he were being honest, he’d say that a part of him had always feared this would happen...

Lucifer likes to tell himself that he’s invincible, but everyday stresses can get to him just like anybody else. And like other people, he may not always act his best when he’s dealing with a full plate…

The MC hadn’t meant to make his day harder when they told him that they accidentally broke a lamp. It was a genuine accident! But Lucifer was still dealing with the fallout from another one of Mammon’s failed schemes, Satan had cursed all of his ties again, and Beel had eaten every scrap of food in the House… for the second time that week...

In comparison to everything else, a broken lamp was quite minor, but for Lucifer it was just the last straw and, for just a moment, he lost control…

His palm slamming against his desk hard enough to snap its legs and send it crashing to the ground. He scarcely knew what kind of look he had on his face, but whatever it was, he had made his human jump back in shock...

Really, it was silly for them to assume that he had gotten that upset over a lamp, but he saw tears starting to gather in their eyes all the same as they stammered out a quiet apology…

It felt like an ice spike to the heart. Damn his temper… He really ought to have been more careful with them after… well, everything he’d done before…

He was quick to go over to them, catching their face with his hand and giving them the most sincere apology he could muster while wiping away their tears… Overreactions aren’t becoming of him and he hated to cause them pain…

He, of course, took care of the lamp himself as penance and on the surface that seemed to be it (but to anyone paying attention, he had softened up on the MC considerably for at least a week. They probably could have sworn in front of Diavolo and he’d let it slide, he felt that bad about it...)

“I’m sorry, MC, I shouldn't have reacted like that… You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise… Please, there’s no need to cry…”

Mammon

Oh? What's that? His heart is now in a million pieces now...? Well, that seems fair…

He and the MC were out on one of his gambling nights and he was actually on a killer winning streak for once! Jackpots around every corner, he was rolling in it!

The MC had tried to convince him to just throw in the towel early, take his winnings while he had them and bail, but he wasn’t hearing any of it.

In hindsight, their insistence must have really shown how much the MC cared about him and wanted him to keep his earnings... but in the heat of the moment all he saw was someone trying to spoil his one night of fun.

To be fair to Mammon, it’s rather rare for him to lose control of his anger like he did. But when they tried to pull him away from the roulette table, he genuinely snarled at them and told them to get lost...!

Fortunately, he regretted his actions immediately after he saw the hurt in their eyes…

If their goal had been to get him to step away from the table, they achieved it. But only because he got up to pull them into a hug while stammering out apologies… Watching them actually shed tears hurt worse than any rope Lucifer had ever tied around him...

He spent the rest of the night away from the casino and trying to cheer up his human like his life depended on it... Seeing them in pain just tore him up that much.

"Ah, come on MC… I'm sorry, honest…! Please don't look at me like that, I'll do whatever ya want okay...? Just no more cryin…"

Leviathan

Now thinks he's the worst, literally the worst. Lower than lesser demon spit. Lower than Cerberus' shit. Lower than… well, you get the idea…

Levi can get very… intense when things involving his passions are brought up. This can be a fairly endearing quality… but it also means he gets disproportionately impassioned about seemingly minor things.

Levi ended up snapping at the MC when they let him over-sleep one day. This wasn’t unusual for them to do as Levi’s sleep schedule was notoriously shitty, but they shouldn't have done it that particular day…

An item he wanted on Akuzon was going to go live that morning and he had to be awake to participate in the bidding. He had mentioned it to the MC the day before, but he blew past it so quickly they didn’t actually remember…

He found out that he missed the bidding after he woke up and he was pissed. Genuinely enraged that they didn’t remember to wake him up to the point that he was shouting and baring his fangs!

… Really it was not a good look and he should have known better.

The look of fear and the tears gathering in the MC’s eyes snapped him out of it like a hard slap to the face, and somehow, it stung even more than that would’ve... It wasn’t long before he was crying along with them, practically begging for forgiveness...

He made it up to them by having a private showing of their favorite movie using a projector in the Planetarium, cuddling with them under a blanket while still, occasionally, muttering apologies under his breath.

“M-MC…? MC don’t cry…!! Please don’t cry, I- I’m sorry!! I… MC… I’m so sorry…”

Satan

Like Lucifer, he always worried this would happen and he hated when it finally came to pass…

He’d spent all his life learning how to restrain his temper, but it’s not a perfect science. There are the occasional times where the heat of the moment gets the better of him and he does something he regrets…

The MC had walked in on him one morning while he was fuming about Beel leaving the fridge empty again. It hadn’t been the first time they’d seen him like this, but this time he was absolutely furious.

He had told Beel again and again and again to get his snacking under control or to, you know, get up early and get more food so the whole family wouldn’t spend the morning starving but noooo! Mr. I’m Hungry never thinks about anything but his own stomach and then leaves whoever’s on kitchen duty to pick up the slack like some dimwitted muscle-bound meathead and THEN-!!

When the MC tried to take his arm to calm him down, he jerked their hand away from him and roared right in their face. He may not be a lion, but the full sound of a pissed off demon could make humans have breakdowns all on its own…

Which was more or less what the MC began to do as he gripped their wrist, panicking while taking shallow, stuttered breaths…

Satan's anger left him swiftly and he let them go, only reaching out to touch them again when he tried to wipe the tears from their cheeks… He had to coo and beg for them to calm down, which was only so successful because he was fighting back tears himself…

On a scale of 1-10 of the worse things his temper has ever done, he'd rank this a firm 200... He refused to touch them for about a week afterwards and it took a long time for him to trust himself again… He just didn't want to hurt them...

"MC?? MC…? M… Oh no… MC, I'm so sorry, I would never hurt you! I… I wouldn't dare… please believe me..."

Asmodeus

Oh baby! Sweetheart! Love of his life!! No, please no… don't subject him to this…

MC and Asmo were out dancing and some witch came by to try and flatter him.

Now, Asmo is a flirt normally, but get a few drinks in him and well… Let's just say his love of attention overrides his better judgment far more often than it should and friends don't let friends go home with creepy witches.

When the MC told the witch to scram, Asmo was confused and, frankly, quite irritated. That lovely lady had been stroking his ego in all the right ways and his human just scared her off so rudely!

Under most situations, Asmo would have kept his cool better but the haze of Demonus made his tongue loose... which let the venom fly…

He couldn’t quite remember what he said. The words left his mouth so quickly that they slurred together on his clumsy tongue, but it must have been enough because the MC flinched away from him.

That hurt all on its own, but as he started to process the pain in their eyes… he had never sobered up so fast...

He had their cheeks cupped in his hands and were kissing away their tears within the instant. Though the loud music at the club should have drowned out his apologies, the MC could see it written all over his equally tearful face…

He pulled them into his arms and then out of the club shortly after, the fog of Demonus that plagued him just moments before had long left him and all he knew was that the MC needed to be brought home and cuddled… stat.

“M-MC…? I’m sorry was it something… did I…? I’m so sorry… Please don’t cry…!”

Beelzebub

He really didn't mean to shout so loud… honest...

Beel becomes a completely different person when he’s hungry. He’s not entirely to blame, as his hunger can get so intense, but he still can snap from time to time when he really doesn’t mean to…

It was right after one of his practices and Beel hadn’t gotten a chance to eat in a few hours by the time the MC came to grab him from RAD. That already had him in a bad mood, but practice hadn’t gone too well for him either…

He honestly didn’t realize how sharply he snapped at the MC when they asked him how he was. The irritation and frustration of the day all hit him at once and he became much harsher towards them than he ever intended…

It must have been the shock of seeing ever-sweet Beel suddenly get so aggressive with them that startled them so. He saw a couple tears gathering in their eyes before they could hide them and his heart just sank…

The MC was picked up in a crushing bear hug before they even let out their first sniffle. Beel didn’t even have to say how sorry he was, they could feel it in every squeeze he gave them. All while he completely ignored the growling of his stomach...

Beel wouldn’t let them go until he was certain they’d forgiven him which, honestly, took a while. Mammon was the one to ask why he had carried them all the way back to the House like a baby but… well, he didn’t need to know, now did he?

“MC, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have shouted… Are you alright...?”

Belphegor

Stubborn boi is stubborn and trying really, really hard not to crack right now...

That's not going to last long.

Belphie can be a bit of a brat and since he's the baby of the family so he's used to getting his way. He and the MC don't argue a ton, but when they do, he always digs his heels in and refuses to budge an inch on anything.

So what started out as a simple disagreement on how often Belphie would flake out on his chores turned into a kick-the-door-down argument over how much his laziness left the MC to pick up the slack...

It ended as all their barn burning arguments do, with demon-form Belphie sitting cross-legged on his bed refusing to look at them and the MC angrily pacing about the room until he cools off…

And then he heard it.

First a sniffle… and then a hiccup. Another sniffle then muffled whine…

Oh no… not this… Why are they crying…? They don't normally cry…

To his credit (or perhaps discredit), he managed to hold out for about two minutes before he finally glanced back at them. Seeing the MC wiping their tears all alone on the floor crumbled his resolve real quick.

The MC found themselves enveloped by Belphie's arms before they even noticed he got up. Naturally, he was pouting and trying to make it seem like "not a big deal or anything" but they could tell by the nervous twitch of his tail that he was hurting too…

Needless to say. Belphie started remembering his chores a lot more after that.

"Humans are so fragile… I didn't mean to make you cry, you know? I'll get things done just… Don't cry… please…"

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines

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phantomato · 3 years ago

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I like a setting with character. Not a fantastical one, necessarily—the real world has plenty of character, and magical settings can be written to leave little impression. The HP universe has a great deal of character, but so does 20th c. Britain. Both are exciting to me, and I love to read and write them as leads in the story.

See, the thing about the original HP books is that they don’t do a compelling job of tying these two together. Our heroes and our main villains are both magical. The magical world operates its own governments and public utilities and private businesses and schools. Muggle-raised children don’t talk much about their Muggle families once they start school; magical people who marry Muggles (not Muggleborns—Muggles) tend to fall off the wagon and be left out of magical society, as far as we’re told. The interest is all in magic.

Which leaves us in a sort of strange spot, with respect to Muggles, because some of the strongest connections we have to Muggles are, well, villainous. The Dursleys—villains. Severus Snape’s father—abusive Muggle, and Snape’s a Death Eater. Tom Riddle’s father—probably abused, and Tom’s the big bad. There are more Muggles, like the people Tom knew at Wool’s, Hermione’s parents (absent and then obliviated), vague mentions of others, etc. Most of our representation of the Muggle world suggests we should dismiss it.

And that’s what most HP fic does, fairly enough. There’s lots of thoughtful takes on the structures and norms and idiosyncrasies of the magical world.

It’s just that I like 20th c. Britain, and I like the question of what it might be like to be tied to both of these places. I started down this path with Snape, his childhood in Cokeworth and what it might mean to him to have kept his family home there throughout his life. Clearly, living in a Muggle neighborhood is not disqualifying for membership in the Death Eaters, going by him and Regulus Black. So when my focus shifted to Tom, well—Tom’s got a Muggle parent, is raised Muggle, and lives for many years in London as both a child and an adult. I know he’s Lord Voldemort, yes, but… why couldn’t he keep some ties to that part of his heritage?

I like setting with character, and mid-century London has so much of it to offer. Much has been made of how Tom might have experienced the war years, but the recovery from the war took just as long. The last of WWII-era rationing ended in 1954, well into his adulthood. I wonder how the magical world fared in comparison to that. The landscape of urban housing also radically changed after the war years—was there council housing put up in Knockturn? I like to think about how Tom might have been affected by the arts and culture of the era, reading Tolkein and getting a kick out of a Muggle version of fantasy or watching The Third Man and agreeing with Harry Lime about the inconsequentiality of human life.

He’s magical, right, but he still lives in the city. I can’t see anyone spending all of their life on two streets. Getting out more means, well, interacting with Muggles.

And shouldn’t he? As much as Tom might resent his childhood, it’s a world he knows, versus one in which he’s marked as an outsider. There might be relief in no one reacting to his name. Perhaps he even keeps up with some of his fellows from Wool’s, or Mrs. Cole—unhappy relationships can still feel like family. Perhaps he cottages during they heyday of cottaging, because there’s anonymity for sordid sex outside of the magical world, or maybe he likes a pub with a football match on the wireless. Perhaps the right magical friend is even invited along.

I’ve seen lots of acceptance of the idea that Lord Voldemort’s platform could be one of circumstance and opportunity, that blood purity is not his personal agenda. I think that’s exciting, something that adds breadth to the realm of how he’s written.

I like setting with character, and Tom is born of two of them. His story sits at the tension between the Muggle and magical worlds, and the difficulty of reconciling them to one another. We’ve seen so many takes where Voldemort tips fully into magic; what about when he can’t let go of the parts of himself that are Muggle?

#long post #tom riddle #voldemort #muggle

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separatist-apologist · 3 years ago

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Lucien Vanserra + The Villain Theory & Why the Mating Bond Is Not Fake

I've been thinking about this for a while and I've decided I want to debunk this because of all the *insert character that is definitely not the villain becoming a secret villain*, Lucien is most definitely not it.

The theory, according to tiktok, is that Lucien is a secret schemer who has tricked everyone, including Elain, into believing they are mates for undefined, suspicious reasons likely related to Koschei. I find this unlikely considering his "father" is ALSO scheming with Koschei and Lucien likely has some awareness of this considering how often Eris is suddenly hanging around.

This is so long. Everything is under the cut.

However, lets pretend he doesn't. There is consistent, contextual proof that Lucien a) could not make up a mating bond even if he wanted to and b) everyone would know if he had.

Starting in ACOTAR, Tamlin tells Feyre the story of Lucien. On page 160, Tamlin says:

"Lucien said he didn't care she wasn't one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father's court to his scheming brothers."

Followed up on page 161, Tamlin adds:

"...his father has never apologized and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him. But he has never forgotten what they did to her...even if he pretends he has."

That's ACOTAR. I know SJM likes to change things on a whim, but foundationally, this is Lucien's character and across all five books, it never changes. Lucien is still haunted by Jesminda and the mating bond he lost. He firmly believes, if we believe Tamlin to be a reliable narrator (and we should, as Lucien backs Tamlin's opinion up in his private thoughts. It is also worth noting that if Lucien has a villain origin story, it begins right here, the moment his father beheads Jesminda. To assume he's the villain, we ought to believe that he's been scheming non-stop for at least 200 years (since he's like, 300ish?) and to what end? To kill Beron? He'd have been scheming far longer than Elain was alive.

Moving right along to ACOMAF, on page 619, Amren says:

"And the bond," Amren breathed, Cassian's blood shining on her hands as she slowed its dribbling.

Mor said, "She asked the king to break the bond. He obliged."

I thought I might be dying- thought my chest might actually be cleaved in two.

"Thats impossible," Amren said. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

"The kind said he could do it."

"The king is a fool," Amren barked. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

"No, it can't," I said.

This is from Rhys' perspective. A mating bond can't be broken with magic- it's forever. Even rejected or in death (we'll get there), the mating bond is for life. Assuming Lucien's mate was Jesminda, even if it hadn't snapped in death, she would STILL be his mate and death would not have changed that. Neither would any magic Lucien, a spell-cleaver, might possess.

Let's also consider Elain, who has no reason to lie and every reason to call Lucien out regarding the bond. In ACOMAF, page 608, we see this:

"...Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder. At Lucien-whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one of russet and one of metal. Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain-

Lucien's hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, "You're my mate."

It's Elain who sees him first, who feels the mating bond mere seconds before Lucien. Why choose Elain, if you're going to pick a fake mate for your scheme? The argument is generally that she has the least amount of knowledge about Faeries and no interest in that education but how would Lucien know that? Feyre told Lucien nothing about her sisters (she told Ianthe instead), which means he would have had to guess. Given that Elain fights being put in the Cauldron, there's nothing contextually in that moment that suggests that Lucien somehow knew she was the easier sister to fool.

It's also worth noting that Lucien, up until that moment, still genuinely believes Jesminda was his mate. If he's the villain, having a fake mate makes no sense to the story or his plans.

Feyre has been inside Lucien's mind twice. Once in ACOMAF (pg. 95):

"Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever, and sad, so endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless-"

And again in ACOWAR when Lucien meets Elain for the first time. On page 249, we get the best description of what Lucien is feeling regarding the mating bond, all through Feyre's perspective:

"Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand?

The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn't dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn't yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough.

Touch her, smell her, taste her-

The instincts were running a river. he fisted his hands at his sides."

"But there she was. His mate. She was nothing like Jesminda."

"Elain had been...thrown at him."

"That circle of people who now claimed to be Feyre's new family...It was what, long ago, he'd once thought life at Tamlin's court would be. An ache like a blow to the chest went through him, but he crossed the rug."

"But he couldn't breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He'd said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the senses chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours."

"She looked away- towards the windows. 'I can hear your heart,' she said quietly. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing and drained his tea even as it burned his mouth.

'When I sleep,' she murmured, 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. 'Can you hear mine?'

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, 'No, lady. I cannot.'"

These are Lucien's thoughts from Feyre's perspective. He has no idea she's in his head, so why is he thinking all those things? Why feel guilt that he finds her beautiful or that he'd once said all the same things to Jesminda that he thinks about Elain? Why care about her well-being? We know mates are driven to protect and Lucien's very first thoughts about Elain are ones of concern. She's not eating, she's too thin, how can she possibly stand? Not, hahaah my evil planned worked and I totally have an in with the Night Court (which, why would he need considering Tamlin is currently allied with Hybern and Lucien could have taken full advantage of that?).

Additionally, assuming Lucien is faking the mating bond for some poorly defined, evil plot, why keep such distance? Why not force himself on her? That's the claim, right? That he's forcing her to be with him which is amusing because in ACOFAS, Lucien has some thoughts on page 162"

"'How is she?'

'Better. She makes no mention of her abilities. If they remain.'

'Good. But is she still...' A muscle flickered in his jaw. 'Does she still mourn him?'"

First question he asks. "How is she?" Followed by if she's still in love with her ex-fiance. And I can hear the screaming now, "HE ASKED BECAUSE HE WANTS TO OWN HER" but like, on page 165 of ACOFAS, we get:

"I can't stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes."

Truly a stupid plan to fake a mating bond with a person that is causing you to be eaten alive with guilt and longing. We know the second he's around her, Lucien's is overwhelmed with the mating instincts and feels guilt over Jesminda, which is why he spends little time around Elain. He also tells Feyre, on that same page, he doesn't want his life to be financed by Rhysand. Feyre practically begs Lucien to move back to Velaris, to work for her full time, to let her set him up somewhere nicer and Lucien declines it all. If his plan hinged on getting closer to the IC, to using Rhys' resources, why tell her no? Why not take her up on it? Why not make him part of her life in a much more tangible way?

And finally, the dreaded scent of the mating bond. Feyre doesn't risk talking to Rhys when she's in Spring for fear of alerting everyone to the scent of the bond. Azriel, too, cannot stand the smell of it to the point he stands in the doorway during solstice rather than come in.

Ladies, Gentleman, and Non-binary pals of the jury, examine the evidence. For Lucien to be a villain, he has to KNOW that Feyre is a daemati before she does and both leave his thoughts unguarded while constantly assuming she MIGHT be picking through them. He also has to be able to control large amounts of people at the same time via the smell of the bond and Elain being able to feel it. When he tugs, she responds.

It would require everyone around them to be incredibly dumb. Feyre and Rhys basically share a mind and while they don't necessarily trust Lucien (unfairly imo), I firmly believe one of them would have picked up on a fake bond or Lucien's scheming.

Lucien wanted Jesminda, not Elain. If he decided to punish the world around him for the consistent pain he was enduring, he doesn't need Elain to achieve this. He's friends with Feyre. He has contacts all over Prythian. He didn't need to fake a mating bond, nor does it make any sense to do so. What they have is REAL.

And lastly, the bond can't be broken. Rejected, yes, broken no. Regardless if you think they'll keep it or not, they ARE mates and Lucien is NOT the villain who will be heroically slaughtered. They're awkward, they're uncomfortable, they have shit to work out but they ARE mates, and Lucien has proven over and over that all he wants is a home and goddamn peace and quiet.

#lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra meta #anti e*riel #antiv*ssien #anti el/riel #anti v/ssien #theories that are just not based in reality #but are probably interesting twists in a fanfic i wouldn't read

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