#inconsolably. at the age of 25

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Eleven: Fall Into Me and I'll Catch You Darlin'

dbf!joel x f!reader | WC: 5k | E 18+ mdni

Series Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings. Joel is his own warning. Angst/despair, fluff, smut - this chapter has the works. Please excuse my lack of medical knowledge. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad and Joel uses various terms of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, etc.).

This is it, folks, the final chapter! Just the epilogue left now. Thank you for coming along on this ride with me. I have fallen in love with this little family and I hope you have as well.

Moodboard by the lovely @mrsmando. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Ten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Four days. Joel hadn’t left your bedside in four days, so immovable that the nurses took pity on him and asked an orderly to setup a cot for him in your hospital room.

You still hadn’t regained consciousness and Joel was losing his god damned mind over it.

The list of your injuries a mile long, among them a bunch of broken things – ankle, nose, ribs, wrist. That’s what you were right now, broken, and you had a hard road to recovery ahead of you. Joel agonized over your condition, freaking out when you had to go back into surgery shortly after coming out of it the first time. He’d barely laid eyes on you before they hauled you away again, machines beeping chaotically at whatever went wrong. You developed a hemorrhage, the doctor later told him, but they caught it in time.

Joel hadn’t stopped crying in four days, except for a brief time when Sarah was discharged. He held her for hours, trying his best not to smother or hurt her as she sat on his lap next to your bed. Aside from a purple cast on Sarah’s broken wrist, her limited injuries were already healing. Joel’s worry over his sweet little girl lessened a bit and he trusted Tommy, your dad, and your best friend, Emily, to watch over her while he sat vigil at your bedside. They brought Sarah by to see you twice a day, every day so far. Still, you hadn’t woken up.

He lost it the first time Sarah saw you lying there, barely recognizable from the injuries you sustained. Face bruised and swollen, body wrapped in casts or dressings. Sarah worried that you were dying, nearly inconsolable at the thought that you might die, might leave her, and her dad, forever. She couldn’t handle it, the thought of losing the only mom she’d ever known, ever wanted.

Joel had to leave the room at his daughter’s visceral expression of the pain she felt, her inconsolable weeping a reflection of his own anguish. He left Tommy to deal with it, and slid down the wall in the hallway, just a little way down from your room, shoulders shaking from the strength of his own sobs as the sound of Sarah’s caterwauling carried through the air. JB was the only one who could reach him through his pain, the understanding of one father for another as they both shed endless tears over you. He sat next to Joel, right there in the hallway, and wept with him, whispering words of praise of how strong you were, how much you loved them all, how you would pull through.

Joel fought hard to believe those words, to trust in JB’s hope as he was quickly losing his. He raged inside at how unfair life could be until he exhausted himself emotionally and fell into a dreamless daze in the cot next to you. When the sun rose above the horizon, he stopped trying to sleep, stopped pretending that he could while you remained unconscious.

“Come on, son. Go home and shower, take a nap in a real bed. You haven’t slept in days. I’ll watch over Spud, and you’ll be my first call if anything happens,” JB insisted the morning of day 5 at the sight of heavy bags beneath the younger man’s eyes.

Opening his mouth to argue, to adamantly refuse, Joel snapped it shut at the concerned look on your dad’s face. He gave into the exhaustion then, all the fight fleeing him, and he stood with shoulders hunched. He was completely deflated, emotionally and physically. “Ok, you’re right. I at least need a shower.”

“That you do. I could smell you down the hall.” Joel’s lips twitched at JB’s comedic effort, but he didn’t have it in him to smile or laugh. “Go on, git. Emily’s at your house with Sarah. She’ll stay while you nap – please try to get some sleep. I don’t want to see you for at least three hours, ya hear me, son?”

Joel nodded and kissed the small spot on your face free of bruising, slinking from the room with one last glance over his shoulder at you. He noticed how your dad kept calling him son – a new development since the accident and it warmed his heart in a way that he sorely needed during this torturous time.

The drive home a blur, his limbs functioning on muscle memory alone, Joel stumbled through the front door of his home with just enough energy to great Emily and Sarah.

“Joel!” Emily exclaimed, jumping from her spot on the couch to pull him into a tight hug. She adored him from the first second you introduced them, finding the man dreamy in that way that was a perfect match for you. It tore her apart to see him falling to pieces over your current condition. “JB commanded that I send you right to bed. Give Sarah a kiss then git goin’.”

Too drained to be disgruntled about being given orders in his own house, he swept Sarah up with tired limbs, ever mindful of her cast. “Hey baby girl. I love you. Have you been good for Miss Emily?”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m always good. Is she any better?” Sarah asked in her sweet, young voice that pulled taut at his heartstrings.

“Not yet,” Joel choked on the words, unable to fight the tears stinging the back of his eyes at his daughter’s worried face. He set her down on the couch before trudging up the stairs. Aching to climb into bed – as empty and cold as it would be without you – but he jumped into the shower first to wash the past few days away.

If only it was that easy.

Joel collapsed on the unmade bed, barely managing to throw a pair of sleep pants on after the quick shower. He was dead asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.

An hour later, he pried his eyes open, clutching to the warm body clinging to him. For a brief moment, his mind thought it just another normal morning waking up to you at his side. Reality crashed down on him, hard, before he even had the chance to enjoy the thought. Sarah’s frame clung to him like a spider monkey in her sleep. She must have joined him for a nap at some point and was still out cold.

Her steady breathing lulled him back to sleep for another couple hours until Emily woke him with a shout. Joel bolted upright at the echo of his name, heart thumbing in his chest as he jostled Sarah in the process.

“Joel!” Emily called again as she reached the top of the stairs and peeked into his bedroom. “She’s awake!”

Mind still fighting through the fog to wake up, he stared at your best friend with owlish eyes.

“JB just called. She’s awake! You gotta get back to the hospital!” Emily stepped fully into the room, tossing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt at him to get him moving.

“Dad!” Sarah’s uninjured hand nudging him into action as she exclaimed. “Can I come with you?”

Finally, Joel’s mind kicked into gear. You were awake. He had to see you, but first, he needed to get dressed. “Not yet, baby girl. Lemme see how she’s doing and maybe you can see her tomorrow. We don’t want to overwhelm her, okay?”

Flopping back onto the mattress with a pout, Sarah muttered, “Okay,” as Joel eased out of bed with a groan.

It started with muscle twitches. Fingers flexing. A small grimace creasing your battered face. The process to consciousness was a daunting one that ended with fighting against the intubation tube. Even once a nurse came in and removed the tube, you still fought to come fully back to yourself.

“Dad?” Throat dry and raw, you could do little more than croak despite the rising panic. Your eyes darted around the room in confusion, landing first on your dad before taking in the plain white walls and clinical equipment. You were in the hospital, that much was obvious, but you couldn’t recall why. A thick fog wove through your mind, leaving you trying to make sense of anything, everything.

“Hey Spud. Sleeping beauty finally awakens,” your dad teased, his voice gentle but, even with a foggy brain, you picked up on the worried undertone.

“What happened?” It hurt to talk but you needed to know.

“You don’t remember? Of course you don’t, you got a pretty good knock to the head,” he muttered half to himself before tenderly taking your hand between both of his. “You and Sarah were hit by a drunk driver. Does that ring a bell?”

Like a light bulb coming on, things came back to you, brightening the dark corners of your memory. The ride home from school, going to get ice cream, the sudden and unexpected impact as you proceeded through a green light, the car rolling once, twice, then… nothing. With the memory came your brain’s recognition of pain and your body’s aches made themselves well known.

Everything hurt.

Seriously, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, to lie still. It hurt to just fucking exist.

“Oh my God, Sarah? Is she okay? Where is she? Where is Joel?” You glanced around the room as if waiting for them jump out from behind something, the panic returning as you gulped for air.

“Calm down, honey. The little nugget is okay. She’s home, Emily’s watching over her now. Joel’s on his way back. I’ll let him tell you how she is, but just know that she’s fine.” JB spoke in short, clipped sentences, not wanting to overwhelm you further, one grizzled hand stroking your hair back like he did when you were sick as a kid.

You tried to sit up but abandoned that idea the moment the room spun, the throbbing pain too much. Fuck, your face hurt like hell.

“Don’t do that, Spud. While Sarah might be okay, you were seriously injured. I’ll let the doctor explain when he comes in, but you shouldn’t try moving or anything just yet. You’re pretty banged up,” he explained softly.

You met your dad’s eyes, and you could see at once the toll your condition took on him. You had so many questions, but you couldn’t process them quite yet. The pair of you sat quietly for a little while until the doctor joined you, explaining the laundry list of injuries you sustained. No wonder everything hurt. They gave you more medicine for the pain now that you regained consciousness – you couldn’t believe you were out for so long – and things started to make more sense in your brain.

You’d be stuck in the hospital for a few more days before the doctor would even think about discharging you. As much as hospitals sucked, you knew it best you stay put when you couldn’t even sit up with collapsing back in pain.

Joel burst into the room shortly after the doctor left. Sipping at a cup of water your dad held for you, you nearly choked at the sight of him. You’d never seen him look so disheveled, so run down, his normal scruff grown out into a near full beard after a week of not shaving, eyes bloodshot and sunken, curls a messy, wild halo around his head.

“Oh darlin’,” Joel said as you attempted to smile at him. The bandages covering portions of your face and the swelling from the repaired break in your nose made it hard, but your eyes sparkled with happiness at the sight of him.

“Hi Joel,” you croaked in return.

He practically launched himself at your side, knocking JB out of the way so he could sit bedside. Hands hovering, afraid to touch, tears glistened in his eyes. “I was so fuckin’ scared. Thought I was gonna lose you.”

Tears sprung to your own dry eyes as the fingers of your uninjured hand tangled with his. The mere tickle of tears in your nose was damn near excruciating. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

Startled, Joel’s dark chocolate eyes searched your face, completely baffled. “Darlin’, what? What in the world are you sorry for? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

You blubbered as Joel and your dad stared at you bewildered. “I almost got Sarah killed!”

Joel cracked a smile then, the first one in nearly a week, before leaning forward to place a tender kiss upon your chapped lips. “The hell you did. You didn’t do anything but take care of her. None of this was your fault, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t shake the guilt though, not even days later when the doctor discharged you. Sweet, little Sarah waited for you with a bright smile and a mylar ballon that read Welcome Home as Joel and JB helped you into the house. The sight of the purple cast on her right wrist wiped the smile from your face. How could Joel not see that this was all your fault?

You could hardly hug the girl as guilt overwhelmed you.

Emily and Tommy stood behind Sarah as you wobbled through the front door, smiles not hiding the winces at the healing trauma on your face. Emily could tell at once that you were on the verge of breaking down, unable to take your eyes from the healing contusions on Sarah’s adorable face or the cast on her wrist.

Stepping forward, Emily pulled you into a hug, ever mindful of your healing ribs and incisions. “It’s so good to see you awake and in one piece!” she whispered in your ear. “None of this was your fault, you know that right?”

She knew you too well. You choked on a sob, burying your head in her shoulder for several minutes until you had your emotions back under control.

“Do you wanna sign my cast? Daddy got special markers for it! I wouldn’t let anyone else sign it before you came home.” Sarah held a silver Sharpie up for you, flashing those puppy dog eyes at you. Unable to deny her, you took the marker with a trembling hand and drew a heart on the topside of the cast, your name scrawled sloppily beneath it.

Delighted, Sarah handed Joel the marker next and, with a quick glance at you, printed his name above the heart you drew, adding Sarah’s next to yours so that it now read Joel hearts you & Sarah. The tears returned when both Sarah and Joel gazed at you with unabashed affection.

Perhaps they really did not blame you for the accident, for Sarah’s broken wrist, for all that you put them through in the past week and a half. You weren’t sure if you deserved their love, but you basked in it, allowing it to wash over you and heal your soul.

Six weeks of convalescing at home under the tender care of Joel and Sarah, and you finally felt like yourself again, emotionally, and physically. It took a while, but Joel managed to convince you to set free the irrational guilt you felt over the accident, aided by the news that the drunk driver pleaded guilty.

Wanting to celebrate your recovery and the removal of your and Sarah’s casts, Joel planned a small gathering for July 4th. Just the Millers, JB, Emily and her husband, and Maria – the attorney Tommy fell head over heels for last year finally gave into his advances and they were happily living together now. She was a gem and fell right in with the group, giving as good as she got.

“Darlin’, just put that down, I’ll get it,” Joel insisted as you pulled a plate full of raw steaks from the fridge.

“Joel, I’m not a delicate little flower who will break under the weight of a few steaks,” you teased lovingly. Placing the plate on the counter, you turned to Joel and slipped your arms around his neck. Fingers threading through his curls, you pulled his head down, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.”

Joel’s large hands slid down your back, grabbing your ass as the kiss intensified. “Mmmm, I love you, darlin’,” his deep voice rumbled against your mouth. A knock sounded on the front door as he placed another kiss on your lips. “Now, let me take care of this while you welcome our guests.”

Before long, everyone gathered in the backyard. Your dad, Joel, and Emily’s husband Ed stood around the grill while Joel cooked the steaks and Sarah showed off her swimming skills to Maria and Tommy. You and Emily sat on the patio with glasses of sangria just watching everyone you love.

“I know I’ve said it a million times already but thank you again for being there for them after the accident,” you said as you watched Joel manning the grill with confidence. “I know it couldn’t have been easy and I just want you to know that I appreciate you.”

“Always, that’s what friends are for.” Emily smiled at you. “You really got somethin’ good here, you know. That man, he was a complete wreck while you were in the hospital. And that little girl, she worships the ground you walk on. Those two would do anything for you and I know you would do anything for them.”

You heard from your dad how hard Joel struggled while you were in the hospital, how he barely slept, refused to leave your side. Emily reiterated it all and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would have done the same if anything happened to him or Sarah.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” you said after taking a sip of the fruity red wine concoction. “I can’t imagine my life without them in it.”

“That’s good, really good.” Too busy making googly eyes at Joel, you missed the knowing look Emily shot you.

“She can’t keep her eyes off you, son,” JB teased. “You ready to do the thing?”

“What thing is that?” Ed asked curiously.

“Imma ask her to marry me,” Joel mumbled, already feeling a little nervous. “I got the ring in my pocket, just waiting for the right moment.”

“Good on ya, man!” Ed replied. Turning to JB, he added, “I take it he has your blessing?”

Nodding, JB grinned at his future son-in-law as he replied, “He sure as hell does. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to take care of my little Spud.”

A flush rose along Joel’s neck and moved onto his cheeks at the praise. “Alright, alright. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I don’t wanna risk her overhearing something. I want it to be a surprise.”

The other two men nodded in understanding. “Just one last thing,” Ed said. “You should ask her during the fireworks. I brought my good camera; I’ll make sure to get great shots of it for you and the fireworks will just add to the ambiance.”

The steaks were grilled to perfection, Joel nailing that medium rare sear that you loved, and Maria’s macaroni salad was a hit. Once everyone devoured their food, you jumped into the pool, letting the water ease the lingering ache in your bones while your dad and Emily insisted on helping Joel clean up. Before long, everyone else joined you in floating around to kill time before the town’s fireworks show began. The house was perfectly situated to see them from a distance, so you didn’t have to fight the traffic to find parking in town to see the show.

Drinking in the sight of Joel shirtless, swim trunks sitting low on his hips, you licked your lips hungrily. He dove into the deep end of the pool, swimming underwater until he reached you in the shallow end. Popping up next to you, he slicked his wet curls back from his forehead with a grin. Fuck, he was handsome.

“Hey beautiful,” Joel greeted. “Enjoying yourself?”

Smile so broad your cheeks hurt, you nodded. “Today has been wonderful, thank you, Joel. This was exactly what I needed.”

“I’d do anything for you, darlin’. You know that, right?” he implored, pulling you close so that you could wrap your legs around his waist beneath the water’s surface. “I’ve never been so in love before. You have completely changed my world.”

“I could say the same about you, babe.”

“The fireworks are gonna start soon. Watch to watch them from the patio?”

“Sure,” you replied. So caught up in Joel, you didn’t notice everyone watching you both with broad smiles as the two of you climbed out of the pool.

Settling into one of the cushioned outdoor chairs, the soft glow of the string lights from that special date all those months ago glistening on your damp skin. Joel moved his chair closer and sat, holding his right hand out for yours, he grinned when you twined your fingers with his.

Suddenly, Tommy appeared in front of you both, carrying a fresh glass of sangria for you and an ice-cold beer for Joel. “Here you both go.”

“Thanks Tommy,” you said gratefully.

“You ready?” he asked, his dark eyes glowing warmly in the low lighting.

“For the fireworks?” you replied, slightly confused. “You bet!”

Tommy smiled indulgently, sharing a look with Joel before moving to the poolside to help his girlfriend out of the water.

Glancing around at your friends and family, you found everyone watching the two of you. You had the feeling something was up, that there was something you were missing. Before you could dwell on it, the first bursts of light exploded in the sky, the whistling boom echoing distantly.

Mesmerized by the show, oohing and ahhing with everyone, you didn’t see Joel slip from his seat to kneel next to you. As the finale began, he said your name, drawing your attention away from the sky.

An audible gasp left your lips as he gazed at you, love lighting up his tanned features. Your eyes darted around the yard to find everyone watching you instead of the fireworks, Ed snapping away with that fancy camera of his.

“Joel, what—” you began breathlessly before he cut you off.

“Do you remember that song we danced to, right here in the yard, beneath these very lights?” His smooth voice gave no hints of the nervous energy flowing beneath his skin.

You nodded, recalling the memory fondly. “That was a beautiful night.”

“It was, and I hope to have many more just like it with you.” Still kneeling, he reached his left hand into his pocket and your breath hitched. Your heart nearly dropped when you merely pulled his phone out, tapping at the screen until music began to play in the background.

Taking your hands in his, Joel began to sing along, his deep voice the perfect contrast to the artist’s.

“On the day that I met you,

The world had just spit me out.

On my way to the bottom

Sure I’d never be found.

Then you saw me for me

Made me believe in myself.

On the day that I met

It all turned around.”

Tears stung the back of your eyes, but for the first time in weeks, they were tears of happiness, not pain or guilt. You clutched at Joel as he went to pull his right hand free, and he chuckled.

“I fall more in love with you every single day. I don’t know how I ever got to be this lucky, to find someone like you, who fits so perfectly, so seamlessly into mine and Sarah’s lives.”

You finally loosened your grip so he could pull his right hand free, digging into the zippered pocket as you swiped at the tears coursing down your face.

“You are the woman of my dreams, the one I was sure didn’t exist until I met you. If I promise to fall for you over and over again, will you promise to be my wife, to be Sarah’s mom, to love us from now until forever?”

Gazing into his dark, gorgeous eyes, misty with tears of his own, you nodded. “Yes, yes. A million times, yes, Joel. I’d love to be your wife and Sarah’s mom.”

You were sobbing as he beamed, slipping a beautiful, understated princess cut diamond ring on your finger. It fit perfectly and your heart swelled, the love in you threatening to spill over, to burst straight from your chest. “Joel, it’s so beautiful!”

Joel stood, pulling you with him until your feet left the ground and he spun you in a circle once, twice, before setting you down on solid ground. You lurched forward, sealing your love, your promise with a heated kiss.

As if they hadn’t all witnessed every second of what just happened, Joel looked over at everyone and declared, “She said yes!”

The small group of your favorite people made a racket with their whoops and whistles, JB shouting above the rest, “About fuckin’ time, son!”

Unable to contain herself for another second – she had been incredibly patient, after all, letting her dad do the asking instead of her – Sarah burst from Tommy’s grasp, launching herself at you. Joel helped you sweep her up for a tight hug.

“It’s official now, right?” Sarah questioned, nearly vibrating with excitement. “You’re gonna be my mom now. I finally get to have a mom and not just any mom, but you. The best one I could have asked for.”

Just when you thought the tears ebbed away, the waterworks started once again. “Oh, my sweet, perfect girl. I promise to try my best to be worthy of such an honor. I couldn’t have asked for a better girl to go on this adventure with.”

“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Emily said, her voice catching as tears ran down her cheeks as well.

“Agreed,” Maria chimed in with a sniffle and Tommy pulled her close with a dumb grin spreading across his face. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he thought about how he’d propose when the time came.

You and Joel couldn’t keep your hands off each other once Sarah went to bed and everyone left. Your need for each other was too mighty to fight, not that either of you wanted too anyway. He treated you like glass the past six weeks, afraid to hurt you, to aggravate your injuries. You understood, but that didn’t stop the desire, the need for him and it frustrated you that he would not give in. Now that you were mostly healed, you wanted him to make love to you like he used to.

Readying yourselves for bed, you climbed onto the mattress, straddling Joel’s hips where he laid back against the pillows. Half hard already at the mere sight of you naked before him, he grasped your hips to grind your core down on him.

“I need you, my love. I need to feel you inside me. It’s been too long,” your voice a breathy whine against his mouth, your lips touching but not yet kissing. “Let me ride you.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel gasped as you shifted against his now fully hardened cock. “Take what you want, sweetheart.” He watched with lust blown eyes as you slid his sleep pants down his hips, and he kicked them off to lay in a pile at the bottom of the bed.

So wet and needy, you didn’t even need foreplay. Sealing your mouth to his, you swallowed his groan as you slid down on his cock. Pausing for a moment once he was balls deep inside you, fingers threaded through his luscious curls, you sighed in contentment.

“I feel so fucking full, Joel,” you moaned, finally starting to move. “I’ve missed this so much.”

Joel gazed at you, completely enraptured and unable to speak. The words stuck in his throat, he just watched you move on him, his hips shifting upwards to meet your movements. It felt so good he knew he wouldn’t last long, shifting his hand between you to pluck at your clit as you rode him.

“Come for me, darlin’. I need to feel you come apart around me,” the words burst from deep in his chest, dripping with need as he got closer to the edge. Thumb moving frantically against your clit in that way that drove you crazy, he made you come apart within minutes.

“Fuck, Joel!” you gasped, burying your face in his shoulder, biting down on the flesh to stifle your moans. Waves of pleasure washed over you so strong you couldn’t move your hips anymore. Joel took over, thrusting up into you, drawing out your orgasm as your walls fluttered around him.

You sunk your teeth further into the meat of his trapezius, the shock of pain like a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. His movements grew sloppy as his balls tightened and he came with a guttural growl, sucking at your neck as rope after rope of cum splashed inside you.

Breathless and satiated, you stayed in place, allowing the aftershocks to roll through you both. You brought your hands up to cup his face, the patchy scruff of his beard tickling your palms. The diamond ring on your left hand sparkled in the dim lighting and you grinned down at Joel, so full of love.

He pulled you down to lay with him, his softening cock slipped out of you in the process, and you both ignored the mess as you cuddled together.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” You felt the words rumble from deep in his chest as he spoke them, pulling you impossibly closer until your sweaty skin melded to his. “I fuckin’ love you, darlin.”

Smiling sleepily, you murmured your love for him, your excitement over being engaged, the beauty of the ring he chose for you, until you fell asleep mid-sentence.

Your dreams were no match for the life you and Joel were creating together.

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx

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[dnickels]

The two oldest common loons of known age broke up after 25 years and I'm inconsolable...love is FAKE

[tsckcyomi-archived]

Munday Survey !

Name/Alias: Nikan/Nill, either works Age group: 25+ Pronouns: she/her Favorite color: Cyan Favorite food: (Buddha??) Bowls Tattoos/piercings?: Three earlobe piercings on either side, one helix piercing. Tattoos of a sea horse, a sea shell, a betta fish and an eagle ray on my left forearm, a flower tattoo on the left side of my body and a tattoo with the golden ratio around my right shoulder blade. Current song stuck in your head?: Athena, the tireless one. I'm clearly doing too much p12s Pets?: …My ~20 plants. I wish I had a cat tho 😔 And I'd call it Popcorn Favorite book?: The Child Thief. Peter Pan but darker and closer to the original, I dig that Do you have a 'prized possession'?: A stuffed animal from my childhood that's been through a lot. If I ever lose it or someone throws it away I'll be inconsolable. Dream job: If I had the liberty to choose and be able to live comfortably? Anything where I can work with animals. Tea or coffee?: Tea. Coffee makes me feel yuckie. Hobbies: Writing, drawing and when I get around to it, crafting (may that be crocheting or sewing or anything else) How long have you been role-playing?: Uuuuh. Around 15 years? Roughly 11 of those in English, before that only in my native language. Who is your most active muse: Joshua and Sleipnir are spinning around in my head a lot since yesterday. Significance behind your url?: Since this was a single muse blog for Yotsuyu from FFXIV previously, I just took the name of the primal that she turned into, Tsukuyomi. And I couldn't be bothered to change the url when I turned this blog into a multi muse blog-

Tagged by: @heartsurpluss <3 Tagging: 🧍 ← steal it if you haven't been tagged before or else that will be me outside of your window tonight

[ian-thebean]

SHE WAS ONLY 16!!!!!!

okay picture this:

you're a teenage girl whose perceptions of relationships have been shaped by 18th-century romantic poetry. your dad dies and immediately, your half brother and his wife (who sucks shit) move into your house and are super rude to you. you're inconsolable over your dad's death and your mom isn't controlling her grief so why should you? your older sister isn't reacting as strongly which is weird but also your sister-in-law's brother is there so maybe she's finding consolation in his affection. fine. then your mom decided out of nowhere that it's time to move to the other side of england away from the friends you've known your whole life. the house you move to is way smaller and there's no one your age to talk to.

anyway the neighbors (who are way older than you and also your cousins?) are weird and your sister says they're nice but they won't stop talking about your marriage prospects and honestly it feels kind of yucky. they start making jokes about how their friend who could literally be your dad is into you which is crazy because no way a guy in his mid-thirties could be into a 16-year-old.

but then this super hot guy comes to town! and he's like 25 or something and he picks you up when you fall in the rain and injure yourself! how romantic is that?? and he likes all the same poems and music and literature and plays as you and he's hot and he buys you a horse and he wants some of your hair and you dance all night and he takes you to his rich cousin's house (of which he is the heir) and tells you what it will be like when you live there together and you're falling in love and you're SIXTEEN and your sister is being weird about it like why can't she understand that you two are in love!! he hasn't proposed or anything yet but it's for sure coming soon especially after that one time he basically tells your mom that he loves your family as his own and nothing makes him happier than being in the room where you met so you're probably going to be married as soon as his cousin gives the ok.

then the next day he shows up to the house while you're home alone (steamy!) but he's being weird then he says he has to leave for london and doesn't say when he'll be back and he's crying and you're crying and then he's gone.

of course you'd get crazy depressed!!! you thought everything had been figured out and you'd be the mistress of a manor at 17 by the side of the love of your life but now you're sobbing while playing the songs he wrote out for you while your sister gives you dirty looks.

and then when you finally see him again in london (and you only came to london so you could run into him) he barely acknowledges you?? he doesn't even say anything, just nods and turns away!! you haven't been eating or sleeping or taking care of yourself at all, only held up by hope and anxiety, so you collapse right there. then the next morning you learn that the lady you saw him talking to last night is his fiance. he not only denies ever having cared about you, but he doesn't even acknowledge that he did anything that could make you think he did.

WHAT

it's over. it's over and your life is over and you're 16 and the world is ending.

then you learn that he seduced and impregnated another teenage girl. promised her marriage then left her without any way to contact him. was he planning to do this to you? were you just another victim? he said he loved you, he promised you the world - did it mean nothing?

oh and also it turns out that your sister has been living through hell for the past 4 months and you never noticed bc you were so wrapped up in your feelings so now you feel like a horrible sister too.

it's honestly a miracle she survived that fever, poor girl didn't stand a chance against willoughby or the world

I’ve made it official….I am now a licensed Marianne Dashwood defender!!

[exilethegame]

Pheo, I just realized if wolf commanders live to 60ish than my commander is middle aged at 25-27ish and I am DEVASTATED and INCONSOLABLE wdym the first half of his life was war and agony and it’s not even done

Oop--

I... that is so incredibly unfortunate. I feel terrible to be the one to inform him that the next year of his life is, most likely, also going to be a very terrible, no good, awful, horrifying year. :(

[rosesnink]

The Queen of Wolves

Author’s Notes: 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/ grammar mistakes. 

For several reasons, this chapter is rated +16. Check the TW and tags 

This chapter and its main character has been a delight to work with! Marianna is an underrated character and she deserves some love and spotlight of her own. 

Disclaimer: I am not, by any means, romantising something as complex as prostitution, but rather humanising the prostitutes and making the reader see that, despite their job, they are human beings and have lives and problems and goals of their own and shouldn’t be seen as less for their line of work. 

Summary: Marianna’s backstory and impact on the story. 

TW: This chapter contains violence towards women and violence in general, alongside with strong language and discussions of prostitution. 

Word Count: 4.8k 

Reading Time: 25 minutes. 

May, 1798

The young Marianna Spencer danced away with her new husband, Richard Spencer, on their wedding day, laughing and smiling, not being able to take their hands off each other. The couple had met the past summer while he was visiting with Prince Ernst’s troops –he was a soldier at his service—and during that time, they had stopped at Devonshire to visit the duke. Young Marianna was at the edge of 20 years old, the perfect age to be married.

The couple have had rendezvous and had promised her all, and she in return gave him all… and with all, she meant her maidenhood. Soon, the moment they arose from that beautiful night, he proposed, promising to do things right the moment the wars ended. She accepted and waited for him.

He returned and was quite aloof and reserved, and Marianna took the hint that war was something traumatic and that it’d pass and her Richie would come back. But all changed the moment she announced she was pregnant. He stated he wished not to ‘bother her with his manly needs’ and that she should rest and carry safely the child. It burned her that he was unfaithful, but he claimed they were nothing but ‘a mere fuck for the night’ and that his one true love was her, not them. She believed it at first, and did her best to make sure he didn’t drink so often… but made it worse.

On her second term, he was always screaming and throwing things and having rage fits. Sometimes he even went back to his mistresses, and she cried all night, waiting for him. The pariah’s son soon visited her, bringing her food and listening to her. They had a strong and friendly connection, but Richard never believed her, proclaiming that she had been unfaithful to him in sinful vengeance. The pariah did his best to quell his rage, but had to forbid his soon to see Mrs. Spencer ever again.

When she tried to tell him that nothing wrong ever happened, and they just chat and ate her baking, he, in his drunkenness, beat her so, the morning she arose, her child was no longer there. It had to be taken from her, and she was inconsolable. Richard didn’t care, too busy with his new mistress as she buried her child, what could’ve been her son.

The moment she lost her pregnancy’s protection, he showed his true self: beatings every day, belittling her, making of her a fornicator and a liar, not to be trusted or being seen with. She tried her best to explain herself, but everyone in the village blamed her. She even tried to beseech the lord of the land, the duke, but said he had no time for such a sinful woman and that she should be thankful he didn’t divorce her or kicked them out.

Soon, he was fired from the job, and the blame, once more, was put on her. The beatings got more violent. The insults, more insulting than ever, and there was a time he had no remorse of slapping her in the plaza, in front of everybody to see. Only a little boy helped her by giving her a fresh apple.

Five years passed, and one day she came from confessing when she was dragged by her husband, who was clearly angry and drunk “Wife, to bed.”

She took a deep breath and stopped him gently but with determination “I must refuse you. I’ve yet to recover from the other day.”

He grunted “Lovemakin’ will do you good. Now, to bed.”

She disentangled herself from him and looked at him “I said no. I will happily massage your feet or nurse your drunkenness, but I shall not lay with you tonight.”

Instead of accepting the kind offer, he took one stick he used to tame the fire and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her out despite her complaining “Damn you, woman! I am your husband, and you will do as I say!” She cried for help, but no one came. They were too scared of her husband “I’ll teach ya what it means to refuse your husband, who has given you everythin’!”

Deep in the woods, he threw her and ripped off her dress from the back. He then placed the metal stick on her back, burning still and she screamed in sheer pain “Richard, please! It is just one night! I beg you!”

“Oh, you’ll be beggin’ for me, yes.” He was about to go when something stopped him.

Not something. Someone. A young man took her and covered her with his coat “Here, ma’am. Run along, run now!”

“I cannot, he is my husband!” She pleaded.

“Well, run now, for you are to be a widow. Run along.”

“What is his crime?” She demanded to know.

The man’s expression hardened “He raped and killed my sister and burned down the barn where he did it. Now run along. Take this,” he gave her a sack with plenty of money “it shall get you as far as it can. Now go, go! Ye’ll be accused otherwise of the crime. Run, Mrs. Spencer. Be free of this abomination.”

She nodded and started to run and it didn’t take her long to find a kind traveller who took her to London by the exchange of three coins and some bread and cheese.

Two days later, she landed on London, the famous capital. She took a deep breath and started to live off in the streets, always looking for a job. She started off as a baker, and made a good amount. Everything went on well.

Until everything went down again. She was happily chatting with a rather becoming man when the smoke was too strong, and when she went to check what happened… the kitchen was on fire. She didn’t know what to do. The shop was about to close. She just ran.

The next day she was fired. She had been punched, slapped, beaten. But the slap of Mrs. Capel hurt her even more than any of her late husband’s. She also made sure that no one would hire such a ‘sloppy, silly girl’.

And she was on the streets again. Begging for food, living with the rats and people of the night. Until one day, a woman with pretty clothes and a strong demeanour stopped to observe her “What is your name, girl?”

“M-Marianna, ma’am.”

“How old are you?”

She bit her lip “Five and twenty, ma’am.”

She got close and observed her up and down “Hmmm. Gorgeous blonde hair. Nice features, small and looks like you can do anything, right?”

“I—I learn fast, madam.”

She smiled “Come with me, child.” They went into her carriage and started talking “My name is madame Èponine, but you may call me Mrs. Shirley. And given by the ring you have and the fact that there is no man in sight to provide for you, you’ve ran away… or were widowed.”

“I am Marianna, and I am indeed a widow.”

She observed her further “You’re rather shy for a beautiful widow.”

She flushed “I am like any other village girl, madam.”

She tutted “I see. Another mediocre man who didn’t treat his wife like the treasure she is. Ah, they get worse by the day.”

Marianna sighed, trying not to cry. Madame Èponine lifted her chin “Chin up, stand straight, child, and wipe your tears. Do not let those nasty men and their goons see you weak. They eat the weak for breakfast.”

She nodded “May I… may I ask what do you want of me, madame?”

She smiled “I want to turn your anger, tears, and feminine wiles and beauty into power, so strong that no man will raise his hand at you. I want to teach you to tame the wolves trying to eat you… and make of you, their queen.”

She frowned “How can you do that?”

She laughed “My dear, first lesson: men are weak and dumb. Blinded by material things like political power and beauty. We women are stronger and wiser. Yes, Eve was made out of Adam’s ribcage, but because of her, we exist. Who, if not us, have brought their heirs into the world? Who, if not the queens, have made the job to persevere the dynasty while the men wiggled their swords and went on dumb crusades? Who, if not us, have kept the babes alive with our breast milk and motherly love? Yes, they may provide with money, but it’ll be gone afterwards. Loyalty, wisdom, self-worth and words are to never be revoked. Hell, even the Earth is a woman! We are kept alive by a living and breathing female deity who, by giving us trees and flowers and oxygen we are still standing. We are amazing, and they don’t realise it. Don’t tell them either, or they’ll have a meltdown and tell the Pope,” She winked, and Marianna laughed “being a woman in this world can be either a gift, or a curse. You choose what to make of your existence as one.”

The carriage stopped and Marianna, intrigued, came to see her new job… and gasped “This is a whorehouse!”

Madame Èponine replied calmly behind her “No, my dear. This is your kingdom. Come along, give me the benefit of the doubt at least.”

She sighed, fully knowing she had no other options and came in to see some young men chatting with the ladies and others lounging around. Everyone greeted Madame Èponine and carried on to the oldest one, no less than fifty “What can I help you with, Madame? And who is the young flesh?”

“This is Marianna…”

“Howard,” she replied “Marianna Erin Howard is my maiden name.”

She smiled “Nice to make your acquaintance. I take you want a place here?”

“I am trying to persuade her to join us. Do tell her your experience.”

She smiled and signalled the youngest girl in the room to get them some tea and scones and smiled teasingly “Even us whores deserve nice and delicious teatime, dear!” They sat down and she explained that she was from the Falkland Islands and had been taken by pirates to be sold. Mr. Shirley saw her and her fiery temper and took her in. He had recently married Madame Èponine, who was a young bride of eighteen. They trained her and taught her everything she knew. She and Madame Èponine grew up as best friends and sisters.

“So, I don’t have to lay with the men all the time… right?” She asked shyly.

“Oh dear, do not mistake us! Our principal focus is pleasure, but I’ve made friends of clients and even allies! Èponine here could persuade the Prince Regent to try out marriage with only drinking with him to oblivion! We have a choice with our bodies and who gets the dessert. But first things first: you need to know how to be a room hostess and woman of the night.”

“What would I learn?”

“Read, write, poetry, art, a language or two in case a dashing foreigner comes, the other kind of clients you could get, politics… the sort.”

Marianna frowned “Other clients?”

The women giggled “We do not only entertain men, dear. Some women come too, and surprisingly; angry wives are rare to come here looking for their husbands!”

“So, I will also… bed women?”

The women laughed “If you’re not into them, then no, dear! There are other girls and even some male companions who take care of that.”

Marianna looked around and yes… there were at least four men dressed in burlesque clothes and chatting with other men. She supposed they also bedded men. She was no one to judge.

“I would like to see what it is before making a decision.”

Three years later

Three years had passed, and Marianna was content as a worker in the house. Many saw the burlesque part and looked at her with disgust, pity and intrigue, but she never cared. She was happy. She had made friends out of her clients, the new girls looked up to her and had buried her scars long time ago. She had also decided to become a mother despite all. After the loss of her son, she had always dreamed to have something of her own left on earth after her. A legacy.

But the owner, Madame Èponine’s son, was adamant “The house is no place for a babe. You must either be rid of it or give it away to the Church.”

She had cried, but could negotiate with him to have two weeks with her firstborn and to name them, and he accepted. She’d also have a month off lovemaking until her body recovered, and then back to the clients. During her time, she’d teach the new girls and train the debutantes. They didn’t meet the queen or went looking for a husband and danced and partied, but rather were trained for their night debut. Most decided on which client would be their first, and a bargain was made: she’d cost even more for being a virgin, and could express to the client three wishes they were obliged to make true. In exchange, they’d get the new boon.

Marianna’s experience wasn’t like that. She did lay with a few, but always chose which one suited her better. The others paid her to hear her unbiased opinion on marital, political and parenting matters. Sometimes they needed a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes they wanted to be held as she told them they’d be alright—all while making 50 pounds per client, though the prices differed on the client’s intentions. Marianna’s debut was with no less than Prince William, and she was presented to him in his palace, dressed in blue and gold with the most beautiful makeup and elaborate hairdo. Both of them chatted as she briefly saw his illegitimate children and then went upstairs. He was kind to her, and gave her a handsome tip for her ‘lovely service’ and his talking did wonders, for many of the highest society of England and some of Europe were in need to meet the ‘Colourful Widow’ for her charisma, wisdom and sharp and bright mind. Some German dukes and counts went to visit her. She revelled on her popularity.

There was one kind of men she never laid with—navy men still on the job. The man needed to be a year and a half out for her to be alone with him. After her fiasco marriage, she refused to see any navy men. She was sent a letter from her rescuers all those years ago, sending her roses and his hand, proclaiming that now he had no power to raise his hand at her again. She buried the hand in the deep mud, promising that neither her nor the daughters she could have would ever go through what she went through. She’d only bear the children of good men who were kind to her. The others would go, being given to women who did want them, as Madame Èponine had explained to her. An aborted baby didn’t die, but instead went to the womb of a mother who was far more deserving of them.

She had realised, she missed being pregnant. To feel its kicks, a language between mother and unborn child. The connection. Like she was not alone in this. She loved the idea of being a mother. She knew it’d be a girl. She’d have her hair, and the father’s handsome dark eyes and features. She was sure. Her name would be Charlotte, like the queen.

And when she gave birth, she was delighted to see that she was not wrong. She enjoyed being her mother. Singing her lullabies, talking to her, breastfeeding her… she didn’t even complain during the diaper changes, and her head’s smell was her most favourite smell in the world. She was also sad to see her go, but the vicar was a kind man who’d assure her a good future.

Throughout the next days up until 1810, three more would follow: Andrew, Jenna and Joseph. Andrew was very much like his father, meanwhile Jenna was more like her, and Joseph was a handsome mix. She had memorized their smell, eyes, hair and voice. Even if a thousand years passed, she’d know they were hers.

In 1811, she started to feel the passage of time. She was no longer the young, witty and vivacious woman she had been. She was five and thirty, and became pickier of whom she laid with. It was a tough year, for she had heard her beloved brother, Leo, had died during the wars. She mourned him greatly. But what was worse, a Duke Richards started to accost her, bringing insane amounts of money for her to lay with him. He demanded ‘the best whore’ at all costs, but she always refused, and had many friends from Parliament and outside England who defended her, much to his chagrin. He stopped frequenting her, always talking down their brothel, calling them ‘cheap, ugly whores’ and that the others were far superior, even though the Prince Regent had announced that Shirley’s House of Delights was the best house to seek pleasure and everything beyond that. She was backed by the royals, and he, by his worshippers who only followed him for fame and money. She pitied them, honestly.

In 1812, she met Mr. Sinclaire, and her life changed forevermore. She has had many kind clients, but never met someone who she could relate to. Despite being young and deeply hurt and traumatised, that didn’t stop him from being the most gentlemanly, polite, kind and giving man she’s ever met. The times they laid with each other, he focused on her sometimes, which was indeed rare. She had grown fond of the man, the most dangerous thing for someone like her: to become too attached to a client.

Her affairs always had to be ephemeral. She didn’t see the gravity up until he mentioned her that he was seeking for a wife and had considered her, knew this had to end. She would miss him the most, but it was for the best. She thought herself free of the attachment… until she learned she was pregnant for the final time of him. She was scared, and not knowing what to do.

He couldn’t know. He’d propose to her, and would marry her out of duty. No. He couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t allow it. He deserved someone young and beautiful who loved him so and could give him what he deserved. He, of all men, was the worthiest of it. And she wasn’t able to do that.

She had told him so, laying on the grass of his estate “I learned something in there a long time ago; just because I wasn’t loved properly before doesn’t mean that I wasn’t worthy of it.” She looked at him “I don’t doubt your wife appreciated you, but she didn’t love you. When someone loves you, they always look for an excuse to be with you, they prove it to you, they tell you in a million ways, and most importantly, they don’t stab you in the back with no remorse for their own gain. They are sincere with you, because they loved you so.”

“And if they hide a secret?” He asked.

“They will tell you eventually, and if they don’t, when you confront them, they admit it and tell you the whole story, because they love you and don’t want to lose you, or thought they protected you with it.”

He smiled for a moment as he looked at the stars “Do you think there’s someone out there made for us?”

Marianna smiled and squeezed his hand “Not exactly. There is someone, but not made for us. Made for love, for healing… I know there is someone who will love you the way you deserve, and that will give you what you need. And every challenge you face, they will choose you, because you’re their priority.”

He made a face “And I’m not yours?”

“Don’t say that. I do care about you greatly, but… we cannot be. You are destined for someone else, and that someone isn’t just me.”

He looked at her “You always speak of how I am deserving of love, but you forget that so are you. You may be imperfect and flawed, but that doesn’t mean you’re unworthy of love. But if you think we are not meant to be… I will respect your decision, and if you want me to, we can be friends.”

She smiled “I’d like that very much. Now, off we go before we catch our deaths.”

The birth wasn’t the easiest. She has had worse, but she was stressed. Luckily, her most favoured midwife was a wonder and the baby was out safely, and incredibly healthy, as bright as the sun. But times had changed. New things were coming, and child deaths were still high, and this time, she was able to raise her on her own. She wanted to wait to see if she was truly healthy and bright. Two months came. And four. And eight. She decided to call her ‘Girl’ in case.

The moment she was born, her health started to decline. She had weakened and, while she tried to be the best mother to her by hiding her condition, she felt weaker by the day.

She loved teaching her daughter. Her most favourite lessons were lions and its way of living “Did you know that lions are a matriarchy? Yes, it is the lionesses that rule the lion kingdom! They hunt, take care of the baby and keep the lions alive, and they respect their women greatly. It is because of their bravery and strength that the lions still persevere. Look at me,” she looked at her daughter’s intense blue eyes “the lion is who he is because of the lioness. You, my dear, are a lioness. Your lion will be nothing without you. You are strong, brave and have been born to lead. A King without his Queen is nothing, meanwhile a Queen without a King is everything. And you, my dear, will one day have your own kingdom to rule. Always remind that king that his line and kingdom is standing and stable because of you. You are the pillar of earth, with the power to create life. No man will ever be able to match it, remember. Never let any man forget that they’re alive because their mama lioness did the job to keep them alive. Promise me, baby?”

“Pwomise, mama!”

By 1815, she asked the vicar to let her see her children. She’d adapt to their schedules. Her eldest, Charlotte, had been adopted by a dowager baroness who had never been able to carry children, but had a massive fortune by her husband’s death and was trained to be a socialite and lady. She was cold and prejudicial towards her, thing that hurt her, but couldn’t blame her. She was a child. She tried to introduce her to her baby sister, but coldly said that ‘that walking sin is not my sister’. She was deeply hurt and, the moment she left reluctantly paying for the lunch, she broke down. Mr. Chambers was the sweetest by comforting her and giving her scones and other sweets that soothed her. Her Andrew, of nine, had been intrigued by her and even greeted Girl. He did tell her to please name his sister, and that he’d call her to his schoolmates ‘Goldie’ for her golden hair. Jenna, of seven, was curious and hurt that she abandoned her, and she said she’d be happy to welcome her back into her life in a way she was comfortable with. Her adoptive mother, Alma, had died, and was happy to call her ‘Mama’. She was the spitting image of her: same golden hair and blue eyes, with soft and angelical facial expressions and sweet demeanour. Finally, Joseph, of five, was thrilled to meet his birth mama, for he was adopted by an old farmer who needed a strong boy to help him in the hard farm chores. He played with Girl and promised to be good to his adopted grandfather.

When she was with her daughter in her deathbed, she held her and Jenna’s hand “Listen to me, my daughters. Today, I will leave to be with God in his realm, but that does not mean I will leave forever. And thus, I have two parting gifts. Remember, my angels of golden hair: always know you’re worth it. Today, tomorrow, and always. You are smart enough, beautiful enough, always enough, and if others don’t see it, that’s because they don’t bring much to the table. Being a woman is not certainly easy nowadays, but it is up to you whether you make it the most wonderful experience or the worst thing to ever happen to you. We are the reason the men you’ll marry are here, their lines continue because of you, and the very soil we step in is feminine. Your bodies are your most sacred parts, and nobody can take them away, for they belong to you and you alone. You can be anything you wish if you set your mind to. And always remember, that they can take one, but never if you’re together. Nothing can stop us if we women remain united. Always help your sisters. Be kind to the other, God knows how mean men are to us already. Always tend a hand, be kind, be steadfast, be true to yourself, be strong, and unapologetic. Be loud, take your deserved space, speak up and never, ever, kneel to a man. Only kneel to God, and no other man. And, if you have to choose who lives and who dies, choose yourselves. There is no man on earth who is worth dying for. And most of all… be yourselves, for the very best of myself lies in yourselves. And if someone doesn’t like it… that’s their loss, not yours. Now, come, my daughters. Hug Mama until she’s reunited with God.”

That day, she died while Mr. Sinclaire and Mr. Hughes, the kind farmer who had taken in Joseph, watched as she passed away. Jenna’s father was looking for a job for her, and was more than happy to send Jenna to be educated with her younger sister.

Marianna Howard hadn’t had the easiest path, but her story was an inspiration to her children: a woman who had come to London with nothing more than an aching heart, who grabbed pain by the hand and made it her weapon to thrive in society and turn it into power. She was never insulted again, nor touched without permission by other men, or even humiliated by her condition. She had been a strong woman who showed younger girls what it meant to be a woman and make the best of it. She never once allowed anyone to make her feel less human or womanly or worth it because of her position, nor she abused it. She had left a legacy to the girls, that being a woman was a blessing and not a curse, and that respect, wisdom and loyalty would get you far. And what’s more, because of her, her daughters would later become historic, and their magnificent deeds would vindicate her decades later.

It was Marianna’s loyalty and eternal love to her daughters, and her last words what inspired them to become their greatest selves. And what’s more, Marianna was the greatest Legend Maker, considered an angel for having brought the magnificent woman who’d rule Dracaria to their lives. And in Devonshire, who had turned on her, would apologise to her… in a statue form in 1916, an icon of female strength and empowering figure for those women in the oldest job in the world wanting to be more than an object to men’s enjoyment, and the inspiration to wanting out and be something else.

Marianna had promised herself that, someday, she’d be vindicated for all the pain she had suffered, and that promise became true. The woman who lost it all because of a man’s ego was restored for centuries to come. And many more would follow her example.

What Marianna couldn’t complete, her daughters and those who were inspired by her finished it for her.

She had been thrown into the deep forest to be devoured by the wolves, and, as she had been promised, came back stronger, leading the pack as their queen, and reigned victorious and remembered for the rest of eternity.

[lanyakea-universe]

Starker : SIM Tony Stark - Human Collection

(English isn't my mother tongue, have mercy :D)

.

Tony Stark spent months mourning the loss of his beloved lover.

They had been about to get married, to unite forever and eternally when Peter passed away, one night, because a mere thug had decided so.

His precious Peter died in his arms, wincing in pain and crying desperately for help - for Tony's help.

And, oh, that made Superior angry. Infuriated. Enraged.

Inconsolable.

So he began to invade the neighboring universes to seek for another Peter. But they were all so different. Some did not have his face. Others were older or younger. There were the girls, the Peters with and those without powers, those who already had a Tony...

There were so many of them. None were perfectly his Peter. But... They're easing his pain.

Eventually, he started a collection made of Peters. He would hunt them down, capture them, and bring them back to his Earth to introduce them to their new universe and their new life.

Superior cherished them all, and took special care in spoiling, pampering, and observing them. Oh, he loved watching them in their glass cages. Each had their own space, their own room with everything they could wish and dream for as long as they asked for it nicely.

Peter from Earth 014 was a 25 year old waiter with no powers. He didn't smile much, but had incredible manners. Tony granted him many outings in the penthouse outside his room since he was one of his more obedient boys, and 014 would cook for his owner and serve him, loyal to his previous life. Too bad this angel was heterosexual - it only made some nights at the tower harder to go through as he shared Superior's heat in bed.

Peter 744 was actually Penny. Tony had made an exception for this little one, and had chosen a girl. His motivation? Mainly the prospect of playing with her generous and plump boobs and stimulating her little clit until she squirms and cries, because that was the sweetest torture he relished inflicting. Except from this, a touch of femininity in his collection was very welcomed. Penny was paradoxically kinda tomboy, yet Tony appreciated to make her try on multi-million dollar dresses, adorned with gold and emerald, just for the sake of the sight. A princess was a princess.

There was also red-haired Peter, number 361. This adorable seventeen-year-old version of his lover had huge dark eyes along with freckles staining his young face. Like many other Peters, this one was an orphan. However, he was not from New York. He was French (he barely knew 2 english words), and had grown up unfairly in a horrible reformatory, oppressed by the guardians of this absurd place and bullies of his age. Tony had grown fond on the boy just by hearing his compulsive stuttering, and his boundless shyness. of course, then, he had taken him under his wing without hesitation to offer him the life of a prince, to show him how superior he was to any other human.

The total opposite of number 361 was Peter 900. The first thing that piqued Superior's curiosity with this young man was the magnificent blue eyes. The only blue-eyed Peter he's ever found. Of course, he kept him. 900 was absolutely ungrateful and vehement, a real pest who struggled and fulminated morning and evening against his new universe as if he had the slightest chance to escape from it - from his owner. Tony always had fun watching him try, and he used that brat as an example to tame others when it came to sanctioning his intolerable behavior. But it was good to have some affront. And it was always a good rodeo ride in bed.

And others and more... So many of them, dozens of all kinds and personalities. Tony prized them all. They were a great and precious treasure to him, his cherished trophies and possessions.

They all had a collar sealed around their neck, as an unquestionable witness of their submission to Superior.

Whore, Slut, Owned, Slave, Bitch, Fuck Toy, Baby Boy, Cum Dump, Kitten, and many others.

They were not mistreated. Never. They just had to know their place, and stay docilely in their glass prison.

But still... none of them were his Peter.

No, his Peter was dead because he let this tragedy occur. He had been too indulgent, and something horrible happened to his baby; he had let him be Spider-Man, he had let him risk his life every day because Peter loved saving worthless citizens.

Oh, he would never make the same mistake again. Not twice.

He met an 8 year old Peter Parker.

A street rat, sick, abandoned, and condemned to the cruelty of his universe.

He was like his Peter.

As sweet, kind, and innocent as Peter. Tony bought him a cheesburger which the little sweetheart devoured greedily, rambling about legos. And that was it. Superior brought him back home, and gave him a white collar different from the others, made of diamonds, worthy of this tiny angel too precious for this world.

Goddess.

Tony was immortal. He would wait, while Peter grew up under his strict and loving (brainwashing) upbringing. Then he would administer Extremis to him at 21, as his Peter should have, to see him become his equal.

[mysdrymmumbles]

I'm reading through your Soulmates post and I have a question (I haven't finished, so if you've answered it in the post, just ignore me xD). If someone dies without meeting their soulmate, will their soulmate know somehow? Or are they doomed to spend their lives searching for a solmate that just isn't there anymore?

They’ll feel it, like getting punched in the chest, except more profound. 

Many who feel their connection sever reject the truth initially, and keep seeking their soulmate, at least for a while. 

Soulmates have a sort of bond, like they can feel the invisible string between them, pulling them together. The older they get, the stronger it is, which is another reason why looking for one’s soulmate at 25 is considered the best age. If you just let that connection guide you, you’ll be drawn to your soulmate.

So when your soulmate dies, that connection just...stops.

Kids who lose their soulmates don’t generally understand the connection, though it does leave them inconsolable for a long time because they know they’ve lost something, they just can’t put it to words.

Losing one’s soulmate before finding them is pretty infrequent though. There are always going to be accidents, but aside from Shades, the world is a very peaceful place. There are no wars, violence in general is pretty low. 

Also, as far as living without one’s soulmate, that depends on how close you were with them. 

Elderly couples tend to die within days or weeks of each other, especially if they’ve been together most of their lives. 

Drayis ‘lost’ his soulmate when she was a week old, so the bond never really got to form. He was four. He knew something terrible had happened and cried for weeks. But he has no real memory of what it was like to have that bond, so not having it doesn’t affect him as badly as it would someone who had spent their life with their soulmate.

They have support groups for people who have lost their soulmates, and society doesn’t know how to handle that very well. There’s a lot of well-meaning condolences, but people don’t understand what it’s like and it others those who have lost their partners.  

[discoscoob]

I'm honestly so upset and I don't know what to do or do. I like Eddie and Chrissy together. I think it's really sweet and l love the potential. I saw someone say that Eddie was a 'grown ass man" taking advantage of a minor. I'm not a ship-war person at all, but I pointed out the casting info showing her as 18. They laughed at me, said the casting list referred to the actor's age and accused me of being a fan of pedophilia.

I'm a sexual assault survivor (years of abuse starting when I was 5 years old) and I'm pretty inconsolable right now. I'm crying and shaking. How could anyone think it's okay to say that to me? Or to anyone? Based on sweet little spark of romance between two highschoolers in the same grade? I just feel so sick and I guess i just need someone to tell me that it will be okay. Sorry if that's weird.

No it’s not weird at all and it will be okay, I promise you. I’m really sorry that someone said that to you and your reaction is completely valid. If you need someone to talk to about it you’re welcome to send me a message but if you’re not comfortable doing that, that’s okay too.

You’re absolutely right about the casting call being for the characters age and not the actors, because Grace Van Dien is 25 years old not 18, so I don’t know what that anti was telling you but they’re wrong.

I also don’t know how these people can call themselves fans of Eddie’s character but describe him as a “grown ass man who’s taking advantage of a minor” it’s really starting to feel like Eddie is just a prop of their ship and they’ll throw him under the bus otherwise.

People have been so disgusting and insensitive throwing that word around without a second thought and it really needs to stop. It’s incredibly triggering and they don’t care.

But I promise everything will be okay, there’s absolutely nothing that they can do to us, this ship war is ridiculous and with time the majority of the most vile and loud shippers will find a new mlm ship to fixate on and they won’t be our problem anymore.

[mlbfanficwriteranddumper]

Day 7: gifts

This took a dark turn since it's what I imagined would've happened if I knew how to write.

Backstory below the cut!!

DW: "what is father looking at so sad?"

DG: “it’s the anniversary of Jason’s funeral”

DW: “so he’s looking at pictures of Todd”

DG: "no, when Joker killed Jason, I was off world on a mission with the titans, so I couldn't help or do anything since I didn't know"

DW: "you've told me this, but what does it have to do with this?"

DG: "you also know that I was 20 and had 3 years being Nightwing when Jason was murdered, but he didn't live with just Alfred and Bruce. You have a half sister, her name is Marinette, she was 6 last time we saw her"

DW: "why wasn't I informed about this and what do you mean last time you saw her?”

DG: "she was taken by the Joker. Bruce was inconsolable after Jason and decided to protect her by sending her to France with a couple that Alfred knew, he was told that they had her and she was fine, but apparently that was a lie. After the funeral and after I came back to earth, Bruce told me about sending Mari away and then went and almost beat the Joker to death”

DW: "...what happened after?"

DG: "Joker taunted him about Mari, I went to look for her where we thought she was, the couple didn’t even know they were supposed to take a girl in. A day later, Joker sent a picture of her, as a ‘gift’, dressed in a clown costume and since then he always sends one on the anniversary of Jason's funeral, which is the day Bruce sent her away"

DW: "does Drake know about her?"

DG: "yeah, he knew her, somehow she knew that his parents left him alone most of the time, so she insisted on having him as a babysitter sometimes or just going to visit him"

DW: "why haven't you found her?"

DG: "we asked Harley, cashed a lot of favours from Constantine and Zatanna and even Kon and Clark have tried, but it's like she doesn't even exist, not here and not in outer space. We somehow see Joker, but he never says enough in his taunts for us to find her on time"

DW: "on time? So you've found her before?"

DG: "almost every two years we found where she's been kept and some note or clue from Joker, but we never know why we couldn't find her or where she's been taken to"

DW: "...may I see a picture of her from before?"

DG: "sure lil' D, let's go ask Alfred for pictures of her"

-------

T: "did you know about Mari when you were training with Talia?"

J: "no, she also didn't know, I didn't found out until after I tried to kill the Joker and Bruce, and now I can't kill the bastard if we want to ever find her"

T: "do you think that Damian knows she's older than him by just a year?"

J: "you know I don't come to the manor often, but earlier I saw Alfred and Dick showing him pictures of her before everything"

T: "I hope we find her"

J: "me too Timbers, me too"

------

THIS TOOK A REALLY DARK TURN AND A TON OF DIALOGUE BUT I JUST COULDN'T WRITE ANYTHING ELSE, SO SORRY!

Also, in my head and in every scenario that I post, unless stated otherwise, their ages are going to have this continuity, some landmarks of their ages are these events: Dick's adoption (in my head he was adopted and not just a ward at first, thank you very much), Dick became Nightwing and Jason became Robin, Jason's death and Tim becoming Robin and Jason's return to Gotham.

Dick:

8 when he was adopted,

17 when he became Nightwing,

20 with Jason's death and

25 when Jason came back.

Jason:

3 when Dick was adopted,

12 when he became Robin and Dick became Nightwing (but not like right after, I image some months went by between those two),

15 when he died and

20 when he came back.

Tim:

0, he didn't exist when Dick was adopted (so his backstory changes, he didn't see when Dick's parents died, but he still figured him out but because of his later circus' obsession and seeing that the Flying Graysons are the only ones able to perform a quad summersault),

9 when Dick became Nightwing and Jason became Robin,

12 when Jason died and he became Robin (also, a couple of months, but he was already known in the manor bc of Mari, as in the comics, he didn't really want to be adopted at first but also bc he thought he would be trying to fill the void of Mari and Jason)

17 when Jason came back

Marinette:

0, also didn't exist when Dick was adopted,

3 when Jason became Robin,

6 when Jason died and she was kidnapped,

11 with Jason's return to Gotham (surprise, she doesn't know)

Damian:

0, didn't exist for Dick's adoption,

2 when Dick became Nightwing,

5 for Jason's death and Mari's kidnapping,

10 for Jason's return

Currently:

Bruce: I won't tell his age, honestly, but in semi canon, he should be 18 years older than Dick, so he should be 44, but let's ignore that, he and Alfred are ageless. (his bday is Feb 19th)

Babs: 28 (her bday is Sep 23rd)

Dick: 26 (his bday is March 20th)

Cass: 21 (her bday is Jan 26th)

Jason: 21 (his bday is Aug 16th)

Steph: 19 (her bday is Aug 11th)

Tim: 18 (his bday is July 19th)

Duke: 17 (his bday is Aug 13th)

Mari: 12 (her bday is July 9th)

Damian: 11 (his bday is Jan 5th)

And I've planned that Mari doesn't get rescued until she's 17, which makes Babs 34, Dick 32, Jason and Cass 27, Steph 25, Tim 24, Duke 23 and Damian 16, at the time of her rescue.

If you want to know more headcanons about this, lmk.

Also, LMK WHAT YOU THINK!!!

[koficlouds]

Whumptober Day 8 Everything Hurts and I’m Dying

Fandom: Youtuber Egos

Characters: JSE Egos

Relationships: (Father-Son)Henrik/Robbie

Prompt: Back From the Dead

“Be careful today, I love you Dad” 

Those were the last words Henrik heard from the ego he had treated like a son before he had gone into work that day. Well, the last he’s heard from them when they were alive. Oh how he wished he could have that back now.

That call, the one that started it all.

Flashing back to the past, Henrik’s alarm went off with it’s usual loud beeping. With a small groan, the half asleep surgeon reached to turn it off before throwing the covers off his body. He yawned and stretched, some of his joints popping as he did so. Standing up he put on his glasses and went to get ready for his shift at the hospital. He ran the place after all. 

While fixing his doctor coat and trying to find his keys, he stumbled around Robbie. “Looking for something..?” Robbie handed Henrik his keys, who thanked him afterwards and gently hugged him. Robbie happily hugged back and smiled. Sometimes Henrik got carried away when he’d treat Robbie like his son but that couldn’t be held against him since Robbie was always around Henrik and was slightly the second hand witness to the death of his wife and child. He let him take on that parental role for him; they had to set some boundaries firsthand but it worked for him. Robbie even found himself sometimes calling Henrik ‘dad’ which always made the Germans’ day.

But this day was different. Robbie was just finishing up for a degree after he had dropped out of college at the age of 25. Seven years later he decided to go back for a masters degree in law. Henrik walked to the door to head off for work when he heard Robbie call out for him. “Be careful today! I love you dad!” Henrik smiled softly, giving an ‘I love you’ back to him as he left for that day. Little did he know that this day would change his life forever.

During the shift about nine hours later there was a call for an emergency meeting. When the question of who was asked the entire group of other doctors fell silent, as they knew Henrik would not like this news. “It’s..” one of them hesitated, choking back the words that could either make Henrik lash out or break him, rendering him inconsolable. “Your ‘son’..Robbie was in a bad car crash today..He..did not make it”

Those words left Henrik speechless. His brain blanked and it felt like he wasn’t even in his own body at this moment. For a while he hoped, silently praying that this was just a dream and that when he got home there he would be, all happy and alive..

But, those were just wishes, when he got home that night there was nobody there to say hello like Robbie used to.

From then, days turned to weeks. And weeks turned to months as Henrik tried everything he knew to try and cleanse the guilt he felt. It wasn’t his fault but it felt like it was. Had he of been there for him and not left, maybe, just maybe he’d still be standing there waiting for him. He couldn’t do it..he needed his child back. He couldn’t save his little girl..but god dammit he was going to save Robbie no matter what, even if it killed him!

When the clock struck midnight, Henrik left the ego household that they resided in and went back to the hospital. As always it was locked up, just how he left it. Pulling the keys out from his pocket he unlocked the door and walked inside. From there he went down to the morgue, looking for Robbie’s door. 

Opening the door he slid Robbies’ body onto the cart and took him away, to the laboratory side of the hospital and decided he’d take matters into his own hands. From there, he worked on several serums, and replaced a few things that weren’t needed. 

Once he was finished, all he needed to do was jumpstart the heart one time. It wouldn’t beat like normal, but it would be enough to bring him back to life. He’d need a powerful electric shock to do so, and Henrik knew exactly how to get it. breaking a lamp bulb he plugged it in and then proceeded to shock Robbies’ body before unplugging the lamp..

Hours later, he heard a small groan and his head quickly shot up. Robbies finger twitches..then again..Then he slowly but surely began to wake. Henriks’ eyes lit up at the sight and he made his way over to him. “Robbie?” He said quietly. The german sat next to the bed Robbie resided on. 

Robbie’s eyes slowly opened, and met Henriks’ pale blue tired eyes.

“...Papa....?”

[writeradamanteve]

Remember this?

Been writing a little more here and there in this universe, but thought I'd post a little bit to celebrate the confirmation of the sequel to The Old Guard.

They would find others like them sooner and sooner. Like their collective minds could triangulate the newly-immortal more quickly. It was also true that the immortal could be mortal.

They’d lost one of their own--Archibald Andrews, felled by a bullet from the barrel of an Ottoman machine gun in the Battle of Mohács, August 25, 1526.

Forsythe still remembered that moment, when he heard Elizabeth’s cry amidst the chaos. “He is not healing. His wounds won’t heal!”

He saw blood seeping between her fingers. Saw the realization dawn in Archibald’s eyes. He was in a moment that they never knew could happen until now. There hadn’t been any visible signs, no logic to this outcome, no profound goodbyes. It was sudden, unexpected, and completely devastating.

Archibald was only a little over 90 years old. New compared to Forsythe who was 500 and Elizabeth, 350 years old. The loss of Archie felt like a piece of them both had died. It was supposed to be the three of them through the millenia, even as new immortals came along.

And perhaps even after all those centuries, a part of them remained dogmatic, that three was the number, that three would always be.

They found Valerie not five years before Archibald’s death and she was close to him the way a sister was to a brother. She was the newest addition to their family and Archibald had taken her under his wing. After Archibald’s death she was inconsolable for years, and it took finding Veronica to heal that gaping wound in her heart.

Veronica and Valerie’s love was a bond like no other, searing with its passion and ever consuming. They saw the world as a house on fire and they two kept one another safe from the flames.

It was perhaps only then that Forsythe realized how much he and Elizabeth meant to each other. How they made each other whole.

They hadn’t been lovers then--Forsythe and Elizabeth, but they did love each other deeply. The way one loved the other half of their soul.

It was a subject that neither one of them cared to speak of, because they’d both watched the people they love die and wither, while they remained youthful and strong. Neither of them had ever had any children and they were spared the heartbreak of watching their children die, and perhaps it was all of that which kept them cautiously apart.

For what if they surrender themselves to this love? What if children were to be born from it? There was no guarantee that their children would be immortal, too. There was only pain.

Centuries of being burned, hung, drowned, thrown off mountains, impaled, tortured, beheaded, even, and they knew that there was perhaps no pain that could prepare them for the unendurable agony of losing a child.

But as they watched Veronica and Valerie love without fear, it fell upon him--the weight of his love for his French witch.

********************

They were in a palace oasis deep in the Saharan desert, owned by an Egyptian prince who claimed that he was 800 years removed from his supposed Pharaoh bloodline.

Forsythe had no reason to believe that this prince had fabricated his lineage, but his studies through the centuries had given him a healthy skepticism of legacy, particularly with regard to the Pharaohs who married their sisters and aunts.

Whatever the prince’s heritage, they were reaping the benefits of his generosity as guests of his palace. They, the traveling warriors with their legendary skills and incomparable head for strategy.

They had a reputation, it seemed, for ending wars and conflict, and he supposed that was all Elizabeth’s doing. She was the one who had the bright idea of actively seeking doing good with this gift, or this curse. And as much as Forsythe teased her for giving to a world that was generally ungrateful at being saved from itself, he was deeply aware that Elizabeth had given them a powerful purpose, and it made this eternal life worth living.

When he came into her bedroom that night and sat on her bed, waiting for her to say something, she said, “Elskan mín, maður.”

She had called him “my beloved” in the language of his origin, and then husband.

“Eiginkona,” he breathed back. Wife, he called her, before he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with the centuries of longing.

Her bed draped with soft sheets and the air perfumed with incense, he worshipped every inch of her skin, tasted every part of her that he had denied himself before, and he buried himself in her pleasure.

It was a deep ache relieved by the heat of their skins, the tasting of sweet surrender, the intensity of pounding hips on hips. Inside her he was whole, spilling himself within her felt like joining their souls.

They always knew of each other’s love. They told each other constantly through the ages--how they would be lost without each other, how they held each other’s hearts, but it wasn’t until that night in the Sahara that they consummated their union with molten heat, branding one another in all possible ways.

They’d been married, since. No need for a priest or officiant, no ritual or reception. They knew it in their bones, how they felt, what it meant. They remained forever faithful, now and forever.

That desperate need for physical affirmation raged for decades, flaring at times, rough and hard where there were no luxurious sheets and scented candles, and when that hungry fire slowly steadied, it was still a boiling river of lava that seemed eternal.

[boolproppin]

UGH, I want to ask all of them for Adam and Helmi (because they are my favorite) but I will behave and only ask... all the even numbers. akjsdaskdjas I'm sorry I just want to know all the things. ;-;

I will answer all of them for you my friend <3 

1. Who’s the one who’s reckless and always getting into trouble while the other gotta pull em out

They are both very level headed, however if one of them got themselves into trouble it would more likely be Adam who would follow his ideals and being a standup guy (unintentionally getting himself into a pickle). Helmi would need to talk some sense into him and help him see the grey area.

2. Who’s the one to send the other “I love my gf/bf” memes

This would so be Adam! He’s only recently learned about memes and gets a pretty good kick out of them. He would absolutely EMAIL them to Helms.

3. Who’s the one who listens to a music genre the other doesn’t like and how does the other react

Helmi listens to indie pop which Adam just can’t seem to get into. He usually has a confused look on his face and then “recommends” putting on some Fleetwood Mac. 

4. Which one spoils the other more and do they ever get competitive to show the other more love

Adam! They aren’t competitive though, they both have a very sweet way of spoiling each other in different ways. 

5. How many years did it take to get married or was it just not for them

This is still up in the air ;) 

6. What was their wedding like

IF they got married it would be low key, minimal, and a small group of friends at an outdoor celebration. Their first dance would be to I Only Have Eyes for You by The Flamingos

7. Is their friends/family supportive

Helmi’s family and friends are very supportive of her meeting and starting a relationship with Adam. As far as Adam’s family...ehhhh, but his bestie Rayland is all for him moving forward in his life and being with someone he adores.  

8. How does one comfort the other when the other is in distress/having a panic attack/crying

Adam to Helmi: blankets, tea, and cuddles Helmi to Adam: words of affirmation and hugs

9. Which one dissociates

Neither 

10. Which one stares at the other’s booty like “damn” and how does the other react when catching them

Adam fo’ sho. Helmi just shakes her head, “there’s nothing even there to stare at!” 

11. When they live together what kinda place do they live in? What does their home look like?

Small home with mid-century modern feel. 

12. What do their dates look like

Randomness! Adam and Helmi have so much to show each other with the age gap. A night out to the movies ends up being an adventure of watching buskers, stopping at random bazaars, checking out random shops. 

13. How does each act when getting drunk

Helmi- flirty and DTF  Adam- Sadsies, but easily coaxed into a better mood ;)

14. Which one rolls over in the morning to wake up the other one just to give kiss them

Adam for sure, he’s an old man so he gets up early.

15. Have they saved each other’s lives before

I think they both did in a sense, they aren’t just existing anymore. 

16. Does one have an interest the other think is weird but wants to listen to it regardless

Yes! Adam is insanely obsessed with Fleetwood Mac/Stevie Nicks (probably why he just thinks Helms is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen). Helmi just loves how he lights up and gets excited when talking about them/her. 

17. Which one uses cropped hentai as reaction images

NEITHER LMAO

18. Does one of them kinkshame the other

I think Helmi would vanilla shame Adam, “you know they’ve invented more positions since missionary?”

19. Is one of them self conscious about their body? If so how does the other comfort them

They are both pretty content, however I could see Adam getting self conscious if he met some of the models Helmi is around.

20. Say they were cuddling on the bed while listening to record player playing the background. Which song is playing?

My Girl by The Temptations

21. What is their song? Like the song that gives them overwhelming feelings?

Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke

22. What song do they listen to while going on a joyride

Renee by SALES 

Adam likes the “hey you got it” part.

23. What kinda joyrides do they go on? Relaxing ones or wild ones?

Relaxing. Visit a small town or go to a beach nearby. Stop by some of the shops along the way.

24. Where would they vacation for a honeymoon

Brindleton Bay

25. Do people ever get annoyed of their pda

Not at all, they are the couple that holds each others hands or are close to each other, a peck on the cheek or lips. 

26. Would they live in the city or the country

Country but not too far from the city.

27. Which ones the red which ones the blue

Helmi is red, Adam blue

28. Are either of them mentally ill, if so how do they help one another cope

Adam has depression and Helmi has anxiety. They help each other by listening, going to counseling, and checking in with each other. 

29. Does one have a spot on them where they would melt when the other kisses them there

Helms melts when he kisses her hand. 

30. Do they dance together

Oh yes, many an impromptu dance sesh when the record player is on.

31. Do they sing together

Yes and they both are HORRENDOUS singers.

32. Which one is better at cooking than the other and makes most the dinners

Adam is a better cook so he would definitely make more of the dinners.

34. Are they a reckless couple or safe

Safe!

35. What be they kinks and do they try each other’s kinks

Adam would love to do the deed while Helmi wears his lettermans jacket. As for Helmi she loves the thrill of having sex in public.  As far as trying each others? We’ll have to see!

36. What would their valentines gifts be to each other

Adam would get the old school boxed valentines cards (the kind you took to elementary school) and would write something sweet along with a box of chocolates.  Helmi...probably in his letterman’s jacket waiting for him to come home. 

37. Do they get into fights often? If so what do they fight over and how do they make up?

Not often. They would most likely fight about Adam’s idealistic tendencies or insecurities. Making up would consist of apologies and cinnamon rolls.

38. Which ones top, bottom, verse

Het couple so verse?

39. What kinda sex they be having (gentle rough whatever)

Gentle but also a tiny bit rough at times.

40. Who would fight in honor for the other if someone would insult them

Both! No one messes with theirs! 

41. Which one has a favorite movie that they have the other watch with them again and again

Helmi does which is 50 First Dates

42. How would one react if the other was to die

Inconsolable. I don’t think either of them would ever move on.

43. Who dies first

Helmi

44. Do they want kids

Adam can’t have children and his only child Rhiannon was conceived with IVF, but that is no longer an option. Helmi is okay with not having children, she’s never considered having her own. 

45. How would they spend their last moments together

Dancing while the record player is on.

[irkimatsu]

Okay, after way too much delay - it's my Eurovision 2021 Final Ranking! This took me a while for a lot of factors - took extra hours at work to make sure I could get time off this week, some recent family events... and most relevantly, the fact that this year is so damn good that no matter what, I knew someone was going to get ripped off by ending up somewhere in the bottom half. Just know that being toward the bottom of the list doesn't necessarily mean I dislike it, especially this year - it just means I like other things more. This year is going to be an absolute bloodbath. I am both excited and terrified.

Try not to take my ranking too seriously, by the way - I'm an American who unironically listens to stuff like Scooch and Dolly Style. I'm not exactly a seasoned music critic. I just know what sort of music makes the happiness center of my brain light up, what the hell is music theory

Ranking made with the sorter at http://esc.gerbear.com/sorter2021.htm, then slightly adjusted when it put some songs concerningly low on the list. Okay, so I cheated a little

Firstly, in the interest in completion - if Belarus didn't get disqualified, they'd be in the big fat 40 rank, with a big bold "Hate" right above. Fuck that song. I've only listened to it once and am so glad I have no obligation to acknowledge it any further. Those fucking lyrics. Mother of Christ. Fuck you guys.

I also offer my condolences to Armenia for their having to bow out this year. I'm sure whatever you guys sent, it couldn't have possibly been worse than "Chains On You".

Now, for the songs that actually matter:

Indifferent:

39 – Spain - “Voy a quedarme” by Blas Cantó: Welp, already I’m gonna get shot. I can’t remember how this song sounds at all. I know it’s tender and genuine and sweet and everything… I just… kinda don’t care. Nothing to say. I liked his entry last year even more, and even that was pretty damn dull. Just not destined to be a Blas Cantó fan, I guess!

38 - North Macedonia – “Here I Stand” by Vasil: I’m with most other rankings I’ve seen; what the hell is this? I at least kinda remember it, which is more than I can say for poor Spain, but oh my god it’s so boring. I really liked “You” last year! What the hell happened, Vasil?

37 – Albania - “Karma” by Anxhela Peristeri: Another “oops” from me, huh. It’s another one I immediately forget about the instant it ends. I at least don’t remember it boring the crap out of me, hence it placing higher than Spain and Macedonia, but I still can’t say anything nice about it – or anything at all, really – so I’ll leave it this low. I acknowledge that I’m in the minority, I won’t protest if it qualifies, but personally, it’s not my pick.

36 – Georgia – “You” by Tornike Kipiani: Give him points for passion, I suppose! At least I’m not laughing at him like I was last year. On the other hand, less ridiculous also means more boring. Points for earnestness, but this is just another song that goes right over my head.

35 – Portugal – “Love Is On My Side” by The Black Mamba: An English song from Portugal? That’s new. Too bad it hasn’t rescued the song from the darkest depths of Boring. I will confess that I spice it up a little by associating it with Homura from Osomatsu-san, thus rescuing it from the deepest pits of my ranking list… but it’s still stuck down here. Portugal and I have never gotten along well Eurovision-wise. I’ve come to accept that.

34 – Slovenia – “Amen” by Ana Soklič: I’m gonna call this a song that I respect more than I like. She’s got a great voice, I can’t deny that… but when I’m ranking this purely based on what I’d go out of my way to listen to, this one falls flat. I warned you at the beginning that I have no taste! I’m not normally into straightforward ballads, the religious connotations are lost on me… this isn’t the song for me.

33 – Austria – “Amen” by Vincent Bueno: Back to back “Amen”s! Tip for getting me to like your Eurovision entry, apparently, is “don’t call your song Amen”. It’s a ballad, earnest and trying but overall not my type of music. I’m running out of ways to say that. Breakup song, a tad bitter, we’ve all heard this sort of song so many times before. It doesn’t stand out, and I think it’d be a waste of a spot in the final.

At least, I thought this was a breakup song when I first wrote this, but apparently it’s about the death of a loved one…? I would say that makes me hate the bitterness, but… given how I’m handling a death in my own family right now… god, I don’t know. I just can’t handle this song, not at any time but especially not now. It doesn’t even provide catharsis like a song later on in the list. It stays this low regardless of its meaning, I just don’t like it, I’m sorry, moving on.

…” 'Cause it all feels like you didn't even try to save us, all this time wasted on a lie”… ugh, my personal problems…

32 – Switzerland – “Tout l'Univers” by Gjon’s Tears: Another one I respect more than I like, and another opinion I’m gonna get my ass beaten for, I’m sure. I respect the artistry, but this is so far removed from anything I’d ever listen to on purpose. It might have landed even lower if I wasn’t afraid of pissing people off. I’ll understand if it wins, but I’ll also be hoping for most anything else.

31 – Russia – “Russian Woman” by Manizha: I don’t get it. Sometimes it’s pleasant enough to listen to, but overall I don’t get it. It’s unique, I’ll give it that! I understand why it won its national final, and why so many people enjoy it! But for me, it doesn’t quite cross that line between “interesting” and “enjoyable”. I'm not Russian - this isn't for me, and it wasn't supposed to be. Though I will confess that there may be some bias at play here. God, I miss Little Big…

Okay:

30 – Estonia – “The Lucky One” by Uku Suviste: The voice is okay, the music is okay, I like how the bitterness is handled here more than in Austria’s… but this is still as high as I can go on this one. It’s serviceable, but this year has so much better to offer.

29 – Sweden – “Voices” by Tusse: Sweden really does like sending the same song over and over again, huh? I don’t hate it, but it does strike me as a lesser “Too Late For Love”, sound wise. Sweden almost never takes risks, and it’s causing me to look over them more and more with every year. I respect it too much to put it in the “Indifferent” category, but given how the rest of my ranking played out, this the best I can do for it. (But again, do not trust the opinions of someone who teethed on cheesy Europop and fondly remembers when Sweden was flooded with the stuff…)

28 – Belgium – “The Wrong Place” by Hooverphonic: Once again, Hooverphonic help Belgium fill the role of Eurovision’s “Most Likely To Appear In A Bond Movie” song. It’s fine. It’s a song! I don’t know what else to say about it! It does its job well enough, it’s just not really a job I care for that much.

27 – Ireland – “Maps” by Lesley Roy: It’s cute enough! A cute little radio tune. It’s no “Story Of My Life”, though. If “22” couldn’t qualify then this probably won’t, either, and I can’t say I’ll miss it all that much. Still pleasant enough when it comes up on the shuffle.

26 – Bulgaria – “Growing Up Is Getting Old” by Victoria: I admit it, this ranks as high as it does because of anime and that’s basically it. If I was still doing plain category sortings this would have landed straight in “Biased”. My favorite anime is about a bunch of 20-somethings learning that growing up sucks and trying as hard as possible to avoid it, and I first heard this song around the same time that I watched that show’s relatively melancholy season finale, so it ended up sticking with me on that note. Don’t have much to say about it musically, just that it makes me picture sextuplets crying and that’s one of my hobbies, so I’ll grant it an “Okay”. (It may also worth noting that if I heard this song before 2019, in the state my life was in before then it would have probably left me too inconsolable to listen to it more than once. Growing up is growing old indeed!

…it’s also worth noting that after I wrote this blurb, a major event happened that really enforced that growing up is getting old, so I listened to this quite a bit for a few days, among some other non-Eurovision songs. I’m probably gonna have an emotional breakdown on Thursday when this one starts. So, um, look out for that, guess. Between this one and Austria’s, I swear to god…)

25 – Italy – “Zitti e buoni” by Måneskin: I’ve been trying to get this one to rank higher, I really have, but its inability to crack the top 20 just says a lot about how damn good this year is. It sounds great, it’s very well done, and I wouldn’t hate to see it win! It’s earned its popularity. Everything holding it back in my own personal ranking is just that, personal – I do lose something when I can’t sing along or understand the lyrics, and there’s another rock song this year that I like way better. Still wishing you guys the best!

24 – Netherlands – “Birth Of A New Age” by Jeangu Macrooy: This song has a great style that I respect a lot. The message, the vibe – even if it’s not a culture I’m a part of, I feel and appreciate the hell out of it, and I really hope it does well. I don’t understand why so many people seem to think it’s not interesting! It may not be the sort of thing I’d go out of my way to listen to, but I’m glad it’s here. Catch me singing out “Yu no man broko mi” on Saturday! It’s been a while since I’ve given a shit about a host country’s entry, so I’m really glad for this one.

23 – Romania - “Amnesia” by Roxen: I’ll admit something else unpopular – I hated “Alcohol You” last year. Didn’t see what the big deal was at all. It sounded okay, I guess, but the lyrics were so pretentious and awful, and I’ve never liked the topic of “I love you even though you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever and you make me feel like shit”. But it seems like in that year, Roxen has discovered that self-love is important, actually, and it’s not worth it spending your time on some shitbag who consistently disappoints you. I appreciate it for that alone. Character growth! Plus, I feel the whole thing of “forgetting how to love yourself because everyone around you sucks”. It’s not the perfect song, not by a long shot, but it has a nice melody, and Roxen has a nice voice. It’s good to hear her using that voice on something I don’t find obnoxious.

22 – Norway – “Fallen Angel” by TIX: Okay, I’ll admit it, this is one where I watched the live video the first time I heard the song, and I was too busy laughing at his outfit to take the song seriously. Jesus Christ, dude, what the hell. Well, that’s Eurovision for you, and the more I listened to it, the more I admitted to myself that I’m a sucker for “I love you but letting you go for your own good, not sure what I ever offered you in the first place” type songs. Knowing the song is inspired by his own disability and self-loathing really twists that knife, to the point where I feel bad that I almost threw this at an anime character. I know I’m usually cold on songs that try to evoke emotions about the singer’s personal problems – Germany 2018, and this year’s Austrian entry – but this one really works for me. Only reason it’s in “Okay” tier is because of its competition – it’d rank way higher in a weaker year.

21 – France – “Voila” by Barbara Pravi: I like a good waltz, I guess! It’s a unique number, and the French language sounds nice, especially with the music. It’s yet another example of how this year is filled with so many interesting entries that I appreciate the hell out of. God bless this diverse year! (Or maybe everything just sounds so good to me because last year’s cancellation left me in withdrawal.) I expect a really nice performance for this one – this song isn’t one you can perform while just standing there, especially not during that speedup toward the end.

20 – Australia – “Technicolour” by Montaigne: That song that sounds like it’s about stripping if you don’t know that she’s saying cloaks. (Guilty as charged.) It’s catchy and fun, and I really love it when it first starts… but unfortunately, it does wear out its welcome toward the end of things. It’s a good party song, just a little repetitive. I still like it just fine, and wouldn’t mind seeing her in the final this year! Hope the performance is colorful and sparkly, it’d suit the song well

Like:

19 – Germany – “I Don’t Feel Hate” by Jendrik: I know stereotyping is bad but I was not remotely surprised to find out that Jendrik is gay. This song is pure gay sass, and god, I love every minute of it. I fully expect it to fall on its ass – this wouldn’t make it to the final if it wasn’t an automatic qualifier – but I’ll have a grand old time watching it! The sarcastic lyrics, the cheerful little ukulele, the middle finger costume… this song is a delight. Only thing that I think really brings it down is that weird spoken bit that interrupts the song. That’s so annoying, brings me right out of it. And I did purposely rank it below songs that aren’t complete shitposts. But thank you for your existence, Jendrik, your contribution to Eurovision is much appreciated.

18 – Israel – “Set Me Free” by Eden Alene: I said it this year and I’ll say it again this year, Eden Alene is a goddess of a woman. Absolutely gorgeous. Appreciation for pretty women aside, it’s a fun party song in a sea of fun party songs! I really do like it, I like her voice, but there’s so much else this year that drowns it out – not much stands out here compared to later entries on the list. Still a good song, though.

…and I do not expect for an instant that this is going to make it to the final. …my personal ranking is based on how the song sounds, okay? Just the song. Just the song. Nothing else. Just the song. Anyway…

17 – United Kingdom – “Embers” by James Newman: What’s this? A UK entry I don’t find bland as off-white paint? That doesn’t happen often! I didn’t like his entry last year, romantic ballad bla bla bla whee, but I’m always down for a good party song. It’s a little generic and radio friendly, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun as hell to sing along with!

16 – Greece – “Last Dance” by Stefania: I really liked last year’s “Supergirl”, but figured it didn’t have too much of a chance because it struck me as being a little too teen poppy to be taken entirely seriously. It seems like Greece thought so, too, because they’ve ramped it up with this year’s entry. They’re not playing around anymore, sending a grand, powerful song that, like “Embers”, is fun as hell to belt. This is another one I’m really looking forward to the live performance for – the music video is gorgeous, and I hope they capture that same majesty on stage!

15 – Moldova – “Sugar” by Natalia Gordienko: Oh, Moldova, I’m so glad you guys decided to be completely batshit again this year. I’ve missed your nonsense so much. Dancing ice cream cones. Cake men. This video is glorious. And the song goes well with the insanity! A catchy dance tune that can only be improved with downright insane staging. Please let the dancing ice cream cones be on stage, I’m begging you

14 – Latvia – “The Moon Is Rising” by Samanta Tina: A unique electronica number backed with a powerful as hell voice. I can see where all the wubbing would get on people’s nerves, but personally, I love it! I love the voice, I love the attitude, Samanta just oozes confidence, and if she doesn’t make it to the final it’s not gonna be because she didn’t give it her goddamn all.

13 – Poland – “The Ride” by RAFAL: Why is this one so unpopular? You people don’t know how to have fun. Yeah, yeah, last year’s “Empires” was a powerful song… but I like my club nonsense much more, so I’m favoring this one. Yet another song that gets me pumped – this whole Contest is gonna leave me with a smile on my face, there’s so much good party music

12 – Azerbaijan – “Mata Hari” by Efendi: Yeah, they’re basically just sending “Cleopatra” again, but “Cleopatra” was so goddamn good that I can’t even blame them for it. This song needed a chance to compete, and I’m glad it’s getting it again this year. I like it so much that I can even forgive the line about being a “godless”. Oh, Europop, don’t you ever change.

11 – Cyprus – “El Diablo” by Elena Tsagrinou: Huh, I didn’t know Cyprus had perfected their Lady Gaga cloning technology. Neat. More seriously, the early 2010’s club vibe of this song is exactly my jam, enough that I can forgive the “I’m in love with a horrible person” theme. (I think I forgive that theme a lot more from catchy party songs than heartfelt ballads I’m actually supposed to feel for.) Hell, I even like the creepy chanting! Sure, it’s a little cheesy, but cheese is always a good ingredient when used in moderation.

(How many songs are we going to get this year, not just in Eurovision, about wanting to fuck devils? I mean, not that I don’t get it… mmm, Akuma Ichimatsu… um. Anyway.)

10 – Czech Republic – “Omaga” by Benny Cristo: And here we enter the top ten of a strong year, where I’d love to see any of them win! Benny, what is with that title. Why. Ah well, like I said earlier, I do like moderate amounts of cheese, and this song is more than fun enough to have earned itself a ridiculous lyric or two. It’s unique, I’ll give it that! The song is just so bouncy and fun that I manage to ignore how pushy the singer is. Another one I expect big things from the staging for.

9 – Lithuania – “Discoteque” by The Roop: Ignoring the current events that surely inspired the song, I do love the more generic “party song for introverts” read on it – if only you knew how many one-person dance parties I’d had in my own house. This song speaks to me deeply. I can’t even begin to call it a joke song; I think it’s doing exactly what it set out to do, and it’s doing it oh so well. God, those synths. Totally okay with dancing alone!

8 – Iceland – “10 Years” by Daði og Gagnamagnið: I want Daði Freyr to adopt me. I don’t even care that he’s younger than me. He’s just such an earnest, fun guy, and I love his 8-bit aesthetic! And come on, he submitted a song about how much he loves his wife! If I ever stop loving this song it’s because my heart shriveled and died. Love isn’t dead, it’s just in chiptune now. I will throw things if this doesn’t make it into the final, do you all have no souls, this is too damn cute

7 – Serbia – “Loco Loco” by Hurricane: Another group I am so excited to see return, because I adored “Hasta La Vista”. I don’t know if I like this one quite as much, but it’s still catchy as hell! I love trying to sing along with it despite not knowing a word of Serbian.

6 – Croatia – “Tick-Tock” by Albina: Another catchy-ass club song! What more can I say? I love how much of this stuff we got this year. I will absolutely be screaming “Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go!” Oh god that was cheesy… I’ve been working on this ranking for too long. Don’t know what else to say about this one, just that I adore it. Just barely missed the top 5.

Love:

5 – Malta – “Je Me Casse” by Destiny: This girl’s got pipes– not surprised to hear she won the Junior contest before! I get major “Toy” vibes from this song, and you all know just how much I adored that one. Aaa, those horns! Expecting big things from you, Destiny! We may have our winner!

4 – San Marino – “Adrenalina” by Senhit – As much of a soft spot I had for last year’s “Freaky”, I don’t think it was gonna make it into the final, unless Senhit had the blessing of the same angels who were looking out for Serhat in 2019. This one, though? San Marino tasted the final two years ago and they are never giving it up again! This song goes hard! Love the song, love the video’s aesthetic, I even kinda like Flo Rida’s rap, even though I’m still baffled by the idea that I have been regularly listening to a song featuring Flo Rida on purpose. I don’t know what he’s doing here but I’m glad he is. Please, please make it to the final, San Marino! You clearly want the hell out of it this year! Favorite club song in a year of amazing club songs.

3 – Finland – “Dark Side” by Blind Channel: After spending about five seconds disappointed that Finland wouldn’t be sending Pandora this year, I gave this song a shot, and was not expecting what it gave me. I feel like an angsty middle schooler again, and it is bliss. This is everything Hatari wanted to be, but unlike Hatari who just confused me, I absolutely love the hell out of this song. …some of those lyrics, though. “27 Club, headshot, we don’t wanna grow up”? Yikes. But as dark and questionable as it might be, I can’t help but get pumped when I hear it. Definitely my favorite rock song of the year – sorry, Italy!

2 – Denmark – “Øve os på hinanden” by Fyr & Flamme: I love you, 1983. I don’t care how dated it is when my entire soul consists of a disco ball. The song’s so damn cute! This is the one member of my top 5 that I’m most terrified of losing – I know it’s not popular, with everyone calling it dated, but my top 5 always has that dated song that I love the hell out of becauseit sounds so classic. The translated lyrics are adorable, too. Even if you guys flame out in the semi, you’ll live on in the disco in my heart.

Favorite:

1 – Ukraine – “Shum” by Go_A: Holy fucking shit. There’s something about the blending of traditional and electronic that gets me hyped – see KEiiNO – and this one does not disappoint. The last minute of this is the best minute of Eurovision this year, and god, the buildup! I don’t even know Ukrainian but I am trying my damnedest to get the lyrics down, phonetically, at least. You know that “dancing goths” meme video? That’s me whenever this song comes on, especially during that speed up. Love the hell out of it. Could Ukraine be on its way to another victory already? I sure hope so, because this song fucking rules. Definitely checking out the rest of the discography someday, if all of their songs are in this folktronica style then they’ve gotta be a treat to listen to. Go Ukraine!

Ideal Qualifiers (favorite of each semi in bold):

Semi 1

Australia

Azerbaijan

Croatia

Cyprus

Israel

Lithuania

Malta

Norway

Romania

Ukraine Semi 2:

Czech Republic

Denmark

Finland

Greece

Iceland

Latvia

Moldova

Poland

San Marino

Serbia

This is definitely not what's going to happen - there is no universe where Switzerland and Sweden don't make it - but it'll be interesting to compare the reality to my hopes.

Let's go, Eurovision 2021

[justasparkwritings]

Wake Up Call

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader (but really you can lift out Namjoon and put anyone there)

Genre: Slice of Life / Angst 

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: Swearing maybe 1 time, Discussion of police brutality/murder, Discussion of the trauma black and brown people are enduring, Discussion of the Chauvin verdict, Discussion of lives lost due to being black 

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: It’s a bad omen whenever I call Namjoon in the morning. 

Note: This is heavy. This hurt to write. This hurts to read back. This is my reality. This is not me using police brutality to amass a following or gain notoriety or become anything other than what I am. This is meant for me to process, and for anyone of color who might be feeling the same thing as I am. This is meant as a way for me to process, as are so many of my other stories. This is my grief. 

          Namjoon knows that whenever I call in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning, something is wrong. He couldn’t call it beginners luck, or intuition. Rather a series of events that had resulted in a pattern of behavior from me, his beloved. A call in the morning meant something had gone wrong between me waking up and returning home from work. A call in the morning meant I am a volcano of emotions, either crying, laughing, or both, distraught or exhausted, anxious or depressed. It means that across the globe, working on Pacific Time, something nearly catastrophic had occurred.

           A call in the morning, unless previously scheduled, has always been a bad omen.

           The first time I called him in the morning, my period was late. Like late late, to which he reminded me I had switched birth controls and that could’ve been the problem, it was.

           The second time, I was having a slight mental breakdown. I’d been sick for months with a variety of ailments, was worked to the bone and crumbling at my desk.

           The third time, Atatiana Jefferson was murdered by police in her home after a neighbor called a non-emergency number to report that her door was open.

           The fourth time, Ahmaud Arbery was murdered by two white men while on a run.

           The fifth time, Breonna Taylor was murdered in her bed while sleeping.

           The sixth time, George Floyd was murdered by police in broad daylight, crying out for his mother stating the simple fact that he couldn’t breathe.

           The seventh time, I was in hysterics, sobbing relentlessly into the receiver. I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t handle another protest in tear gas, I couldn’t handle my kin fearing for their lives, I couldn’t handle the thought that my niece would have to sit through the talk. I couldn’t handle the idea that Namjoon and I would have to sit with our children, go over the rules and procedures for interacting with authority, prepare ourselves day after day that they could not come home. That no money or wealth would protect them if their eyes were shaped like his, their nose wide like mine. 

           What could he do? What could he say? He and the rest of Bangtan could throw as much money at various organizations as they could, watching ARMY meet it, raise it, push others to donate.

           But what did that do, other than show the world these black lives were worth more in death than life? That we’re worth nothing unless we’re imprisoned or in the ground? What did it do to fix the system, to abolish the inherent nature of police, originally created to patrol slaves? What did it do to protect black and brown bodies, to ensure their safety, to demand their lives be worth more alive?

          Nothing. It did nothing.

          He had gotten mad at me, why wasn’t I grateful that ARMY came through? Why wasn’t I glad that Bangtan had seen the news and wanted to help? Why couldn’t that be enough for what they could do in Seoul, sidelined by a pandemic?

          He didn’t get it.

          The eighth time, I had been in a minor incident and had to interact with the police. I had called my father to my side, a decision that could’ve easily resulted in his death. I called Namjoon shaking, how had I managed to have a successful interaction with the very people who could’ve tossed my father down, knee on his neck, and ended him? Had he driven the Tesla on purpose? Had he rolled up cautiously, in an appropriate August outfit, wallet and identification in his hand, not hidden or masked, to avoid any miscommunication? What was worse, had he done all of this without thinking?

          The ninth time I called him, a group of Asian women had been targeted and murdered by a white man. I was calm, I was put together. Namjoon wasn’t. He was inconsolable, he didn’t feel safe, he wasn’t accepting that this could be the reality if we split time in the states and Korea. How could our children be safe if this could happen, what if our daughter was at a nail salon? What if his mother or sister were? What would happen to him, to our future children, if they had eyes like him and a nose like mine? Would they be targeted for having the name Kim? Would their Americanness protect them?

          No. It wouldn’t. It couldn’t.

          I asked if he wanted to donate to help.

          He nearly hung up, anger seething in his deepest register.  

          How dare I suggest that money could help?

          I had thrown it back at him, and he whimpered. He buckled under the weight of his naivete. It’s one thing to copy black culture and make your fame off the commodification of our bodies. It’s another to watch the blatant racism and sexism we face on the regular basis so blatantly attack your own kind.

          He understood.

          The tenth time I called, Daunte Wright had just been murdered by police for having an air freshner in his review mirror. He had been murdered under the guise of the officer mistaking his own gun for a taser. He was 20.

          The eleventh time, 13 year old Adam Toledo had been gunned down for following the police’s directions. Even when complying, our very existence is a threat.

          The twelfth time I called, justice for George Floyd had been served. But I had to wonder, and I asked Namjoon, where was ARMY? Where were their fans? Was this not a moment, a tiny victory, for all minority groups held captive by their abusers? Were we not working towards ending the systems that allowed the white man who murdered eight women, six of Asian descent in Atlanta, the same? Did we not suffer slavery and bondage by the people who will claim this as a monumental step instead of a jury doing their fucking job? How could people who stood by him, who stood by people of his heritage, not stand for those who are bleeding in the street in their own country?

          Again, he didn’t know.

          He didn’t say anything to assuage my fears, to throw money at it, to give any answer other than to tell me he’s sorry. He’s sorry he can’t fix it or do anything about it, sorry he’s beholden to his company and their latest merger and can’t say anything. Sorry he can only understand a fraction of what I endure in this country, in my body. He was sorry.

          I don’t know when I’ll call him in the morning again, the next time a verdict will let a murderer off the hook or will send a guilty man to jail. I don’t know the next time a black or brown person will be murdered by remorseless cops. Or the next time a gunman, with a legal weapon, will murder women because it’s easier to blame them than deal with your own traumas. I don’t know when that moment will come.

          But I do know that in the United States, almost 1,000 people are murdered each year by police. That black people are 2x as likely as white people to be the victims, and black people age 25-34 are the highest risk to be murdered. I do know that the murderers of Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, Mike Brown, Sandra Bland, Atatiana Jefferson and countless others whose names we do not know, are walking around this country, not guilty.

          I know that I will always be afraid.

          I know that when I call Namjoon again, in the morning, or afternoon or middle of the night, he will answer. He will listen. He will love me and protect me as much as his money can buy.

           I do know that these brothers and sisters murders are not in vain. Rest in power. 

[boyneriver-fraser]

How ‘bout that early release of Episode 1 The Fiery Cross? Spoilers, shmoilers. Pfft… what’s a 75-hour Tumblr embargo* when you’re accustomed to a 25-hour one?

After much whining, Season 5 finally arrived chez moi. What did I think?

Cold Open: Gave me chills, despite having seen it during promo. Murtz. In a kilt. Walking across a grassy field. Wind blowing through his hair. Reassuring a bereaved child. What’s not to love?

Theme Song: Missed (Mrs. Bear McCreary) Raya Yarbrough’s solo, but the choral version is already growing on me.

Opening Credits: Quietly thrilled to see Producer Caitriona Balfe, Producer Sam Heughan, and look forward to seeing their influence mid-season forward. (Remember, they received the new gigs after S5 production was well underway.)

Wedding Preparation: Beautiful dress with so many details to highlight the Scottish heritage the bride only recently discovered. So many sweet moments between Claire and Brianna and between Jamie and Brianna. “Je suis prest.” Da, your daughter’s a Fraser.

The (New) Wedding: The Frasers of the Ridge are here! (Chills 2) Loved the callback to S1E7 The Wedding — Jamie and Brianna’s walk through the doorway into the sunlight. Thought the juxtapositions were poignant — A reluctant bride in a dark church, hesitatingly saying her vows. A joyous bride in the great outdoors, eagerly saying hers. A small group of men, a tavern hostess, a prostitute, and no family-of-the-bride as guests. A huge gathering of friends and tenants of all genders and ages, and the bride’s parents, son, brother, sister-in-law, nephew, niece, great-aunt… and great-godfather, who managed to catch a glimpse from afar, as guests.

Fraser-MacKenzie Kids: Germain and Jemmy and Joanie, oh my! And Fergus and Marsali’s privately celebrating Félicité “in utero” was a lovely moment. (For anyone confused about number of the babies, Lizzie looked after Jemmy during the wedding ceremony, while Marsali held Joanie on her knee.)

“Some Shakespeare, anyone?”: Really, Lord John? 🤦🏻‍♀️

L is for the way you look at me: If you’ve never had someone pick up a guitar and sing a love song just for you… well, let’s just say Murtz wasn’t the first man to steal my heart. Rik Rankin truly has a lovely singing voice, and I will dearly miss Roger’s when… well… you know. Sigh.

Favourite Line: “I’ve got more on my mind than kissin’ and what have you, Mr. Fraser, Sir.” (Josiah Beardsley) What have you… 😂

Jocasta Cameron: Snob? Sly? Slut? All of the above?

Black Jack The Sequel: What is it with these corrupt redcoats? Governor Tryon annoys me more with each scene.

Hair Tics: I’m confident me ol’ pal @saint-hildegard-of-bingen​ is unable to count the number of times I’ve referred to myself as a heretic while talking to her, something I never did prior to reading the Outlander series, particularly The Fiery Cross. 😎

The Kilt: Oh, the kilt! (Chills 3) And the callback to S2E9 Je Suis Prest with the song Moch Sa Mhadainn. Powerful Scottish stuff.

Lighting Of The Cross: (Chills 4) I loved it and I’m not sorry. Highland chieftains set fire to a cross to call their men to arms. Period. Jamie lit his cross 90-something years before someone bastardized the long-held Scottish tradition.

Stand By My Hand: (Chills 5) So. Many. Feels. Loved the callback to S1E4 The Gathering. Isaiah Morton’s** realizing Roger didn’t quite get Jamie’s invitation, and teaching by doing, made me smile. Jamie’s being impressed Roger didn’t need to “Repeat what I say” made me smile more. Jamie’s looking to Brianna for confirmation before accepting Roger’s pledge made me tear up. Marsali’s pride at Fergus’s pledging his fealty — and at her not having to prompt Jamie to recognize Fergus’s worth — released those tears. The rest of the men’s lining up to more Moch Sa Mhadainn sealed the deal. Favourite scene, hands down.

Ghoistidh: Jamie’s knowing he’ll abandon Tryon eventually to fight alongside Washington, conflicting with Murtagh’s need to lead the Regulators and antagonize Tryon now, breaks my heart. And don’t get me started on Jamie’s releasing Murtz from his decades-old vow. 😭

Forewarning: If Murtz dies as a Regulator, and if Jamie is directly involved in his death, I will be inconsolable… about losing TV-Murtagh. Real Life Murtagh™ is safe, at home with me. 

Sadly Absent: Young Ian. I really missed Ian. And Rollo. (Which is more than I can say for Lizzie. She looked at Josiah Beardsley on the big house verandah the same way she looked at Young Ian on the Cape Fear boat.) Hurry home…

Reality Bites: Too clean? Too modern? Too fancy? Too funny. Three of the four main characters touched a rock and instantaneously travelled 200 years. One of them three stinkin’ times. Reality left the building at 37:41 of the first episode. (Well, Frank saw a ghost at 24:20, but who wants to talk about Frank?) Embrace the fiction…

Closing Credits: Reports of Ronald D. Moore’s executive-producer death have been greatly exaggerated. Like the author’s, we see his name in big, bold font immediately before and after the episode. **I recognized Isaiah Morton by John Quincy Myers’ “Come on, Morton, time waits for no man” during the drinking game (if you didn’t catch him there, Isaiah was the first man to pledge fealty to Jamie), but I can’t put faces to book-familiar names Murdina & Arch Bug, Margaret Chisholm, Duncan Innes, or Ronnie Sinclair. Could you? 🤔

Get your act together, Starz, and offer your app to the rest of the world. *On W Network in Canada I’m able to start watching Outlander 25 hours after Starz app users in the USA and Puerto Rico start watching it. Of course when you change your cable package without subscribing to W Network and discover your thinking it’s available for free preview in February is a mistake, 75 hours extends to 85 hours, minimum, what with having to wait till morning to call to subscribe. Blah blah blah. 🧀 🧀 🧀 to accompany the whine.

Note: If you choose to read my recap/review(s), and think, “Of course she’s all positive and happy about the show; she wouldn’t say shite if her mooth was full of it,” you’re sadly mistaken. Few things come more naturally to me than being negative and critical. I grew up in an environment where, if you have nothing nice to say, you make sure everyone can hear it. I wrestle with the ghost of that environment every time I open my mouth. I refuse to let it haunt my blog. #TV #Fiction #Fun

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Gifs: @mclintocks​ (1 & 2), @thewanderingace​ (3)

#Outlander #Personal #Review #TFC #S5E1 The Fiery Cross #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Roger MacKenzie #Fergus Claudel Fraser #Marsali Fraser #Jocasta Cameron #Ulysses #Too Much Of Frank #Murcasta shmurcasta 🙄 #Slut #190 #021820