#like I watched the clips with them and genuinely felt grief for both of them knowing how their stories end.

[oh-no-its-bird]

I FUCKING FORGOT THE NEW ALIEN STAGE CAME OUT TODAY OH GOD OH FUCK I SAW IT COME UP IN RECCOMENDED AND HAD A FULL BODY REACTION TO IT PLEASEPLEAS PELSAE GO WATCH IT IM GOING TO FUCKING CRY IM GOING TO FUCKING THROW UP IM GONNA .

it was so fucking beautiful actually. I did not expect the bright spots of it, though maybe I should have. Vivinos has always been such a master of balancing fluff in a way that makes it hurt. And then the end . just. fuck. fuck. Oh my god. Fuck.

Spoilers below the cut, I am feeling many things and thinking many thoughts, so let's dissect this together:

I was so entranced by the beautiful visuals I straight up forgot to put captions on to get the lyrics for my first watch. But when it opened to Luka smiling so fucking genuinely, I almost gasped

The way he smiles when he first sees her is CRAZY, I am obsessed with it. Only pausing when a literal gun is held to his head, and even then, not for long

And then he grows so much more almost sweet and fond when she so blatantly ignores him. I felt like he was saying, "yeah, that's my Hyuna."

So like. Super strong opening to us seeing Luka killing off what I've seen others claim are his clones, presumably to make sure he can't be easily killed and replaced

I especially like this post by @kitespark talking about this bit and how Luka may have then ended up killing Hyuna's brother bc they looked so similar, and he assumed they were clones

LUKA'S HANDS !!! AS A KID !!! DID NOT HAVE PURPLE FINGERTIPS!!! We also see his hands when he's older, and he also does not have purple fingertips then! Does this mean he got them later in life, after so many experiments? That's what I'm not placing my bets on

The music itself was. Beautiful. As always, obviously, but especially so.

The slow, gentle singing that can be seen as both darkly comforting or sweetly assuring, the almost bell like chimes in the background, I loved it.

When it first shifted to Luka's voice, singing as Hyuna lay on the ground, I just about screamed. Their voices sound so pretty next to each other, I really like hearing them in contrast

Getting to see all these frames of Hyuna just surrounded by people in the resistance was so nice, actually.

I thought it was so well done, how we get to see her gradually get happier, recovering from her past.

Starting with a scene of her alone, drinking, before someone steps in (presumably to bring her comfort in company) before we start to see clips of her, each one with her a little bit happier, and each one with the lighting just a bit brighter, till we finally see her give a fully animated smile, even as we can see the silhouettes of those in the garden inside of her

She learned to smile !! Even through her grief!! She smiled even though she still kept them in her mind and heart!!!

AND THEN LUKA?? HAVING A (WANTED(?)) POSTER??? OF HYUNA ?? IN HIS ROOM??? AND HIM GIVING IT THE WORLDS JERKIEST MOST AWKWARD LITTLE KISS AFTER STARING AT IT FOR AN AWKWARD AMOUNT OF TIME, OH MY HEART !!!

The kiss is so sudden and jerky and awkward and it kind of looks like it hurt, honestly. Like, at first I wondered if it even was a kiss, but idk what else it would even be. Luka misses his girlfriend yall

There's actually so much to dissect of these short frames, tbh. Is this his room, where he is kept on a concerning amount of medical equipment, or is it just a hospital room he's been in long enough to be allowed to put things up on the wall?

And then we get to just. The happiness of the video. Which, by the way, kicked me in the fucking gut and stole all my lunch money. Like, holy shit you guys, what the actual fuck.

There's so much happening here, but in general I've seen two camps:

a) we are seeing glimpses of the actor au, where they are getting ready and into their roles and having silly fluffy fun times

and b, which is what I originally thought) We are seeing them getting ready for their death matches. Preparing costumes for the stage, hoping for the best. And just the lighter times they've gotten to spend together, in the garden

I'd like to believe it's both, tbh. That at first, we're seeing the lighter times they've spent together, getting their costumes ready, singing, running through grass, being kids while they still can.

A few flashes of other people too, in terrible situations but still smiling, showing that there is still joy to be found in this world

And then, a flash of violence-- Mizi, her face splashed with Sua's blood, and the music takes on this crescendo as it shows us this beautiful what if.

Some of the flashes are definitely some sort of modern au, a true what if.

Sua in a school uniform, giggling with a friend on the way to class, Till in art class, Hyunwoo and someone who's presumably his friend riding bikes through a glowing forest, Mizi laughing as she works on something, Hyuna and Luka dancing together on some sort of date (WITH WEDDING RINGS ON !!! WEDDING !! RINGS !!), a phone taking a photo of food better than anything the alien stage contestants have ever gotten to eat before (especially in contrast to the quiet lunch scene only a few images before, which may have been there to contrast it)

Other portions I read as more mis-remembered, 'if only the garden could have been brighter' moments (particularly the one of them cleaning that one aliens teeth, which we saw Till and Mizi terrified of in round 3) but otherwise I think can be seen as just more beautiful moments.

Running around, playing, having fun, laughing

At some point, towards the middle, I had an abstract thought that it was appropriate, to be posted on valentines day. For all that parts of it felt like a love letter to life. Seeing them all so happy, not only with each other but just being. Doing things they loved, being happy, living

I stg, I started tearing up. I love how well animated and bright this section was, you can tell they really said "guys we have to make this shit COUNT" and spared no expense. Everyone say thank you vivinos and qmeng !!

And then, of course, we hard cut back to reality. A quick glimpse of some remembered Luka angst, and we are on stage with Mizi again. Our last glimpse of happiness being Sua's smile.

What the fuck !!!

Ok so just. Everything about the next bit is so good to me.

Luka having eyes for literally nothing and no one other than Hyuna, even as a gun is literally held to his head.

The cutting back and forth between him stumbling blindly her way as an adult and as a child was so good. He has never had eyes for anyone other than her, and it shows

The way Hyuna runs for him, knowing whats about to happen even as Luka remains blind to everything but her, the way she spins him around to take the shot for him in a hug, which, BY THE WAY, THE FACT THAT LUKA WAS REACHING OUT FOR A HUG. MAKES ME INSANE.

LOOK AT HIM !!!! HE WAS REACHING OUT TO HER !!! HE WAS GOING FOR A HUG !!!! HE SAW HER AND RAN AND LITERALLY THREW HIMSELF INTO HER ARMS HE MISSED HER SO MUCH I DONT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THIS ACTUALLY !!!!

Also its funny that it was the resistance guy who took the shot, I understand his thought process (Luka probably looked like he was going for his boss lmao) but then he ended up fucking shooting Hyuna instead.

I have to wonder if we'll get to see this guys reaction in the next video, I kind of hope we do. I feel like there's a small chance we might, in some like, corner of the screen we see Dewey grabbing him by his collar to shake him angrily or smthn

It's a small thing also, but I like how we also get to see the guy next to Hyuna react to Luka's blatant idiocy. Like, yeah he's being an idiot, and yeah people are around to see it. Idk, it's small but it just makes it all feel more real to me

^ this guy is all of us watching at home as Luka ignores the gun aimed at his head and runs for hyuna lmao

Also, Luka's hands are now colored in as purple when he's a child here, so that may have just been a coloring error earlier. So throw out what I said about his hands not being purple when he was young into the bin, oops!

So then we're back to seeing more flashes of life, and what we are given is Hyuna's grief, and Hyuna's fear.

A man, presumably some resistance member, dying as they cry and watch him pass. And then Hyuna, in the hospital.

The focus on her leg, and then the abrupt cut to what I think must be the moment that she lost it, then again a cut to the round of alien stage she lost (where she was supposed to have died) and another cut to her crying, scared, makes me think we're seeing a sort of rewind of her joining the resistance

Did she lose her leg in her escape from alien stage maybe? Either way, I like this shift from like, we've seen all these good memories of life, and now we're back to the bleak. Hyuna learned to smile, got to heal, but there were still so many dark moments too

Also: I don't know who this guy is, but he's cute and I want him carnally.

AND THEN JUST THE SHIFT FROM CUTE HYUNA AND LUKA TO HER FUCKING BLEEDING OUT IN HIS FUCKING ARMSMSSSSSS IM GONNA BE FUCKING SICK WHAT THE HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And also Luka's fingers are back to being not purple, so was it a miscolor, or...?

And then. Hyuna's speech. This is one of the very few times we get to hear an alien stage character just,, talk. Off the top of my head, the only time I can remember us getting that is My Clematis, the very first round of alien stage. And that talk was half exposition.

It's so well done, and just. Ag. Ah. A.

I dont even have the words tbh!!!

"I resented you so. I had to keep moving forward in every moment... But you were always my one and only weakness. (choking up) That's why I resented you so. Luka, live with love. Embrace the pain, the frailty, and live and the moments so unbearably shameful. Forgive yourself... Again and again, endlessly. because everything... begins from there.

I DONT EVEN KNOW MAN !!! WHAT THE FUCK !!! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK !!!!

Hyuna admitting that even as she's always resented Luka, he has always been and always remained her weakness, and that is why she continued to resent him so much

Hyuna urging Luka to love. To forgive himself. To feel.

Luka, who we've always seen as untouchable, a man who knows how to play this game-- who has won it before and now plays with his opponents in order to win it again. Just, him tearing up. His mask cracking in the face of Hyuna's words, of her blood on her face (on his hands)

THE FACT THAT IT IS LITERALLY LUKA'S FAULT SHE'S THERE!!!! THAT SHE'S NOW DYING !!!!

Luka has always been blind to everything but Hyuna, and going with some interpretations of how we've seen him do dumb shit just to see Hyuna's face before (specifically when we saw him injure (potentially kill(??)) Hyuna's little brother, then smile up at Hyuna like he was just waiting for her reaction) it is. So fitting that this is how it ends

With Luka, once again blind to everything but the girl who can make him feel something, managing to kill that girl in his blindness

Fucking rip!!

I AM HUFFING COPIUM LIKE ITS PAINT I REFUSE TO BELIEVE HYUNA IS DEAD PLEASEEEE !! YEHA OK SURE HER LIGHT WENT OUT BUT WE WERENT SHOWN THE BODY IT DOESNT COUNT OK IT DOESNT COUNT SHUT THE FUCK UP

AND MEANWHILE MIZI DIDNT EVEN SEE HYUNA GET SHOT BECAUSE SHE'S STILL SOBBING OVER TILL'S CORPSE IN HER ARMS, FUCK

Anyways. Final thoughts.

This alien stage was. Wonderful. Beautiful. It may be my new favorite.

Every second of it was so well done, and I need to applause Vivinos for once again showing off that she knows how to make all of us cry by drawing her characters happy.

What the fuck, man!!

Anyways, I watched most of this without subtitles (and when I did watch with titles, I kept getting distracted by the pretty visuals and couldn't focus) So, I possibly misread/misunderstood a thing or two.

I'm gonna go watch it like 10 more times with subtitles on this time, then maybe realize smthn and feel regret, but, whatever

Go watch alien stage.

[saveugoodmadam]

anyway thank you to milica jovanović and david jakobs for making me see the lisa carew × henry jekyll vision. seriously go watch their take me as I am ('nimm mich wie ich bin')

also shoutout to david for describing jekyll and utterson's scenes as intimate. absolute legend behaviour honestly. dortmund jekyll our bi king <3

[lady-clouves]

My genuine thoughts on episode one of House Of the Dragon, involving the Greens.

First off, Mysaria. Even with how fast paced I felt like the whole episode was one of the things I really enjoyed was how they changed Blood & Cheese. Since we found out about how much she cares about the small folk and especially their children I was very curious about how they would handle her being complicit in Jaehaerys death. And them changing it from her being the one to directly give the order to Blood & Cheese and instead making her the one who gives the connection to Daemon is a welcomed change. With watching small clips of the next episode I’m anxiously waiting to see what they’ll do with her character next.

While on the topic of Blood & cheese I gotta say I did in fact cry. It’s definitely not as gruesome as it was in the books but nevertheless it was still brutal. Now instead of choosing between two sons Helaena is forced to watch as her two children sleep peacefully as she is forced to tell 🩸&🧀 which child is Jaehaerys. This also leads me to the question on how they’re going to include Maelor if he’s going to exist at all, as well as how they’re going to navigate Helaena’s grief.

Now my most anticipated; Alicole. Genuinely was a little shocked by how the first time I see her she is quite literally in the middle of having getting eaten out by Criston Cole. And while I think that season one had some build up there personally just wasn’t enough for me to see that happen and be like “yes, this is totally normal”. Now I’m not gonna be one of those people who bring up the whole duty and sacrifice line, because honestly she did both and now she’s free of those obligations. But what’s most importantly the Alicole sex scene where Helaena walks in; I think it wasn’t needed but I can see how it’ll add a layer of guilt to both Alicent and Criston.

Criston and the Kings Guard need to get it together right now because first you let a Prince get maimed and now you let one get murdered (the kings heir no less) in their sleep with their mother, The QUEEN, and their sister in the room!!!

Aegon was…surprising a little amusing. He definitely added a layer of humor to what is a sad episode and it definitely let his character shine through. He’s a humorous guy who understands to some degree that if he wants any type of support he needs to have the small folk of Kings Landing on his side. So….round of applause to King of the small folk everybody!?

My baby Jaehaerys you and your antics will be missed. May you rest in peace with the knowledge your dad went murderous after you died.

Overall, the Greens had quite a bit going on and I do believe show runners were trying to make up for a lot of wasted time in season one by cramming it all into one episode. The whole episode felt like a rushed soap opera to me but the visuals were great this season.

[considermygenderminecrafted]

C!Phil Ramble

Phil is so, hard to talk about. Because like, his character is so subtle its really something that it built over time, but it's so there. And he is genuinely fuckin Devastating.

I've just got done transcribing some dialogue from both his discussion with Techno before Techno visits dream, and then I transcribed some dialogue where Phil asks Ranboo more about the experiments, and they are... painfully similar.

The thing that stands out is how, all Phil wants is for the people he loves to be careful, just to try to be safe. He asks for nothing more, the smallest thing, and he can't get it.

P: [Sighs] [Looks away] Alright, well T: [Pause] Alright. P: Be safe, just be safe alright? T: I’m off Phil P: Don’t take any unnecessary risks. [T pauses and looks away] P: Okay, alright. T: Yeah P: Bye mate…

[link to all transcribed dialogue, it was just practice for characterization/writing, so it plots some tone and eye line movement if it felt important, its not formatted to be captions]

And he knows he can't. He just has to watch again and again as his world crumbles again and again. It's this line that has been so consistent, he loses people to self destruction. He just cannot bear to lose people to the same mistakes, Like he states the reason he did doomsday is:

"People can't be replaced. I'm not losing.. anyone else. [pause] I'm not losing anyone else. Not to this bullshit. " {source]

And he will have to. He will have to and he just has to watch. Like maybe not to "This bullshit" but he will have to watch as the people he loves destroy themselves again and again. And he won't stop them.

You know I tend to view Phil as a morally complex character, and there are some principle's he seems to hold Very dearly to himself and one of those is he will not deny someone agency. Pretty much No Matter What. Its the reason he killed Wil, it's the reason he won't stop Ranboo's experiments, even if he can hear them at night, its the reason he didn't stop Techno going to visit Dream. And so he will not stop them, he will not stop them he just has to watch. AND THAT'S A LOT!

/// So much of his dialogue is genuinely so subtle, and idek if half of it is intended, but it so much of his like, fear and grief and emotions are in these, little things.

P: [Pause] So how long do I wait? 2-2 days? 3 days? A week?

In the face of it this is already a lot. He's asking how long he should wait till he read Techno's will, how long before he has to consider another loved one dead enough to read their will. But the context of knowing he had to decide how long he'd wait for Wil's letter, before he tried to intervene and check on Wil, and knowing he chose wrong just, adds to the weight of it

You get scars, if you, if you keep repeating too often, if the cut, if- if the- if, if it’s- if the- the pain, or the damage is too deep you get scars, Ranboo. And scars, scar tissue-

This is Phil trying to tell Ranboo how scars form, it's an attempt to communicate that scars are badly healed skin, its an attempt to tell Ranboo that he will have to hurt himself a lot to get the "resistance" he talks about. Which is again, already a lot. But the context of this conversation is it occurs directly after Phil sees Wilbur alive again, and suddenly these words about repeated injury, the focus on pain by accident, instead of how scars form, mean a lot more.

P: Mistakes can happen even if you don’t- [walks out the door past Ranboo] you don’t intend them to.

In the clip of this you can hear his voice break a little on "don't" and the context of it Wilbur just having thanked him for killing him is suddenly Pulled into view. Like these conversations he has where he is entirely IC are so fuckin, full of these things the seep through the cracks in ceramics we assumed to be in one piece.

Fuck I could go on and on. There's this book he writes about they day after NOV16 and about trying to find a way to bring Wilbur back, and it's so, quietly understated in its metaphors. Like the way he describes how he felt as "cold and guilty, torn apart from the inside out" and then he talks about how he's moved to a new place which is "is very nice, thought empty" and that he likes the ice because it reminds him of simpler times. And like man if that isn't something of a perfect little look into his relationship with grief and guilt. There's another time where he fails to save a fox from "drowning itself" (in his words) and it just, sets something off in him and he has to leave immediately. He says "everything that comes near me dies. I'm a terrible parent" and then later he says "I killed a fox just by being around it" and it is the most explicitly view we get into how Phil sees himself, like how he actually sees himself. And it's just like a line he says out of the blue but it's something that crops up so often. We see how much of shit he takes on, how much he assumes responsibility for those he cares about, how he sees himself in other peoples lives. As curse. And suddenly shit makes a lot more sense, he's scared of hurting the people he loves, of people getting hurt because he loves them.

like MAN, Phil is just such a wonderfully subtle character. He really is someone you have to experience by watching him over time. This sorta subtle shit is one of the reasons I started my clipping habit, because its so hard to evidence shit with him. Its so much more than the sum of the individual parts. I have so much more to say but i'll end this Absolute Mess of a ramble here. Philza fucking Minecraft, everybody

[writerofthecourt]

fuyu no hanashi

pairing: semi eita x reader

summary: semi sings a song dedicated to you. a story of loss, anguish, and regrets

warning: slight time skip spoilers, character death, grief and mourning, subtle reference to alcoholism

a/n: i’ve been wanting to write something like this for a very long time, and i’m really happy with how it turned out. this story was inspired by the anime/manga given, specifically a scene from episode 9 of the anime. here’s the particular scene that i’m referencing (beware, the clip does contain plot spoilers for given). i’ve never written for semi before, so i hope i did him justice

Cheers erupted from all around the bar as the band’s leader and vocalist hit the final note of the song, signalling the end of the show. However, this did very little to kill off the enthusiasm of the fans, as they all chanted in unison for one more song.

“One more song, one more song!”

Semi gasped for breath, feeling his body almost running on empty after nearly two hours of intense guitar playing. He looked to his band’s leader to see if he would go through with the crowd’s request.

After catching his breath, the leader turned to Semi, eyeing him seriously as if to ask him if he could really do it. Semi bit his lip, tightening the grip around the neck of his guitar in anxiousness.

Could he do it? He had never once sung on stage since the band’s inception, settling instead to blend into the background and jam out on his guitar. It wasn’t like he couldn’t sing, but there was only ever one person that he sang for, and well…

“I love hearing you sing, Eita. You have a lovely voice.”

Releasing a sigh of nerves, Semi nodded his head. The leader grinned and shot him a subtle thumbs up before grabbing the microphone to address the audience. “If another song’s what you want, then another song’s what you’ll get!”

Once again, the crowd erupted into whoops and hollers as their excitement reverberated all throughout the walls of the bar.

“But,” everyone quickly turned to silence after that, “the one who’ll be singing is Semi over here.”

Hushed noises of confusion soon rang out as the leader grabbed Semi by the arm and gently pushed him towards the front of the stage where the microphone stood. Rushing backstage, the leader quickly grabbed his own guitar, which he had hidden away in its case. While he enjoyed the spotlight that came with being the band’s lead vocalist, he didn’t mind playing back-up guitar every now and then.

Once everyone was in position, Semi nervously glanced into the darkness of the bar. Although he couldn’t see their stares, Semi could feel the looks of judgement, anticipation, and curiosity all directed on him as he took a hold of the microphone stand.

“Ehhh, did Sato strain his throat or something?”

“I’ve never heard Semi sing before, I’m so excited!”

“Can Semi even sing?”

Of course I can sing, Semi internally scoffed. I wouldn’t be up here if I couldn’t.

Tapping the microphone to quiet everyone down, Semi opened his mouth to speak. “Uh, hey. I know I’m usually not up here, but I wanted to sing you guys a song that’s close to my heart.”

Pausing for a moment to collect himself, Semi took a deep breath before continuing. “I wrote this song for someone close to me. She’s not here to listen to it now, but I hope it still reaches her.”

Turning to his bandmates to indicate that he was ready, every one of them shot him an encouraging smile. He wobbly returned their smiles and turned his attention back on to the audience.

“This song is called ‘Winter’s Story.’ I hope you all like it.”

Tapping his drumsticks together, the band’s drummer counted down to the song.

One, two, three-

“Wow, Eita, that was great!” Clapping your hands together, you smiled at your boyfriend as he came to the end of his impromptu performance.

Semi chuckled at the pure joy and adoration shining from your eyes as he set his guitar down back into its case and made himself comfortable onto the chair next to your bed.

In the small and quaint confines of your hospital room, the only noises that could be heard were the monotonous beeps of your heart monitor and the light footsteps of nurses quietly patrolling the hallways outside of your door.

The glow of the setting sun indicated that the dark winter night was fast approaching, and with it, visiting hours would soon be over. Although Semi hated this fact, he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked as the casting rays of the sun gave your face an angelic shimmer to it.

Even though you denied his claims of beauty on most days, with your skin being reduced to an abnormally sickly tone and needles and wires prodding away at your arm, Semi was always quick to rebuttal all of this. Even in this state, you were still an absolute goddess to him. From the first day he had met you, Semi always thought you were the most beautiful girl he knew.

“So, how long did it take you to write that song?” you asked after a moment of silence.

“Hmmm,” he paused to think about it, “a few days? I just thought about you, and it all came to me.”

Laughing at his poor attempt at flirting, you gave your boyfriend a playful push on the shoulder. “Well, aren’t you a smooth one, Mr. Musician.”

“Only for you, pretty lady,” Semi quipped back with a smirk.

You both chuckled as your conversation soon fell into a quiet and comfortable lull. Semi took to gently holding your hand, while you simply stared out at the large single window that occupied your room, watching in awe as the previously orange sky painted itself black and snowflakes began to fall.

“So-” “I-”

Both you and Semi stared at each other in surprise and amusement before you prompted for him to go first.

“I have some really exciting news about the band,” he informed you.

Seeing you curiously tilt your head, Semi took this as a sign to tell you the news. “There’s this really popular bar, Submariner. It’s located downtown next to all of these other trendy bars and clubs.”

Letting out a hum to indicate that you were listening, Semi said, “Well, the owner of the place saw one of our videos online and sent us an email to ask if we wanted to play a show at the bar next week!”

Pausing for a second to process this new information, you almost jumped out of your bed once you had registered Semi’s words. You let out a cry of joy as you reached up to wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s neck. You almost felt yourself burst into tears at his accomplishment. You were so proud of him.

“Eita, that’s amazing! It’s what you and the guys have always wanted!” you exclaimed. “This is your dream!”

Semi laughed, wrapping his arms around you as he felt tears in his own eyes at your genuine happiness and reaction. He pulled you close, finding comfort in the beating of your heart and the warmth of your body. They were all reminders that you were here, that you were alive.

“Yeah, it’s our first live gig, so everyone’s really excited,” he said while tracing the curve of your back. “We’re even working on a new song right now to play as our opening act.”

“When are you guys playing?” you peeked out from his chest.

“Hmm, next Friday night on the eighteenth,” he responded. “Why?”

He didn’t notice how your body stilled. “O-oh, um, just asking. I wanted to tell my parents so that they could go down there and record you guys.”

Semi hummed. “Even if you’re not there, I’ll always be thinking about you, okay?”

“You’re so lame,” you teased, giving him a peck on the cheek as you made yourself comfortable again on the bed.

“Yeah, whatever,” he conceded as a blush coloured his face. “Anyways, what about you, [Y/N]? Didn’t you want to tell me something too?”

“Y-yeah. I just wanted to tell you that the surgery date hasn’t been decided yet,” you nervously chewed on your lips, “I-I’m a little bit scared just thinking about it, if I’m being honest.”

“[Y/N],” Semi began seriously, taking a hold of your hand. “You’re the strongest person I know. Your doctor said that you’re getting better every day, so you have a high chance of surviving the operation. You’ll make it through this, and I’ll be beside you every step of the way.”

Stunned by his words, your mind was quickly put at ease by Semi’s reassurance. Showing your appreciation, you sent him a sincere smile, the one that got his heart pumping and his mind racing. The one that made him fall in love with you all over again. The one he wanted to wake up every morning to, and the one that he couldn’t live without.

“I know, Eita,” you whispered emotionally. “I love you.”

He smiled back at you. “I love you too.”

The sweet moment was soon interrupted by a soft knock at your door. The nurse in charge of your care sheepishly smiled as she entered into your room with a cart full of medical equipment and pills.

“[L/N]-san, visiting hours are over,” she announced. “I’m also here to check your vitals and administer your medicine.”

Semi sighed, disappointed and knowing that this moment would come sooner or later. Packing up his things, Semi hitched his guitar case onto his shoulder and went over to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me, all right?” he warned, though there was no real seriousness behind his eyes.

Heading for the door, he bowed to the nurse and thanked her for taking such good care of you. The nurse simply brushed him off, saying that it was her job to take care of you and that you were one of the more delightful patients she had to deal with.

Turning around to look at you one more time, Semi shot you a smile that he had reserved only for your eyes. The kind of smile that came from the bottom of his heart and was filled with adoration.

“I love you,” he repeated again.

“I love you too,” you huffed in playful exasperation. “Now go before the snow starts affecting traffic.”

Semi chuckled and waved goodbye, and as he headed towards the elevators, he couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the nurse.

“I heard he wrote you a new song? Some of the other nurses were talking about it in the breakroom.”

“Yeah, he did! It was really sweet.”

He heard the nurse sigh fondly. “It must be nice having a boyfriend as caring and loving as Semi-san, right?”

You giggled. “Yeah, he’s the best!”

As the lyrics poured out of Semi’s mouth, the memories of you all came rushing back to him—memories that he had long since tried to forget and had buried deep within the depths of his heart.

From your first date to the day you finally moved in together. From your first major fight to the day you were read your diagnosis. These were all moments that Semi had cherished with you, but now-

“W-what do you mean the operation was yesterday?!” Semi shouted, ignoring the uneasy looks some of the passing nurses gave him.

“S-she didn’t want us to tell you, Eita-kun,” your mother cried, holding back her tears. Your father stood beside her, doing his best to support his wife as he dealt with his own grief and loss. “It was on the same day as your show. She didn’t want to burden you. She wanted you to play!”

It was your mother’s next words that broke his heart forever. “S-she…she didn’t make it.”

“Ahhh-ahhhhh!!” Semi screamed out in time with the bridge’s commencement. It was a guttural noise, one full of anger, sadness, and betrayal, all of which he had bottled away this entire time.

Semi always regretted that day. He would have gladly given up his dream of becoming a musician if it meant that he could have said goodbye to you one last time. Unfortunately, fate was far too cruel.

No matter where I go, you’re there, he thought to himself as he continued to sing. You’re always in my head. You’re in everything I see.

Feeling the hot tears pouring from his eyes, Semi strummed away at his guitar.

No matter where I go, I can still see you there…

Images of dates, anniversaries, and all the times you two had spent together began appearing in his mind. Semi could never forget the joy in your eyes whenever you smiled at him or the happiness in your laughter whenever he told a stupid joke. All of those images and sounds came crashing back to him, striking like a tsunami.

“It was her choice not to tell you,” Tendou said, warily glancing at all the empty bottles of alcohol strewn around the apartment. “She wanted you to chase after your dream.”

“What the hell’s the point of my dream if she isn’t here for it?!” Semi lashed out, not caring for the tears rolling down his face. “I only got into music because I wanted to make her happy! I wanted to see her smile! But now-”

The audience stared in total awe and focus as Semi poured his heart out into his singing and playing. All the bitterness, resentment, sadness, and regret that he had ever felt about that day were now being put into his performance.

I can’t forgive you for lying, he thought bitterly. I can’t forgive myself for not being there. But most of all…I miss you.

Striking the final chord of the song, Semi ended the show in spectacular fashion. The crowd looked on in stunned silence and wide eyes before exploding into loud praises and cheers. Although his lungs were on fire and his fingers twitched with every slight movement he made, Semi never felt more happy. The weight around his heart was now beginning to feel lighter, and with it, a chance to finally start moving forward.

Rubbing away at his eyes to get rid of the remaining tears, Semi weakly chuckled to himself. He quietly thanked the fans and wished them all a good night before exiting the stage with his bandmates. As they each congratulated him on his amazing performance, Semi couldn’t help but let his mind wander off to you one more time.

[Y/N], no matter where you are, I hope you know I’m happy. I’ve chased after my dream, just like you wanted me to. I made it, [Y/N].

…I love you.

taglist: @kkoalaworld​ (you said you wanted to be tagged)

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (11/16)

In which Death Watch enter the enemy ship, and Asajj gets her shot at freedom.

Zombie Savage AU | 2.5k | warning for body horror

For the first time in weeks, Asajj feels light. It’s almost offensive, how quickly she slipped from world-devouring grief and heartburn and eternal nightmares into mission planning and execution mode, but then again: she enjoys bounty hunting. Pursuit and infiltration are basically her comfort zone, and even the present company cannot spoil her thrill.

She finally has solid ground under her feet again. The swamp that broils and laps at her with every dream and with every wriggling fleshworm that fucking Savage Opress sends her way is receding, and soon enough, when she gets her chance, she’ll kill it off—kill him—for good.

Asajj’s sisters and Mother Talzin may have accidentally landed her in a malignant trap when they tried to help her fight Dooku, but Asajj will chew her way free.

That’s why she volunteered to be ground troop today. She needs to rescue herself. She needs to cut off this bond, cut off the mate, cut off the drowning boulder. She’d been prepared to argue and fight for the opportunity, since it’s not like anybody trusts her here, but it was surprisingly easy. Not even a doubtful look—no, the only response she’d received was appreciation for her fearlessness in the face of certain death. Well, maybe it is. Maul keeps insisting that Savage’s torture is a trap laid by Sidious, his past shadowy Sith Master, and that setting a foot on Entralla means getting fried and disappeared and tortured. He himself is going down still, obviously—by now it doesn’t even appear to be bravado or tending to his image before his following but genuine mushy affection for that dumb creature, and if Asajj wasn’t busy she might almost be curious—Maul is coming down with her, as are Kast and Saxon and three dozen other supercommandos. That’s what they’d settled on, once their advance droid surveillance footage yesterday had revealed their target to be a small spaceship surrounded by a hundred medium-sized tents.

Maul, Kast and Saxon at once, who as far as she’s observed are the three highest-ranking members of Death Watch, and on what all of them believe is a suicide mission—Asajj would call them brain-dead, but actually, she doesn’t care. Either Maul is every inch the scared wretch of a cast-off Sith plaything he appears and is making mountains out of skrant-hills, or she’ll, most likely, be dead too. Looks like that gamorrean sow Kast likes to suck face with will soon inherit the whole sorry rest of their terrorist crew.

Most of Death Watch, though, is inside three hundred small Kom’rk-class fighters or the two stolen Separatist dreadnaughts, standing by to intercept any fleeing ship with gravity wells or sheer violence. Well. That’s one of the reasons. Every ground Mando is in periodic radio contact with one of their motherships, and should they go silent when Sidious gets them… if the mission goes sour, dead man’s switch. Asajj doesn’t know about the exact logistics of how many have to miss check-in before the omnicidal aerial bombardment begins… but she’s starting to understand Maul’s paranoia regarding this ‘Sidious’ well enough to know they’re going to risk killing their Mand’alor sooner rather than later. It’s reassuring, almost. They’ll kill Sidious no matter what.

Well. And her, too.

But Asajj knew when she allowed that Mando to think she’d captured her that this wasn’t going to be easy. Up until know she’s always found a way to make it out alive. She’ll manage. And Sidious killed her sisters. Killed Talzin. Killed Dathomir.

Sidious will die, and so will Opress. Anything else is secondary.

She’s wearing a set of scavenged armor over her clothes and a jetpack and a gas mask, nothing more. Most of the ground team have massive tanks mounted on their back, too, full of some quick heavyweight airborne soporific Death Watch managed to procure on short notice.

(“If it’s taking this long to cook something up, we could just use poison,” Asajj had suggested, entirely not for selfless reasons. “We’re using the weedkiller tanks you Mandos use for farming, after all. We could just keep the weedkiller.”

“This is still a rescue mission,” Kast had replied severely. Unfortunately, despite being a fanatic terrorist and obeying Maul of all people and a habit of throwing tantrums about the horrible plight of Savage Opress, she wasn’t entirely braindead. “Damage is acceptable, but we won’t kill our brother.”

Maul had looked on, silent.)

Maul and Asajj are going to enter the ship first. That makes sense—both of them are assassins more than soldiers, they’re better than the Mandos at keeping quiet—and even if Maul will be a hindrance when they find Savage, she can use him as a distraction before that.

It feels weird, somehow, touching ground in front of the enemy’s ship. The unconscious guards on the ground are wearing clone trooper armor, which means that—yes, it means Death Watch got the drop on them and it means the soporific gas is effective, which is great, but Asajj didn’t expect this mission against Sidious to include a Grand Army of the Republic protection detail, and neither did Maul, though he appears far less perturbed by this information than Asajj is. Nothing before has linked Sidious to the Republic. She trusts the magicks she used to find this location, though. This is where the bondmate is being held.

Maul opens a control panel next to the ship’s door and plays around with a couple of screwdrivers, while Mando supercommandos direct their sedative gas into the ship’s pried-open air vents.

And… they’re in.

Too easy.

This was far too easy for a secret prison of the illusive Sith Lord, and Maul, apparently, thinks so too. He keeps glancing sideways at her while the supercommandos tie up the sedated soldiers outside and while they enter the ship’s galley, and he insists they shouldn’t split up.

“This location does not appear my Master’s—my former Master’s style,” he whispers in his clipped accent. “It’s neither desolate, nor are there plush red carpets. It’s not a torture dungeon.” Maul looks at Asajj, and his eyes gleam with suspicion. “If you have lied to me, you are dead. If this hurts my brother, you’ll wish you were.”

“This is the place. My sisters’ magicks are never wrong,” Asajj replies haughtily. It won’t do any good if both of them admit to their unease.

(Maul’s been vibrating faintly ever since Asajj broke into his brain to find Opress. It’s probably fear and anticipation, and most of all the superfluous awareness of him that she’s gained ever since exploiting both their bonds. Maybe he was always this high-strung.

“Someone’s attacking him,” he’d whispered to her just minutes before they reached Entralla, as if by joining their minds she had proven she cared. His eyes had been dark, agonized. In a movement that appeared entirely involuntary, he’d gripped at his neck as if looking for a pendant, and then he’d hugged himself, holding onto his torso and stomach as if his slippery entrails were ready to leak out.

Asajj had looked down and realized she was mirroring him.

When she slid her eyes half-shut, she could see the shadows of undulating metal cables.)

The ship, on the inside, just appears a standard Republic cruiser. It has a single long hallway that Asajj is pulled down by the worms in her gut, and Maul, frowning and broadcasting dread, follows.

They pass unconscious Republic clones at uneven intervals.

It’s so—ordinary. Asajj knows these ships. And there are no traps at all, just that pulsing connection drawing her forwards, shading and twisting, the memory of desolation and grief and that orange boy getting chocked (Kast’s eyes were so hard when she said, “He tried to give me his lightsaber, too, so I would have an easy time of killing him, if—when, he said, when he was used again to hurt his little brother,” that Asajj almost felt guilty) and everyone on Dathomir is dead and—

There.

She stops, and Maul comes to a halt behind her, ‘saber raised.

An open doorway, half-blocked by an armored redhead that seems vaguely familiar, and the beckoning hand of her sisters, and if Sidious doesn’t have the heart to provide a distraction for Maul then Asajj will just improvise.

“Back there, I think,” Asajj whispers, pointing at a random closed door to her left. “I can feel your brother in there.”

Maul’s eyes are wide. “I do not feel—are you sure?” he whispers, and he looks so young and hopeful bathed in the green glow he doesn’t understand and never had a right to wear that Asajj almost dares to believe her plan will work.

“I know these magicks,” Asajj drawls. “I don’t mind double-checking, but I thought you wanted him as alive as possible. He’s not doing well. Might get deep-fried at any moment, that’s not healthy for such a weak brain.”

It works. Maul bites back whatever kind of response he might have had, and he starts frantically working on slicing the door that was—her sisters are smiling upon Asajj—thankfully locked.

Asajj, meanwhile, tiptoes hurriedly forward and past the redhead—almost a decent glimpse of his head, why does she feel she knows him and—and inside the room she looks at a monster. The scene is arranged as if to mock her, a single bare cot in the middle of the room approximating a stone slab and the dimmed red electric lights a stand-in for the fire on the day she was tied to the boulder that tries to drown her. On the cot, as he was supine on the slab back then, lies unconscious Savage Opress.

Well. The used dog toy formerly known as Opress.

He’s always made her uncomfortable, even when they met. First, it was his silent bruised obsequiousness and the glances he’d shoot her after that arena fight, like he expected her to ravish him then and there just because she’d beaten him up. The sense that she’d stumbled into a world she didn’t understand drawn in silent rules and violence and sex—and Asajj has never liked that anxiety born of ignorance though she can and will tough it out and persevere, and only with the bond strangling her did she realize her stupid mistake—the sense that there was something hiding below her feet ready to devour her. He only got more obsequious and annoying after the ritual that tied Asajj to him, with his empty brainless eyes that somehow simultaneously said do whatever you want with me and I’ll kill you. She was happy to use him, if it got her traitorous ex-Master Dooku off her back, but she was at least as happy that the plan included Opress staying at Dooku’s side, not hers. Well, in the end, he was as useless as he was stupid and creepy, and Asajj had to fight Dooku on her own while Opress escaped his leash and used the power gifted to him by Talzin to harass innocent villagers and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He doesn’t have the body that Mother Talzin gave him anymore. Not that he ever deserved it.

Savage Opress, who is bound by ancient magicks to Asajj, looks like someone took his corpse and stuffed it full of a crashed spaceship debris in a desperately poor attempt at covering up an accident. The body Mother Talzin’s Dathomiri magicks gave him was stout, forceful, architected and executed with a keen eye and deep control, while whoever did this was a careless butcher. Asajj has seen carnage and pain, she’s fought and killed and maimed, and yet she has never seen anything as bestial as the body before her.

Savage Opress, who is making her share his torture through a telepathic bond, looks like a gutted carcass. This is what became of one of the three last survivors of Dathomir: worms writhe in and out of him, the things she’s been feeling like phantom maggots burrowing into her heart made real and she can see them feasting and seaming up his raw mottled shoulders and lap at the empty spots where someone tore out his hearts. He’s still conscious, though, just asleep. She can feel him feeling the worms. She can see him breathing, though he doesn’t need to, not without an intact torso. Not without hearts. She feels sick. So this is what has been calling out to her. What has been sliding into her mind, unstoppable and unwanted. This has violated her dreams.

Savage Opress, the bondmate Asajj came here to covertly murder, looks like death would be a mercy.

“Ventress, what are you playing at? The room was empty and Kenobi is here,” Maul hisses from somewhere behind her. “I told you. You’ll die for your betrayal—Savage…”

Asajj turns, expecting a fight, but Maul looks like the air was punched out of him, and he’s rooted to the doorway. The air around him tastes of abhorrence and dawning dread. He could have reached Savage before her, in her stupor—he could have jammed his ‘saber into her back—but now she’s jolted loose and ready to take her one chance at freedom.

To take mercy on Savage, for once in her life.

She drives her lightsaber into his right eye socket.

Maul’s scream behind her is vile, deeply inhuman and guttural and echoing over and over and over in the small room. It’s so loud her eye starts to hurt. His howl is the storm and the cave and the first drink in a lifetime. It’s green. It’s gentleness and sympathy he thought his Master had long driven out of the apprentice, but in teaching Savage he can’t help but refrain from using the techniques he once had endured himself. He doesn’t understand the reason—he is Sith and if he does not teach his apprentice to draw power from pain, he will have failed him. He doesn’t understand, but he feels something quake when he is called brother and when he notices he turned his back to Savage and never even expected to get hurt—he doesn’t understand, but somehow, he does. He loves Savage. Savage loves him. Maul was never meant for love, was made a weapon to be used and abused and discarded by a Master wielding power he’ll never attain, but somehow, Maul found this one person who loves him. Maul lost the person who loves him. Maul just lost him again. Maul won’t lose the person who loves him. He won’t. He can’t. He refuses. He loves—

And desperate love paints the room acid green. Greedy love tears the cot to tiny metal shreds. Unconditional love presses hot and painful into Asajj’s right eye, and she’s taking tiny measured steps toward Savage, in rhythmic unison with Maul and unstoppable no matter how hard she tries to take back her body.

Love, no matter what it takes, and both their green-bathed hands touch Savage.

All goes black.

[flying-elliska]

Skam France Season 6 Review

It’s that time, I guess. My feelings are, like many, mixed. I think I enjoyed the season more than most people here, but the ending was a massive let down. Overall it boils down to this : Skam France is great at moments and very bad at structure. A lot of my issues with the season is what is not in it. I saw so much potential that never quite materialized, and it left me frustrated. At the same time, Lola is a really cool character, her arc is really interesting, her relationship with her sister is one of the best things they’ve ever done, and the actors killed it. Loved La Mif, discovering other sides of Eliott, the urbex backgrounds, and Maya. A lot of fascinating character moments. This is definitely my second favorite season after s3 - at times I even thought it would equal it. Sadly, though, Skam France will remain a bit of a one hit wonder for me. Because they are so good at bringing up problems in a nuanced layering way - be it addiction, grief, eating disorders, internalized ableism, racist microagressions - but when it comes to resolving what they brought up, they default towards a ‘let’s all be nice to each other, hug or kiss, love saves the day yay !’ story. Which is, when you claim to deal with real world issues, simplistic, immature, and at times quite offensive. It works for s3, which is at its core a tale of self-discovery, self-acceptance and romance. But niceness doesn’t solve racism, and family problems aren’t solved with a hug, and addiction recovery doesn’t hinge on having someone to kiss, and the series came dangerously close to implying that at times. 

All in all, this is a show that often manages to be both brilliant and terrible at the same time. At least it’s not dull. 

Positives/Negatives/Meh breakdown :

Positives :

- Sisterly love : My favorite thing without a doubt is the relationship between Lola and Daphné. Flavie and Lula killed it. Almost all the clips that made me cry were the ones with the both of them in it. At the beginning their rivalry is so relatable to me : the responsible sibling who takes on too much burdens and is too controlling and parentified vs. the problem sibling who acts out to express the issues the rest of the family are repressing - i have been in both of those spots. you can see how they slowly realize that the gap between them didn’t need to be there, that it wasn’t their fault, that it was the result of their parent’s bullshit and even shittier circumstances. seeing them make little gestures to recognize each other’s pain, to nurture each other, to give each other support, but also to tell each other some unpleasant truths, was so incredibly powerful. Relationships between sisters can be just so...complex, and loving, and petty, and jealous, and supportive, and feral, and annoying, and understanding, and ugh, they made me feel all of that and more. I have a sister, and I have a relationship like that with her, and this season gave me some very important perspectives. Really, relationships between women aren’t explored enough, and this season really did this one thing excellently and if only for that, it deserves to be watched. That moment where Lola talks to Daphné about her self destructive tendencies...so important. I am so happy that Daphné was the one finding Lola in her tower of solitude, and the moment where she says ‘you pay too much attention to what other people think, Lola’ was the emotional turning point of the season for me, because it was Daphné recognizing Lola really cared behind her mask of coldness, but also that she was hurt by that and that she needed to love herself regardless of the love her parents didn’t give her ; and also that she heard Lola saying it to her and that it inspired her too, so there is this amazing reciprocity. It was so powerful, I’m still reeling from it. And it was a beautiful full circle from the beginning of the season. 

- Family of outsiders : the urbex gang was such a wonderful new group this season. It was bound to be tricky getting us to like this new generation, and I think they did a pretty good job. Even tho I wish we got to know them a bit more, they were all intriguing and interesting on their own, and the vibes of Lamif as a whole were just so fun and lovely. Loved the neuroatypical vibes I got from Sekou and Jo. Love that they introduced a trans guy character. Loved Maya as group mom. And seeing them warm up to Lola was really sweet. The social media of them hanging out was more or less the only good social media we got this season lmao. The urbex thing was a great symbol for Lola finding a home with the outcasts, a bit on the fringe of society, and the start of acceptance, of bringing her in from the cold. Maya and Lola’s relationship fit in that really nicely, especially the bits about them talking about their shared experiences of grief, and my favorite scenes with them is showing Lola that her scars can be beautiful and that her rough experiences are part of who she is. The way she didn’t take Lola’s bullshit was great, and even tho I think their relationship was rushed, overall they really fit well together. Love Maya’s character as a concept in general, this funky purple haired lesbian environmentalist with amazing sense of style, and I really hope we see her again in upcoming seasons. And finally, I also really liked Eliott and Lola’s friendship (except for the ending) - the fact that they understand this darkness that they share, but that Eliott has succeded in climbing over it, and so he can give Lola support, understanding, guidance. I loved that we got to hear a bit more of his perspective on mental illness, the good and the bad times, that we saw his passion for movies become more real. I loved the fact that they bonded over creative things and photography, too, and that she found a safe space in the video store. And even tho it wasn’t resolved properly, the scene where he comes to get her and punches Aymeric really made me cry. Also, BASILE. Best bro in law ever. Their scenes together were so homey and warm and sweet. They will have such a good relationship in time. Overall, I really like how central friendship was in this season, shown as so powerful and important. They could have done more with it but I love a lot of what we got. I am just a sucker for found family, man.

- Lola herself : I know she was a controversial character right from the start. She’s been called manipulative, selfish, out of control, toxic. And honestly at times...maybe she was a bit. I still love her. She is just so interesting to me. The lack of compassion towards her in the fandom was seriously depressing at times, and often felt like a symptom of something I’ve seen in a lot of different fandoms, ie the capacity to only tolerate moral ambiguity when it’s attached to attractive white male characters - and to only tolerate mental illness symptoms when they can be romanticized. In the end, she’s a struggling teen from a deeply dysfunctional family who’s had a very rough life, of course she’s not going to be well adjusted. All in all, I think she’s so brave, and she is a fighter. I adored her feral energies in the trailer. I also really liked her blunt honesty at times, even if it was sometimes hurtful and excessive. I think because I have the opposite tendency to be afraid to speak my mind, I really dig a character who isn’t afraid to speak the ugly truth. Even though, again, ‘the truth’ isn’t always cut and clear, and what Lola is often doing instead is listening to ‘depression voice’ who tells her to believe the worst in people. I find that fascinating, because in my experience, yes, depression comes with this terrible lucidity that makes you see through a lot of bullshit but at the same time, is distorting your perspective because of fear and shame, and kicking that, and disentangling your perception from that fatalism, is very complicated. I loved how genuine she was, how mature too sometimes through the pain, more mature than she should have been. It was rough watching her relapse, but I think the portrayal of addiction was pretty very well done overall, not romanticized and explained in a very coherent way. I wish the show had given her a bit more of a clearer view of her inner thoughts towards the end and let her apologize a bit more. And a clearer realisation that her parent’s lack of well expressed love didn’t doom her. But...yeah Following her really made me question my own - more hidden - self destructive impulses, linked to family shit, that pushes me to sabotage and isolate myself. Like Eliott said to her - it’s really a lifelong struggle. I think overall her arc was pretty satisfying, learning to step away from the edge, letting people in, seeing that she isn’t alone, accepting she deserves better and that her failures don’t doom her. That it is about getting up and trying again. Love her using her mother’s camera and wanting to get a phoenix tattoo, a perfect symbol for her. Also Flavie was amazing, she’s got a bright future ahead.

Negatives :

- No follow up to the assault storyline : The thing that I am, without any single doubt, most mad about, is the fact they didn’t bring up the sexual assault again. Along with Charles’ rape apologism, this creates a very dubious pattern of trivializing the issue ‘as long as it’s not real rape’. The fact that the morning after immediately turns to Elu drama is what sort of started my disconnect from the season, and the fact that they don’t bring it up afterwards even once made me angry. I think Lola, before going back to the hospital, should have told someone about the abuse she endured there, and should have told someone about Aymeric, even if only to acknowledge she wants to be done with that part of her life. Aymeric is like...Lola’s biggest villain, in a sense, he is a horrible predator but he also somehow represents her worst impulses, that part of herself that tells her she doesn’t deserve better, and I think that as a character, he was interesting, and he should have been adressed/exorcised better. If Lola was a real person, of course, she would probably have to deal with this in therapy, down the line, later, but as a story, never adressing this again left it unfinished. And this is really the kind of event you NEED catharsis and resolution for. Otherwise, it’s irresponsible.

- A generally overstuffed and disjointed structure : My biggest problems with this season are about what isn’t and what isn’t it. I liked most of the clips, I don’t have an issue with them going dark, strangely enough, but the way they were put together was just...messy. Like many people have said, too much stuff not properly adressed. Palm of most annoyingly useless subplot, the whole Tiff thing. Yes, it was cool comparing her clique to Lamifex and Lola realizing she wants nothing to do with those shallow fake bitches. Sekou hacking her account to replace it with pigeons, amazing. After that though, it should have been DONE, and in general, it should have taken a lot less time and attention. Comparing Tiff’s social media addiction to Lola’s issues felt like some trivializing bullshit. The whole thing was just so annoying. It would have been good if it had led to some discussion of social inequality but like...not this shit. Char, equally useless (although, cool actress, cool style). Another MASSIVE problem is the lack of follow through on big clips. A great thing about SKAM, usually, is that it shows you the aftermath of big moments - characters lying in bed, cuddling, talk to their friends, crying in the shower, etc. It allows the viewer to breathe and really get into the character’s perspective, to be comforted and process drama, and for the emotions to resonate better, to have space to develop richly. Here...we had Lola brush off her assault, we saw nothing after Daphné got her back from the tower thinking she could have killed herself, we learned that they had money problems and the father didn’t go to work and then that was never adressed again and the light was turned back on by magic (????), we saw Eliott go on a major bender and didn’t really see how he got better, etc. Big lack of introspective clips in the latter part of the season took me out of Lola’s head. It was all stressful and breathless, all intensity and no pause like one grating high pitch note instead of music, it felt oppressive, with poor contrast, and very badly paced. It made everything blur together and feel less relevant. The problem with that is it really takes you out of the story ; it’s hard to care when you know whatever is happening might not have a resolution, and it doesn’t put you in the shoes of the character. This was compounded by how mediocre the social media was, when it is usually used to bridge in the gaps. And then to finish : the structure was so uneven, especially in the second part of the season. Towards the middle we had some very short episodes with very underwhelming endings, and Vendredis that felt like non events, and there wasn’t a lot happening - and then, bam, ep 9, drama overload, almost like misery p*rn, and then a super rushed resolution in ep 10. Like they cared more about twists and giving the opposite of what was expected instead of solid coherent narrative and rhythm. The romantic back and forth felt repetitive as hell too. All in all, it made for a very unsatisfying live watching experience, pretty sure anyone who didn’t watch live would like it a lot more. 

- The last two episodes : Really, I could have overlooked all the problems with the season if they had given us a good ending, but...they really really didn’t. And contrasted with last season, where my problems were focused on the middle, for me the ending is really the worst part of this season. I didn’t dislike the controversial club clips, I liked having the insight into Eliott’s insecurities, but they should never have brought those up if they weren’t going to let him adress them properly. Having everything go to shit in Lola’s life at once felt like overkill - they really should have solved those problems earlier, and then dealt with a few ones properly, showed us Lola freaking out on her own, and taken out the bullshit at the high school. Thierry slapping her was also too much, he could just have said these clumsy things. She could have distanced herself from Maya instead of pushing her away again. Also, they really should have had this happen in episode 8 again, and given us a proper resolution. While the tower sequence was incredibly powerful, I pretty much liked nothing after that. It was so annoying that Eliott brushed off Lola’s apology because while he wasn’t wrong that he decided to get drunk himself, she still needed to apologize and actually state that she wanted to get better so she didn’t hurt her friends, so as a resolution it was very mediocre. Thierry recognizing they should have given Lola the choice to go the hospital was a step but really not enough. And the moments with Maya were cute sure but mostly cheesy and unearned. Same for the ending clip. Mostly it’s such an unsatisfying farewell to the old generation, and it really feels like they wanted us to force to move on - didn’t want to properly recognize the end of an era, gave us almost nothing about their BAC or their future plans, etc etc. Also, letting Charles talk and having Arthur and Alexia kiss again ? SO BAD. UGH. I will be forever disappointed they didn’t give us a Multi POV or at least sth better on social media. And not having Eliott’s POV or at least a real Elu conversation (pretty much all season...) so frustrating I will never not be bitter about that. So yeah. The season started so powerfully but went out with a whimper instead of a bang. That whole ‘romantic love solves everything!!!’ shtick...very undercooked tbh. 

Meh : 

- Mayla’s development : I wanted to stan them SO BAD. Like, wlw in skam (that doesn’t turn into a panphobic mess?) YES, all the way yes. Maya and Lola had great chemistry, great dynamic. I loved their first few clips, the kind of confrontational flirting, the boldness, it was like...damn girls ! we love a non useless lesbian ! But...somewhere along the way, their relationship really suffered from the wacky plot structure. They should have shown us more bonding before we got to the angsting (esp during first urbex night). Also, their first kiss was sweet but I hated the ‘you’re my addiction’ line and that kind of put a damper on it. I liked the scenes where they open up about difficult things, the love Maya showed to Lola’s scars, the dandelion symbolism was lovely, but it wasn’t balanced enough with other stuff, and I felt Maya was way too stoic at times. And I really, really didn’t like the ending, honestly. They kept a good balance all season showing Lola wasn’t relying entirely on romantic love, that her family and friends were also important - but saying ‘i’m okay as long as you’re here’ at the end...honestly that sounds unhealthy and codependent as fuck. I really wish they’d done a more subtle, taking it slow ending for them.

- The financial issues : Again a storyline with much potential that wasn’t dealt with properly. It’s really good that we got a main that wasn’t from an economically priviledged background. Especially it felt very relevant to Daphné’s storyline, with the shame she felt at her friends seeing her place, the pressure to make it work, tying into her ED, etc etc. But cutting off the power, the father not working going nowhere...it’s like the plotline meandered and then vanished into thin air. Instead of that, they could have given us a scene of Daphné freaking out over the bills like in OG w Vilde, keeping the focus on her for that plot because she’s the most affected ; and then in the end of the season the father taking them over from her and telling her he’s found another job and that those things shouldn’t be her responsibility. That would have been relevant, instead of just...a loose end.

- Family issues : The Lecomte family dynamic seemed fascinating to me at the start. The mom being this shadowy complicated figure. The inability of the father to deal with anything. Daphné being parentified, Lola becoming the symptom child. They could have done a lot with this, but in the end, it felt like it was brushed aside too easily by saying the mom sent letters so she wasn’t too bad and Thierry is making breakfast so he’s trying. Not enough. I wanted them to let Lola acknowledge she deserved better and that their parent’s crap wasn’t on her. That her mom should have looked for help and the other two shouldn’t have pretended everything was okay. In general, there is way too much pressure to overlook toxic parent behavior and I wish they’d been clearer about this. 

- Mental health portrayal : Some parts of it were really good. Showing Daphné’s ED, letting Eliott talk about his episodes and relapses, showing some of the dark sides of depression and addiction. They just needed to show more of the recovery, because that is often the representation that they lacked the most. I don’t blame them for showing the bad sides of the mental healhcare system (which is terribly outdated and dysfunctional in France, I’m speaking from experience) but they should have shown the good too. Like do they find recovery boring or something ? Because as a person w MI, that’s actually what I’m dying to see, and they’ve been a real letdown in that department. I also think they should have acknowledged that the Lecomte family has mental issues as a whole, that the mother should have gotten help, and the father probably needs it too (still think they should have gone to therapy as a group lol).

- Elu and Eliott’s development : Honestly, not a big fan of how they wrote Lucas in s5&s6, in a lot of clips he was the angry guy with a temper, I miss s4 Lucas who was so compassionate and showed real growth and emotional intelligence. Here it just felt like they were fitting his character to plot needs, and it’s so sad for a character who had such an amazing story development. Now, I loved the glimpses of domestic Elu we got, how Axel and Maxence really showed the intimacy that had grown between them, they really felt married with all the nonverbal conversations and touches, that was sweet. But it’s so annoying that they hinted at Lucas’s insecurities and Eliott’s lack of communications and just brushed it away with ‘oh they love each other they will be okay’ sure bitch but then show us how ? that’s the interesting stuff ? it really feels sometimes like the writer(s) didn’t like how strongly the fans focused on the romance when they wanted to be talking about MATURE dark stuff not that frilly fluffy romance shit *eyeroll* male writers who think they’re above that stuff is so annoying as is the conflating of dark and mature - anyway. Again I liked seeing Eliott in his element this season, he is really thriving, with his movie and the video store, and that made me very happy. I don’t think it’s unrealistic he didn’t make a lot of friends in uni - French university can be so isolating, there isn’t a campus or a vibrant social life like in the US, it’s a very common experience to feel lost and isolated for newbies and it was also my case - but ? Sofiane ? Idriss ??? They could have found a better excuse to implicate Lamifex in the movie making tbh, like Jo egging him on about her passion for directing or whatever, and Sofiane could have been there chilling with them it would have been so cool. I just wish Eliott would have had more of an arc like Daphné did. It wouldn’t have taken much, and since he is my favorite character, I will never not be disappointed at all the wasted potential. 

Yeah so in the end i think this was a very good story they didn’t entirely give themselves the right storytelling tools to tell. Like there is something in the way they prioritize certain moments over others that...I just find very frustrating and weird. So...flawed, but still very interesting overall.

[no6secretsanta]

Impermanence

to: @aowyn

from: @crowmunculus

Happy new year! I’m still the world’s slowest writer but I hope you enjoy this canonverse angst-with-a-happy-ending fic!

.

The other day there was a sparrow trapped in the grocery store; it beat itself to death against a skylight, thinking it was freedom. Nezumi tried to see the metaphor in it, but mostly what he saw was the tiny body crumpled against dirty linoleum, black bead doll’s-eyes squinted shut, little feet curled into fists against its downy breast. 

He understood the feeling at the time, and he understands it now, somehow more claustrophobic in Shion’s sparsely-furnished studio apartment than he had ever been in the clutter of the underground room. And it’s not just that the apartment is in No. 6, it’s that Shion is in it, older than before with that unerring ability to see through Nezumi’s shit only sharpened with time.

When the two of them were at each other’s throats in the West Block, one of them, usually Nezumi, would leave until the red haze of rage had settled. You can’t avoid your roommate that well when the only other room is the only bathroom. It’s awkward, stuck in the same space as someone palpably angry at him, but it’s the bitter cold of early January outside, and Nezumi is afraid that if he leaves now he’lll never come back. Which would defeat the whole purpose of returning to begin with, really. 

So this is how they’re spending their shared day off: in opposite corners of the room, not speaking. Shion had always been skilled at making his silences loud and his tenure as a politician had honed that skill into an instrument of torture. It sets Nezumi on edge, that tense feeling of possibility, the static in the air before a lightning strike. He wanted that silence to break and worried he’d be the one to break it just to hear it break.

It’s not you, it’s me, flits inanely across his thoughts before Nezumi can shoot it down with prejudice. That would make it sound like Nezumi wanted to end whatever it was between them, and that was also part of the problem, wasn’t it, that Nezumi had been living with Shion in No. 6 for months without either of them putting a name to their relationship. 

For Shion the reason is likely something stupid and romantic, like not needing the reassurance of a label to know how he felt. For Nezumi, it’s fear, simple fear. The same fear he’d traveled the world to escape or to discard in pieces out in the wasteland. Fear was what had held his tongue from speaking the truth last night when Shion suddenly said, apropos of nothing, “We should buy a house.” 

They’d been watching old prewar Christmas movies together from bed, Nezumi only half-awake with his head resting in Shion’s lap over the covers, Shion’s fingers reverent while he combed them through Nezumi’s long hair. “We?” he said weakly, a mistake that opened the floodgates of Shion babbling excited words like water. 

“I can cover most of the down payment for the houses I’ve been looking at, I’ve had more time to build up my savings and I don’t want to deplete yours like that, but I’ve been looking into it and with my credit rating we could get a good interest rate on a mortgage, and if we’re careful with our spending we might even be able to pay it off early within ten years -” Ten years echoed in Nezumi’s head before the rest of Shion’s words were drowned out by a rush of ringing white noise in his ears so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. 

There was something inside Nezumi, something old and cruel, that took over in his moments of weakness, especially - especially around Shion. His lips moved without any conscious thought behind the action and what came out was “Would your credit rating be enough of a draw for a prospective seller to overlook the fact that I legally did not exist until two years ago?” 

He felt the muscles in Shion’s legs go tense beneath him and that same cruel impulse lifted his head and moved him away until their bodies no longer touched. He clenched his hands shut into fists to keep them from shaking. 

“Plenty of people from the West Block have citizenship paperwork only made after the wall fell,” Shion said calmly, if rigidly. “You know that.” 

Nezumi did know that. He knew because Shion had reassured him as much when Shion helped him navigate the paperwork for his new state-funded health insurance, something he’d never before had or imagined he ever would have. He also knew that the new streamlined pathway to citizenship for West Block residents lacking formal paperwork was one of Shion’s crowning achievements on the Reconstruction Committee. He knew this, and because of what he was he used that knowledge as a blade. 

“I know it was awfully presumptuous of you to go ahead and make mine for me when I wasn’t here,” Nezumi said, staring at the wall behind Shion’s left shoulder as if the ugly popcorn drywall fascinated him instead of simple, stupid fear keeping him from looking Shion in the eye. 

“You promised you’d come back,” Shion said, “Whether or not you would ever choose to use the documentation was up to you, but I at least wanted to give you the option.” His voice was clipped, icy in a way Nezumi did not know how to decode, another reminder that for all Nezumi had grown and changed in their years apart, Shion had too, in ways Nezumi may never be allowed to know. “If I was being presumptuous, it was in presuming you wanted to come back.” 

With that, he sat up and walked to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind himself. He had moved slowly enough that Nezumi could have responded in time, grabbed his hand and asked Shion to wait, to let him explain, but Nezumi could not explain to even himself, so instead he let him go. 

He laid back down on the bed, the blankets still warm from Shion’s body heat, and listened to the dialogue of It’s A Wonderful Life muffled through the awful ringing still in his ears, the words warped by the noise into nothing but meaningless sounds. Mercifully, he fell asleep before Shion returned.

But Shion was of course there in bed with him when Nezumi woke the next morning, because where else was he supposed to sleep? Shion had slept curled on his side faced away, his back to Nezumi’s back. Seeing Shion so vulnerable always made Nezumi feel vulnerable too. Before Nezumi got out of bed, he pulled the covers up higher and smoothed them out, carefully layered back on top of Shion and tucked in around him. 

Then he brewed a pot of coffee and fixed up a cup for Shion first. He set it on the nightstand expecting the smell to eventually wake Shion up, but then saw that Shion was already awake. “G’morning,” Shion mumbled, and that had been the only thing Shion had said to him all day. 

Nezumi knows what Shion expects of him but he doesn’t know if it’s something he knows how to give, even if he wants to. And he does want to, he wants to wake up every day at Shion’s side even if they’d gone to bed angry, wants to commit to this, all of this, even the parts that scare him speechless.

Shion, as always, ends up being the brave one. He speaks first and says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that last night.” Nezumi dares to lift his head from his book and is captured in Shion’s gaze, held hostage by the honesty and warmth in his eyes.

He means it. Shion really thinks he’s the one who should be apologizing, and Nezumi has to choke back a surge of incredulous anger. It’s not fair to Shion that Nezumi keeps lashing out against him when the one he’s really angry at is himself. “Don’t apologize,” Nezumi says, but it’s sharp and sounds like an accusation. He closes his eyes, forces himself to just breathe, slowly in and out, and continues, softer, “I shouldn’t have said what I did. It wasn’t right to belittle how hard you’ve worked to fix this place.” And make it somewhere I could live. “There was no reason for it except to piss you off.” When Nezumi chances a look, Shion doesn’t look convinced, still with that concerned, horribly earnest expression on his face. 

“You’re always sarcastic, I shouldn’t have taken it so personally -”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be,” Nezumi cuts him off, and his ears are ringing again, “I shouldn’t be sarcastic about things that actually matter. I didn’t mean it. I only said it because - because…” His tongue sticks to the roof of his dry mouth. He still can’t explain it to Shion, even now. He was supposed to be better than this by the time he returned. 

He doesn’t hear Shion crossing the room to reach him and flinches on instinct when Shion touches his wrist, but catches himself in time to grab Shion’s hand in his own before he can finish pulling away. 

“It’s okay, Nezumi,” Shion says, gently squeezing his hand. He’s kneeled on the wooden floor in front of Nezumi’s chair, Nezumi’s hand now cradled in both of his, the contact both a manacle and a comfort. “I brought it up too suddenly. I don’t want to pressure you or make you feel uncomfortable. We don’t have to talk about it now.” He’s as genuine as he always is, but it’s also an excuse for Nezumi’s sake, it’s Shion giving him an easy out. 

Nezumi looks past Shion to the window on the far wall, the blue sky beyond it, thinks about a broken neck and broken wings and how desperate a creature would have to be to die that way.  

“In the West Block. Before you were there with me,” Nezumi says, haltingly, “The one thing, the only thing I could rely on staying the same day in and out was…” He stalls out again, and Shion brings Nezumi’s hand to his lips, kisses his knuckles like a knight pledging fealty. “…The only constant was that everyone who had ever cared about me would still be dead. And it was a relief that they were still dead because that meant I couldn’t lose them again.”

Hope, in Nezumi’s experience, hurt more than grief. Death was permanent, inarguable; hope is a chronic ache. It hurts to even look at Shion sometimes. 

Shion’s soft, even breaths tingle against Nezumi’s skin. He focuses on that, the rhythm of it, the barely-there whisper of sound, and the roaring in his head ebbs away as Shion replaces it. “I’ll still want you in ten years,” Shion says with the weight of an oath. “Whether we’re living here or in a house - that’s not what matters to me.”

“I know,” Nezumi says, and he does know. Shion could be happy living in a cardboard box beneath an overpass so long as Nezumi was there with him. “I wouldn’t object to a larger floor plan, though.” 

Shion’s responding smile is bright as to be blinding. Helpless to him in the best way, Nezumi smiles back, pulls him in closer, and gives in, for the moment, to hope.

[artificialqueens]

Wings (Bitney) - Cheetah

Summary: In a world where the first tattoo you get will also appear on your soulmate’s skin, it’s difficult to fit in when romance is the last thing you want. Courtney never got her tattoo with the intention of finding her soulmate, and yet, they are still led to one another by those ink-dark feathers.

The world was not made for them, but perhaps it never needed to be.

A/N: As much as I love sweet, fluffy romantic stories, there’s always been a part of me that yearned for there to be more aro rep in fic. Of course, the best way to get what you want is to write it, so here it is: my first fic centred around aromanticism, framed through the lens of a soulmate au.

The soulmate au felt a natural choice because of how typically romance-centric they are; I wanted to flip the script and create a universe where aromantic soulmates were possible. I chose not to remove the inundation of romance in society, because that is something a lot of aros have to deal with and I wanted to represent that.

Also, this fic is set in the same universe as One Direction (To Your Heart), but it’s not necessary to have read that to understand it. All you need to know is that Bianca is the head of her own fashion label, and Courtney is one of her models.

Enjoy!

Ao3 // my blog

“Fuck.”

The wings. Courtney has the wings.

“Bianca? Are you okay?”

They’re right there, inked across her back, feathers arranged in perfect rows. The sight of them makes Bianca’s stomach turn, and she doesn’t reply for a long moment.

“I’m fine,” she says eventually, her tone clipped, even harsher than it usually is. “Just remembered something.”

She tears her eyes away from the tattoo, feeling like she’s going to be sick.

Courtney has the wings.

The same wings that appeared on Bianca’s skin two years ago.

“Courtney, I’m going to need to see you in my office before you go home this afternoon. It’s important.”

“Okay, but–”

“Be there.” Bianca doesn’t give her the chance to ask any questions before she turns on her heel, leaving Courtney standing with her dress half-zipped, green eyes glimmering with confusion.

~

The dress is beautiful. It fits Courtney like a glove, shimmering with pale sequins that catch the light every time she moves. But whenever she looks in the mirror, she can’t stop herself from turning around, peering at the delicate feathers fanning out across her shoulder blades, exposed by the low cut of the dress.

The ink burns her back, digging deep claws into her skin. Her tattoo is beautiful, and she wouldn’t change it for the world, but… still, sometimes she regrets it. She regrets visualising the possibility that there could be somebody out there who is supposed to be hers. The wings make it - make them - real, tangible, and the idea of them hurts Courtney’s soul, hollows it out until she isn’t sure who she is anymore.

Is she wrong for not wanting them? The world tells her she is, fires it at her from all angles, and yet nothing she does can fill that emptiness in her chest.

She has seen how her friends’ faces go dreamy whenever they talk about their soulmates, and every time, Courtney has to force a smile, her happiness for them dulled by the discomfort pooling in her stomach. Looking at her ink-dark wings, she wonders about the person who shares them. Will they paint that dream-touched look on her face, too? Courtney can’t quite fathom it.

And when she asks what it’s like, everyone always says her soulmate will complete her, tells her that they will fit beside her like a puzzle piece; that she will find everything she never knew she wanted wrapped up in their perfect smile.

Courtney simply can’t see her hopes and dreams existing as a person. She doesn’t like the idea of being better thanks to somebody else - she’s Courtney Act, and as far she’s concerned, she’s just fine the way she is. Needing someone else to reassure her of that, to fill in the missing pieces of her soul, feels stupid. Childish, almost. Like being a teenager and watching all her friends fall in love, wondering why she was never enough to be their first choice.

She turns away from the mirror, wrapped in a familiar discomfort that has long since started to feel like home.

~

Bianca startles at the sound of knocking.

“Come in,” she says gruffly, glancing at the clock, only just noticing what time it is.

Shit.

“You said you wanted to see me?”

Bianca’s gaze snaps up, meeting gentle green eyes and a soft smile. Her heart twists at the sight.

“I did,” she replies stiffly, waiting as Courtney helps herself to one of the empty seats opposite her.

So this is her soulmate. Courtney is generically pretty, with a petite frame and luscious hair like the models in magazines and shampoo advertisements. Still, she radiates a genuine warmth and friendliness; she doesn’t seem to be intimidated by Bianca in the slightest, which Bianca supposes is something she can appreciate.

“Okay, look, this is going to sound really stupid. But just hear me out, alright?” Bianca takes a deep breath, quickly revising what she’s planned to say. She’s been mulling over it all afternoon, ever since she left the dressing rooms, but she still feels completely unprepared.

“It’s fine,” Courtney assures her. “Say whatever you need to. I’m listening.”

Bianca steels herself, vacating any shred of expression from her face until all that’s left is a cool, collected emptiness.

She might as well get this over and done with.

“You’re my soulmate,” she says bluntly. “I saw your wings when you were doing the fitting this morning.”

She pauses to gauge Courtney’s reaction and it’s… strange, to say the least. Bianca watches as her eyes go wide and the colour drains from her face. The clock ticks on the wall - one second, two seconds, three - but Courtney remains silent, motionless.

“I’m just going to say this upfront,” Bianca continues, when it becomes clear Courtney has nothing to add. “I have no interest in you, or whatever magical bond is supposed to make us fall in love for the rest of our lives. Destiny means shit to me, and if that matters to you, you can fuck off and go cry somewhere else. Tissues are there if you want to take one on your way out.”

She doesn’t look at Courtney again. She doesn’t think she’s ready to see the hurt she’s plastered all over that delicate face. The words had come out harsher than she’d intended - more defensive, as though Bianca is a cornered animal - but there’s no turning back now.

Courtney surprises her by breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, sounding like an immense weight has just been lifted from her shoulders.

“Are you fucking deaf?” Bianca snaps. “This should not be a good thing for you.”

“But it is!” Courtney replies delightedly. “Something about this whole ‘soulmates’ thing has always thrown me off, and I guess… it’s nice to find someone that thinks like that, too.”

Bianca takes a moment to eye her up and down. She’s lying - she must be lying. Bianca has never met another person who hasn’t been obsessed with the idea of finding their other half.

“I’ve just never found romance that interesting,” Courtney elaborates. “It doesn’t appeal to me. It never has. I like to think I’m perfectly fine without some fated love to complete me.” She says the words with a casual air about her, but Bianca can still hear the bitterness grating between her teeth.

It feels painfully familiar, and Bianca has to take a stunned moment to replay Courtney’s words in her head. She has never heard her own thoughts - and such deeply personal ones, at that - come out of another person’s mouth, and she certainly never imagined her own soulmate would be the one echoing them back to her.

“But then, if we’re soulmates… what does this mean for us?” she asks quietly, shock and caution laced in every word.

Courtney smiles, taking Bianca’s hand in both of hers.

“You know what? I think that’s up to us.”

~

“So we’re soulmates.”

“I thought we’d established that already.”

Courtney coughs awkwardly, staring into her steaming mug of tea. Bianca’s abrasive personality still isn’t something she’s used to, but she finds she doesn’t mind it.

She glances up again, meeting Bianca’s eyes. They’re a warm brown, speckled with gold, and they remind Courtney of sunny Christmases in Australia: of long, shiny days, of sitting out in the backyard as the sun sets and her family downs cartons of beer together. She can’t help but smile, and Bianca’s gaze darts away again, but not before Courtney’s catches the odd mix of confusion and intrigue in the depths of her eyes.

She knows there’s a softer side to Bianca under that tough surface. She’s seen it already, in Bianca’s quiet hesitance on the drive back to her apartment, and in the gentleness with which she gave Courtney her tea.

“You know,” Courtney says, shattering the tense silence that has settled around them, “I’d kinda been hoping that this - the wings - that they wouldn’t really be a soul tattoo.”

“Why’d you take the risk, then?” Bianca asks. “If you’d kept your skin clear, you’d never have to worry.”

It’s apparent that that’s the path Bianca chose, and the path she’d hoped her soulmate would choose, too.

“Unfortunately, I find tattoos pretty and wanted to get one regardless,” Courtney tells her. “I didn’t get it with the intention of finding you… I just liked it.”

“Well.” Bianca clears her throat. “That was a stupid idea.”

Courtney laughs. “What, don’t you like me?”

Her chest hums in pride when Bianca smiles, dimples appearing in her cheeks.

“You caused me two years of grief, so I can’t say I do,” Bianca deadpans, but she’s still smiling. Despite that, Courtney knows exactly what she means, hears the quiet honesty behind her words.

Romance has been an ever-present force in her life: something that Courtney has tried and failed at running from, time and time again. It was in her childhood, in the sugary cartoons filled with matching tattoos and happy endings. It was in her adolescence, when her friends left her behind for their first taste of love even before they were tattooed. It follows her now, as the people around her find their soulmates and dive into relationships Courtney has never been able to see for herself.

So, of course she knows what Bianca means. The wings always represented the possibility of there being someone else, someone out there who was supposed to be hers. They represented the inevitable heartbreak that Bianca had clearly been expecting when she called Courtney into her office earlier that afternoon.

Except that didn’t happen, and now they’re here, sitting across from each other at Bianca’s dining table.

“Do you think it’s destiny?” Courtney blurts out.

“What?”

“Destiny. I - I always thought this whole soulmates thing would force me into a relationship I don’t want and a love I can’t feel. But it hasn’t, because… you’re like me.” Courtney swallows thickly. “I’ve never met anyone else like me.”

“Neither have I,” Bianca replies quietly.

There’s a long silence. Courtney counts her heartbeats.

“Maybe it is,” Bianca finally says, meeting Courtney’s eyes again. “Destiny, I mean. Have you ever heard that ‘your soulmate is tailored to you’ bullshit?”

Courtney nods.

“Maybe there’s something to it,” Bianca admits, a slight frown tugging at her lips. Courtney knows how she feels - it’s weird, rethinking everything she thought she believed. But it’s a good kind of weird, especially now that she has Bianca. Someone who understands.

“I’m really happy I found you, Bianca,” Courtney murmurs.

Bianca smiles, and it shines in her eyes like fairy lights.

“You know what? Me too. You’re not so bad after all, Miss Act.”

Courtney laughs. “I’ll take it.”

And in this moment, sitting across from Bianca - her soulmate, she thinks, not without a little newfound wonder - she feels like everything might just turn out alright.

[toneelspeelster]

portraying trauma, a skam and remakes comparison

disclaimer: i’ll start this by saying this meta will be critical of the way wtfock portrayed their version of a traumatic experience (the gay bashing). if you do not want to engage with criticism on this, i’d advise you not to read. this will also discuss only a few versions (skam, druck, skam nl and wtfock) in particular because i didn’t want to make it too long and because i feel these versions deal with trauma in an interesting way. 

common reactions

in any case, i’d like to start with common reactions after experiencing a traumatic event, be it a sexual assault, emotional assault, physical assault etc.

1. anxiety and fear 2. re-experiencing of the trauma. 3. increased vigilance 4. avoidance 5. anger 6. guilt/shame 7. grief/depression 8. self image and view of the world is negative, trust is difficult. 9. difficulty with sexual relationships 10. substance abuse (i’d include negative coping mechanisms here too).  source

now, i mention this not because i think every remake hits these but rather because i want people to see what commonly happens after traumatic events to people and how wtfock in one instance (robbe/sander) misses the mark completely while in another (zoe) it actually sort of works. and how other remakes have dealt with the subject matter. 

first off: skam

to start with even’s traumatic experience and his response. i’m starting with even mostly because it’s the original series, not necessarily bc i think it’s the most elegant portrayal (bc it’s definitely not). but in essence, what it does show is the effect of a traumatic event in the long run. even’s experience at bakka, where he kissed one of his friends he had a crush on; who rejected him; even being in a manic episode; resulting in a suicide attempt and his self inforced isolation from his best friends by going to another school and ignoring their messages - it’s touched upon in his initial season but expanded in season 4. and still at least one year later, still even freezes up in fear immediately after seeing his friends. even is incredibly anxious; it’s clear he’s recalling past memories he’s been trying to avoid for forever; he feels immensely guilty (he wants to see elias, he really does, he just doesn’t know how) and even though i think even’s self image is not necessarily the result of this experience, it does have an even more negative effect on his self-image. even has difficulties liking himself, seeing worth in himself, even in season 4. after reconciling w him (however that even went we don’t know) he appears in one of their vlogs and still you can see how uncomfortable it makes him to talk about it. but, this is what it ends on: you see the strength of even reaching out to those he loves and for them being able to reach out to him too. in the end, it’s healing. it is discussed throughout the season.

 then, numbers two: druck and skam nl

i’m combining these two in one entry bc i feel like these two portrayals deal with the repercussions of traumatic experiences to the life of these two very well. 

first off, we have david, who came out as transgender at a previous school and was met with intense transphobic reactions; deadnaming, invasive personal questions and just generally awful treatment by people - it resulted in david feeling very unsafe, difficulties sleeping and hiding and running away in the hopes of avoiding these situations. it affects his world view of the world as unkind, and him forcing himself to be okay with being alone bc the only one he trusts is himself. he doesn’t let people too close (wanting to stay anonymous) and when matteo breaks up with sarah he runs bc matteo is getting too close. and then, it happens again. he’s outed on social media in his new school, having difficulties even doing his exams bc his teacher is being a transphobic dick and he’s scared of both him and the kids at school. he then, after staying with his godmother, hides himself away at an unsafe, abandoned pool and even staying there for a night. 

then, we have liv. earlier in her life, she’s implied to have had an eating disorder - a traumatic experience in itself. and although she seems very aware of her needing to be careful not to fall into those patterns again, it unfortunately does come to the front again when faced with the fact that she’s been sexually assaulted in her sleep and it’s been filmed without consent. as an eating disorder survivor, i’d say her body is already something she might have difficulties with. to combine that with sexual assault.. it results in liv isolating herself at home, resorting to doing her white(!) laundry multiple times in one week and her stress baking cookies only for her to give them to her roommates. her mum even asks her if she’s eating well - for a mother who seems emotionally and physically distant otherwise, liv must’ve not sounded well. even when she seems a little bit better, engel still comes over to check up on liv and cook for her. engel has similar ed experiences so she knows it’s not something that’s just gone one second to the next. 

these portrayals work well bc it is clear that their experiences have become a detriment to their view of the world and result in them resorting to very unhealthy coping mechanisms. they both clearly feel the loss of control, the triggering of (past) experiences; the avoidance and the isolation. liv feels immense shame, david feels immense anger and fear - they both have difficulties trusting people, even the ones they care about the most. 

but, in the end? 

david does let matteo subtly know where he is, bc he knows matteo will see him and find him. matteo calls him even out on it: you are not a damned vampire who needs to hide away, he says - something that david didn’t even see about himself until matteo told him. he finds support in matteo and all of his friends and his sister. he doesn’t need to be alone anymore. 

and liv? she tells her friends about her troubles eventually, and they support her wholeheartedly, telling her it’s not her fault and flashing boobs while doing so. liv finds the strength to confront her attacker and blackmailing him, and eventually her boyfriend tells her she needs to go to the police to report his brother. 

these are both david’s season-long storyline and liv’s multiple episode storyline (all her clips for the first week after her experience focus solely on this). it’s healing to see this happen to survivors of these experiences. 

as a ender: wtfock

i think it’s important to establish first that this is first and foremost about robbe/sander’s gay bashing. robbe and sander have been dating approximately three days when they are violently and verbally assaulted and seemingly left for dead in antwerp’s streets. the next episode makes a point of robbe and sander being hurt badly with bruises and cuts and black eyes, robbe doesn’t sleep much and is irritated quickly and sander has a very weird reaction to violence in general and doesn’t want to go to the police. later, robbe is scared that sander was put off by the idea of going to the police, that he felt forced. within that same first episode, robbe tells milan the true story and zoe a little off story and they react sympathetically, zoe even offering her doctor. robbe’s mum’s psych also refers him to a therapist and he calls her. 

but then the storyline, after episode 6? it ends? milan seems to weirdly reference it sometimes but it doesn’t come to any conclusion in the end. after reconciling sander and robbe have no trouble kissing in front of everyone. there’s no sense of robbe or sander having internalised a different world view after this experience. they even never discuss it ever again after that first week. robbe going to a therapist is not even shown or referenced at all, even with the opportunity being there with social media updates. there’s no real repercussions, except for loss of sleep and sander maybe sort of seeing it as a way of destroying something time and again but that’s more his world view bc of his mental illness i’d say. it’s a storyline for one episode, that’s it. and with how irresponsibly they portrayed it by not immediately showing them being alright or together or taken care off but waiting hours for an update, it triggered a hella lot of audience members instead. as a bisexual woman myself, i felt scared watching that. 

zoe’s storyline of having to testify even got more of an appropriate portrayal as she’s scared to testify and also feels pushed by the people who love her the most (milan and senne). her breaking up w senne feels more an actual genuine decision bc of messed up feelings about the whole situation (senne being quite... aggressive with how he approaches her about it sometimes.. it felt like he wanted it for himself mostly, not for her). her not being able to sleep and feeling exhausted, months after the actual traumatic experience happened. it has an effect on her and how she responds and how she makes decisions.

conclusion

experiences like these have repercussions. but apparently in belgium only sexual assault results in trauma. gay bashing doesn’t. it had no true purpose except to educate straight people about the plight of lgbt people being attacked violently. but, as people far more eloquent than i have said, why? homophobes will not watch this series and suddenly turn around. and the world is damned if people just don’t realise that beating up people is bad and shouldn’t happen. 

the true purpose of skam is to teach people of all kinds, and to show people of a certain minority, community or with same/different life experiences that there is hope, and a lot more to them than just what they have experienced. now even the good portrayals could have all benefitted from telling the audience that it’s good and okay to go to therapy about this... but at least they didn’t shy away from a storyline that shows how deep this runs for people. they devoted time to it.

and that’s all wtfock really needed to do if wanting to make a point by including this. they didn’t. it’s sensational fodder at best. and i think that the characters as well as the audience?

they deserved better than that. 

[monstersandmaw]

Male orc x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This one is a little bit different, and sort of happened by accident, which is why my Patreon supporters hadn’t met Noah before in any character profiles etc.

It comes with a couple of warnings for content, but it all happened in the past, and it's a story about moving forwards and reconnecting with the things that matter. It was deeply personal to me, and I really hope you enjoy reading it.

It's been on early release on my Patreon, and it’s time to release it on Tumblr now! It's partly set in Starfall Springs, and partly in the city.

Length: 6647 words Content: death of a child, suicide, loss of loved ones, alcoholism (all past), recovery, reconnecting with family

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

The  orc that moved in next door to you was really quiet for an orc. True,  your only real experience of orcs to date had been the rugby club at  university, and their ‘legendary’ dorm parties, but still; he was very  quiet by any standards, let alone by orcish ones.

He  never had noisy lads’ nights in, never held rowdy garden parties as the  summer went on… The most noise he ever made was coming and going on his  motorbike at either end of the day. He just drove it into the garage in  the evening, unlocked and opened his front door door, closing it quietly behind him, and that was it.

One  afternoon, towards the beginning of summer, you stepped outside to clip  a few flowers from the sweet peas growing in the tubs at the front of  your house, and saw him sitting on the steps of his front porch, holding  something small and delicate between his big hands with his gaze fixed  on it.

You  paused, looking but trying not to stare. His shoulders, huge and broad  as they were, had the heavy slump of grief to them. You knew you should  leave him to the privacy of his reflections, but something about his  whole demeanour made you ache to go over there.

Glancing  down at the bunch of cut sweet peas in your hand, you sank your teeth  into your lower lip, sighed, and came to a decision.

The soles of your boots rang on the tarmac, and as you neared his driveway, he looked up.

You didn’t even know his name.

His  dark green skin practically gleamed in the late summer sunlight. He had  long, dark hair, as did so many orcs, and it was plaited back off his  handsome, rugged face, and as he glanced up, you found yourself staring  into two breathtakingly beautiful, dark amber eyes.

They  shone with a glaze of grief, and suddenly the flowers in your hands  felt utterly inadequate for the depth of this stranger’s feelings.

“I...” you faltered, guilt and awkwardness warring for prime position in your chest.

He  looked steadily up at you, his bare, muscular forearms resting on the  nondescript, beige material of the shorts covering his thick thighs.

“Hi,” he said in a gentle, deep, quiet voice.

“Hi,” you replied, swallowing thickly. “I... er...  I saw you while I was picking these,” you said and waggled the flowers a  little, “And I thought that since we haven’t really introduced  ourselves yet, I would pop over with them.”

His  already soft expression slackened a little into a genuine smile, and  something flopped over inside you at the sight of it. “Thank you,” he  murmured, that golden gaze sliding from your face to the flowers in your  hand.

As he lowered his head, you saw what it was he held in his hand, and your vision slid sideways for a moment.

A  small, child-sized bracelet dangled from his fingers. It was beaded,  the faded, dyed leather of the cord a dusky pink, and the letters of the  carved beads spelt out a girl’s name.

He  saw where your attention had snagged, and slowly closed his fingers  around it with a tiny, private smile. “I’m Noah,” he said.

You  introduced yourself by name, and he hitched his smile a little higher,  repeating your name, as if testing out the feel of it. He raised his arm  and extended his hand towards you. You shook hands and felt the smooth,  hard calluses of his warm palms against yours. His hand engulfed yours  and both of you chuckled softly at the sight of it.

One  evening a few days later, you heard the familiar rumble of his  motorbike driving into the garage as you began to wash up the dishes.  The regular rhythms of the suburban road were suddenly shifted, however,  when the click and snap of his front door did not sound, and instead  you heard your doorbell ring.

Wiping your hands on a towel, you left the pans in the sink and headed for the front door.

Standing on the step with a bunch of freesias in his hands was Noah.

“Hi,”  he said, that heart-stopping, slow-dawning smile lighting up his  clean-shaven face. “I wanted to get you something to say thank you for  the other evening. I know we didn’t talk for very long, but you did me a  world of good, and I wanted to thank you.”

You  stared at the lovely flowers, radiant in hues of magenta and gold, and  breathed in their delicate scent. “They’re beautiful,” you said. “But  you really didn’t have to...”

“I wanted to,” he insisted.

“Would  you like to come in? I’m just washing up the remnants of the pots and  pans, but there’s a curry in the slow cooker that will be ready in maybe  half an hour or so. You’re welcome to stay for dinner. I always make  enough food for about four people anyway and I just have it throughout  the week. I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”

He  laughed his earthy laugh, eyes sparkling, and he said, “Sure. I’d love  to come in. It’s been a long time since I shared a meal with someone.”

“Oh?”  The question popped out of you as you stepped back to usher him inside.  He had to stoop a little to get through the doorway.

“I’m  on my own now,” was all the explanation he offered. “And I’ve not been  in a place where I want to think about dating or whatever. It’s nice to  make a new friend.”

“In that case, I’m glad,” you smiled.

Noah gazed around the simple house and his eyes went glassy again. “You like plants, I see,” he observed with a cheeky grin.

Your lips drew into a wry, thin line, and you chuckled. “They keep me company. Them, and Gawain.”

“Gawain?”

“My cat. Well, he’s not so much my cat as I’m his human.”

“Is  he the lean, black, bird-hunting machine I’ve seen prowling along my  back fence, I wonder?” Noah asked, eyes still crinkled at the corner.

“Probably.  You don’t want to know what he brings me back as ‘presents’ half the  time. Anyway, can I get you anything to drink? I’ve got a range of  stuff...”

“Just a glass of water or juice would be fine, thank you. I don’t drink alcohol.”

Another unusual fact about him to be silently filed away; a quiet orc who didn’t drink.

Your  surprise must have shown on your face because he snorted and said, “Not  anymore. I... I went through a bad patch about five years ago. Lost  control of a lot of things, if you get my meaning.”

“I do,” you said with quiet reassurance as you handed him a glass of juice. “Here.”

“Thanks.”  He nodded at the kitchen counter where the slow cooker sat, and inhaled  ostentatiously, his orcish nostrils flaring. “That smells amazing. Do  you always cook for yourself like that?”

You  nodded. “I try to cook a couple of times a week. It’s not all that much  fun cooking and eating a meal for one, but I’ve always enjoyed the act  of cooking, and I think I’m pretty good, so...” You shrugged. “I hope  it’s alright...”

“I  like cooking too,” he said. “Maybe we should cook for each other once a  week or something,” he suggested, following you into the sitting room  and easing himself onto the sofa after you’d settled into the chair by  the window.

He  watched the way you curled your legs up underneath you, and his eyes  lingered on you for a moment with something akin to nostalgia in them.  “I’d like that,” you smiled.  

You  began a regular rhythm after that. Every other Friday, he would come to  your house, and on the Fridays in between, you went over to his.  

It  was plain from the way he had furnished his house that he was deeply  connected to his orcish culture. He had a carved mammoth’s tusk in one  corner of the room which you knew represented the gods and spirits which  orcs worshipped, and he had rugs and wall hangings and cushions that  were all woven in traditional orcish fashion with orcish patterns and  colours. He never spoke about his family though, which struck you as a  little odd.  

Family  wasn’t a topic that came up until one Friday evening when you were  sharing a meal at his house. Noah sighed and set down his knife and  fork, food mostly finished. “I’ve loved doing this with you,” he began  awkwardly. “I… I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.  Socially speaking, I’m quite hard work, I know.”

“I don’t find you hard work,” you said immediately. “I mean, you’re quiet, sure, but so am I. I think we just click, you know?”

Noah  smiled but it was a painfully sad smile. “I want to tell you  something,” he said. “It… It won’t be easy for me, but we’ve known each  other for almost a year now, and I want you to know.”

Your heart leapt to your throat, wondering what he was about to share with you. “Alright,” you said.  

He  sipped his water and inhaled deeply. “You’ve never asked me about my  family, for which I’m very grateful. You’re intuitive, and sensitive…  and… I’m sure you’ve worked out enough about what happened already, but  still, thank you for giving me that space. It’s not easy to talk about  this.”

“I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to share it,” you said. He smiled, eyes twinkling briefly with gratitude.  

“Well,”  he drew something from his pocket and turned his hand palm-up on the  table. It was the child’s bracelet you’d glimpsed on that first  afternoon all those months ago. Apparently he carried it around with him all the time. Kishara: the little carved beads spelt out the name ‘Kishara’.  “This… This belonged to my daughter,” he said, voice already cracking  with emotion. “She was pretty healthy when she was little, but as she  got a bit older, she got very sick. I married young, by human standards,  but it’s normal for orcs to marry at about eighteen. Anyway, we spent a  lot of time shuttling between Starfall Springs where we used to live  and the city where she was receiving treatment.”  

Tears  brimmed in his eyes, collecting around his long, thick eyelashes, and  he began to thumb the bracelet as though it were a set of prayer beads.  Drawing strength from that, he ploughed on.  

“She…  She didn’t make it…” he said. “She died when she was five. And my wife…  she… she took it badly. She… She never… recovered. About six months  later, she… uh… she…” He blinked furiously, tears starting to roll down  his rough-hewn cheeks. “Yeah,” he croaked. “She took her own life.”

“Noah,”  you breathed, your heart going out to the orc, to your friend. You  reached for his trembling hand and squeezed your fingers around his  wrist, saying nothing. What could you possibly say to that? ‘I’m sorry’  seemed utterly inadequate.  

He  took the gesture for what it was, and offered you a wonky smile. “After  that, I…” he puffed the air out of his cheeks and shook his head. “I’m  ashamed to say that I became an alcoholic. It takes a lot of drink to  keep an orc drunk, let me tell you, and I lost my house, I lost my job,  and in time I lost my family too. They didn’t know how to help me.  There’s… There’s a temple in Starfall Springs that… well… I don’t  worship there, but every faith is welcomed. The priest who tends it  helped me a lot. After I got myself together a bit more, I left Starfall  behind and moved to the city. I got a new job, and I joined a support  group for recovering alcoholics. I’d been doing pretty well with most of  it… until I met you.”

Your  heart dropped and the sudden shock must have shown on your face because  he flipped your hand over and grabbed it, crushing it almost painfully.  

“Shit,  I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I meant… I was doing ok, but  then you showed up and… it was like… like colour started to come back  into my life. I’m not just doing ‘pretty well’ now. I’m doing great. And  that’s all thanks to you.”

“Not gonna lie, Noah, you scared the shit out of me with that one…” you said, relief washing through you.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m not much good with words…”

You  tightened your grip on his hand and then wiggled your fingers into his  big palm. He stared at the place where the two of you touched, and  smiled.  

You  swallowed and then said, “Thank you for sharing that with me, Noah. It  can’t have been easy to tell me that, and I’m… I’m so sorry that you’ve  been through so much. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d have handled  any of that, let alone all of it.”

“I  regret the way I cut myself off from my family,” he said. “I was  ashamed and I didn’t know how to face them, so I just… left.”

“Family is a big thing for orcs, isn't it?”

His honey-coloured eyes became unfocused. “Yeah,” he rasped.  

Something in his demeanour made you ask, “Is there a reason you wanted to tell me this today in particular?”

To  your surprise, a rolling laugh rumbled in his chest and he closed his  eyes as he leaned back a little in his seat. “Yes,” he said. “Gods, but  you’re perceptive. Yes, there is.”

“What is it?”

Still  chuckling slightly, he said, “It’s coming up to my younger brother’s  twenty first birthday. That’s a really significant one for orcs. He’ll  get his first tusk cuff, and… traditionally, it should be his older  brother who gives it to him.”

“Ah.”

He let go of your hand and pushed back from the table. You sat there while he disappeared into the kitchen and reemerged  a moment later with a small leather pouch in his hand. He undid the  drawstring at the top of it and upended it into his cupped palm. A  single silver cuff tumbled out, engraved with orcish runes and symbols,  and it lay there sparkling in his hand while the pair of you stared at  it. He sighed. “I had it made about six months ago. I just… I don’t have  the courage to go back. I can’t even pick up the phone.”

“Do it now.”

“What?”  

“You  heard me. I bet you know your mum’s number off by heart. Call her. Tell  her you want to come home for your brother. Tell her you’re doing  better - I bet she’ll be proud of you - and tell her you want to do  right by him.”

“I…” he faltered, looking afraid.  

You grabbed his colossal arm and shook him slightly, the cuff rolling around at the sudden movement. “Do it.”

He took a deep breath and smiled. “Alright.”

And he did.  

He crossed to his house phone, punched in a number, and waited.  

Your  heart was hammering in your ears with nerves for him, and you suddenly  wondered if you should give him some space. You pushed back from the  table and took the plates out into the kitchen. As you returned to the  living room, you heard him speaking in halting orcish, and smiled.  

“Good  luck,” you murmured under your breath as you crossed to the window and  looked out at his back garden. There was a small cherry tree in the  middle of the tiny postage stamp of a lawn, and you watched the birds  playing amongst the branches while his deep, rumbling voice drifted out  to you.  

When  he set down the phone a while later, his dark green face looked pale  and ashen, and he sat down heavily on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.  

“Noah?”

You  approached and sat down gingerly beside him, touching him lightly on  the shoulder. He smiled slowly at you and then reached out and silently  drew you into his lap, hugging you gently. He held you so close that you  could feel the pulse thrumming at his neck and you heard the rapid-fire  rhythm of his heart beating in his cavernous chest. He cradled you  against him in almost the same way a child holds a teddy bear. “Thank  you,” he said, and you realised he was crying again.  

You hugged him back and the pair of you sat there for a long time.  

Eventually  Noah sniffed and released you with a muttered apology. You drew back  and climbed off his lap while he ran both hands over his face and rubbed  at his eyes with the heels of his palms.  

“So?” you asked. “I take it that it went ok?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She wants me to come to Raph’s birthday celebration.”

“You are going to go, right?”

He nodded again. “Will… Will you come with me?”

“Will it be alright with your family? I mean, I don’t know any of them…”

“Mum  wants to meet you,” he said. “I told her about you. Don’t worry about  being a human at an orcish thing though. She said that most of Raph’s friends aren’t orcs.”

“If  you’d like me to come, then of course I’ll come,” you smiled. “I mean,  you came with me to that work thing last month, and that was boring as  all hell. I’m pretty sure I owe you for that anyway…”

His expression fell just a little bit. “You don’t have to go…”

“I’d like to. When is it?”

Three  weeks later, you crossed the street to Noah’s house wearing the nicest  clothes you owned, and when he stepped out into the sunshine, your  breath caught in your throat at the sight of him. His white shirt fitted  his huge shoulders and chest to perfection, and he had his grey jacket  slung over one arm as he pulled his front door closed behind him and  locked it up.  

“You look amazing,” you called and he turned, grinning.

“So do you!” he laughed. “You ever been on a motorbike before?”

“Never, and yes, I’m terrified.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not so bad. Here,” and he tossed you his spare helmet.  

The  ride out of the city was gorgeous. It was early enough in the day that  the traffic wasn’t heavy, and you soon got the hang of leaning into the  turns with him. He let you loop your hands around his thick waist and  you tried not to cling to him and crumple his smart clothes.  

Perhaps  two and a half hours later, you passed the cheery wooden road-sign that  welcomed you to Starfall Springs and Noah slowed as he entered the  town. It was a stunning place, the architecture and warm, golden stone  seeming as timeless and ancient as the hills around it, and the salty  tang of the sea air not far away wafted refreshingly over you from time  to time.  

A  huge old house was visible at the top of the cliffs which sheltered the  town to the north, and Noah pulled over on a bridge into the town and  pointed up at it. “That’s the ancestral home of the Silkfoot family,” he said. “They’re driders, and they own a lot of the land around Starfall Springs as well. I went to school with their eldest son.”  

You  nodded, and Noah continued his little panoramic tour, pointing out the  old watermill and the glitter of the sea and the harbour down to the  south.  

It  didn’t take you long to cotton on to the fact that, although he was  keen to point out landmarks and interesting features, he was stalling.  You hugged him and said, “Why don’t we get to your mum’s, and then  tomorrow after the party you can show me round the town?”

You  felt the way his chest expanded with his inhale, and then he nodded.  “You’re right,” he said, his voice still muffled by his helmet. “Come  on.”

His  mother lived in a large, three-storey house on the edge of the town,  and as he parked up outside it, you saw the streamers hanging from the  windows and the flags which all said “21!” blowing and flickering in the  breeze.  

He  took his helmet off and let you slide off the bike first before  following suit. He stood there for a moment outside the house and you  slid your hand into his. Noah looked down at you and smiled. “It’s been  seven years since I last saw this house. Or my family.”

“I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed to see you again, Noah, but we’ll take it as it comes, ok?”  

He  didn’t have time to respond because the door flew open, bouncing back  off the wall with the force, and a huge orcish woman barrelled out and  flung herself at Noah. You stepped back so that you didn’t get  flattened, and watched as she sobbed into his neck. She was as tall as  he was, if not a couple of inches taller. Where his hair was simply  braided, hers had long dreads woven with beads of all colours and  materials from precious metal to wood and horn.

She  cried into her son’s neck for a long time, and he simply embraced her  back, his own face hidden from view. Orcs, it seemed, were very free  with their emotions.

After  a while, you glimpsed a smaller figure standing in the doorway and  realised that a young orcish girl was standing there watching the  exchange. When Noah’s mother finally extricated herself from her son,  she stepped back and wiped her face, giving you a better view of her.  She looked very much like Noah, you realised. Her cheekbones were high,  her nose flat and wide, pierced at the septum, her gleaming tusks huge  and rounded, and her eyes a dark amber too. She was wearing a long,  flowing dress, belted at the waist, and sleeveless, and her arm muscles  were almost as big as Noah’s too. She was a formidable and beautiful  orc.  

“Hi mama,” he croaked sheepishly.  

“Oh, my boy,” she sniffled. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you. I’ve missed you so much. We all have. Welcome home.”

It  was refreshing to see a people so free with their emotions, and as you  watched the tears rolling down Noah's face, he wiped them on the back of  his sleeve and turned to you and said, “Mama, meet my neighbour and my  very good friend, and the person who’s responsible for me phoning you in  the first place.”

She  turned to you and she shook her head, smiling. “Thank you, dear,” she  said, sounding more than a little choked. “You brought my boy home  again.”

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “He was the next thing to doing it himself… I just gave him a little nudge.”

“Must have been some nudge to get that lump of muscle moving,” the young orc said from the doorway.  

Noah hadn’t seen her until she’d spoken, and he gasped. “Brie?” he asked, eyes wide. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Glad you haven’t forgotten me completely, ‘brother’.”

The  sharp resentment in her tone drew him up short, but their mother gave  them both a sharp look and told them to behave. Then she made you all  come inside.  

Noah  cast you one sidelong look and you took his hand briefly in yours. “You  knew this wouldn’t all be easy,” you reminded him when you saw how  crushed he looked by his little sister’s words. “Give her time.”

“I know. And I deserve it too…”

“Don’t think like that, Noah,” you said.  

You’d  barely made it two steps inside when another huge orc collided with  Noah and flung his arms around him. Noah cursed in orcish, staggering  back and trying not to step on you as he absorbed the impact. This, it  seemed, was Raph.

If  you’d though Noah was big, Raph was in a different category. Given that  he was years younger than Noah, he should perhaps have been a bit  smaller, but he was easily seven and a half feet tall, wide as a bus,  and colossally strong. His black hair was longer than Noah’s, hanging  right down to his backside, and you could see that his arms and neck  were tattooed heavily with orcish designs. Noah had some, you knew from  what he’d told you, but it seemed like Raph had taken his love and  respect of orcish culture to another level.  

While  the two brothers reconnected, their mother took you through the  beautiful townhouse to meet some of the others. Brie was apparently  actually called Briar, but she didn’t like the name and was seemingly as  prickly as her namesake about a lot of things. Raph’s friends, all  gathered out in the garden at the back, were easier to get along with  and they welcomed you with warm smiles and friendly gestures. There was a  naga, a good number of orcs, a couple of fauns, one chunky satyr, a  tiefling, a vampire, and a small contingent of goblins.  

Noah  emerged from the house a while later with his brother’s arm slung  around his shoulders, both their eyes sparkling. Raph yelled for quiet.  “Oi! Shut up, shut up! Everyone, shut up!” he called, laughing. “This is  my big bro, and he’s had a really shit time of things in the last few  years, but he came all the way from the city to be here today. I’ve  missed the heck out of him and apparently he’s only here today because  this tiny little human kicked him up the backside and made him come.”

Raph  grabbed a drink and poured a glass of homemade lemonade for Noah and  shoved it at him. Raph then raised his glass aloft and roared, “To tiny  kick-ass humans who aren’t afraid of calling us orcs out on our shit!”

Noah  laughed and looked you straight in the eye. Your stomach flopped over  at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. “To tiny kick-ass humans,” he  murmured, and drank to you as the cheer went up from the rest of them.  

The  party lasted all day, with music and food and laughter and dancing. The  goblins, it turned out, were some of Raph’s best friends, and it was  comical the way they bossed him around and teased him with deep  affection. As the sun began to set, you watched Noah talking with his  mother and sister in a quiet corner, and Raph came over to you. He  plonked himself down on the grass beside you and said, “Thank you.”

You  smiled at him. “Noah really wanted to be here for you today,” you said.  “He was just… I think he was afraid that you wouldn’t want him back  here after he’d been away so long.”

“He  went through hell,” Raph murmured quietly. “I get it.” He had the same  big tusks and heavy jaw as his brother, but his voice was a bit deeper.  “It was awful watching him just… disappear inside his grief, you know?  He loved his wife a lot, and Kishara was the light of their life. And  then when she got really sick… They were a really close unit, but her  death was just too much for them.”

“It’s not something you just ‘get over’,” you said. “I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d handle something like that.”

Raph  nodded. “I missed him a lot. We were really close. He… He changed when  he was drinking though. I’m glad he’s sober now. He’s the Noah I  remember. Bit quieter, but he’s my brother again.”

“He’s toughed it out. It can’t have been a pleasant journey, and he’s still going…”

He shook his head. “He seems pretty good now though. We talked earlier. He spoke about you a lot.”

“We’ve become good friends this past year,” you said. “I’m so glad we got talking.”

Raph shot you a sideways glance. “Just friends?”

You felt your cheeks heat. “I like him. A lot. But if anything else were to happen, I think it’d have to come from him.”

Raph  nodded, but before he could reply, one of his goblin friends hurled a  balled-up paper napkin at him and yelled, “Presents time, ugly!”

He laughed and looked down at you. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

“I’m glad he brought me along for the ride.”

There  was a bit more ceremony to the gift giving than you’d anticipated, but  finally it was Noah’s turn to give him the gift that would mark Raph’s  transition from late boyhood to true adulthood.  

His  eyes shone in the twilight, the little twinkling fairy lights  glimmering in them from around the garden. Whatever words were spoken  between the two of them as they stood, heads bowed, foreheads touching,  were not meant for the rest of you, but everyone watched in silence all  the same. You knew it was traditional for the older brother to give  advice at this time, and you imagined that Noah had some wise words for  him from his own experience.  

Raph  said something back, Noah kissed his brother affectionately on the  forehead, the pair laughed, and then Noah took his brother’s hand in his  and held it aloft. “My little brother - all grown up,” he said, “Not so  little any more… Mama, what the heck have you been feeding him?”

Everyone  laughed, and the brothers embraced one more time before parting. Their  mother gave her gift then, and Noah came over to stand with you. “I’m so  glad I came,” he said without looking at you.  

“Good. For what it’s worth, I’ve had fun too.”

“You tired?”

You nodded.

“Do you want to head home?”

You shook your head. “Your mum said we could stay over if we wanted.”

“Would you be ok with that?” he asked, glancing down at you.  

“Sure. She’s lovely; your whole family is.”

He smiled sadly. “Yeah. You can see why I was so ashamed of myself and the way I’d behaved.”

“Grief does unpredictable things to people, Noah,” you said. “And you’ve worked hard.”

“Yeah,” he rasped without looking at you.  

The  music started up again after that, and he turned to you and held out  his hand. There was a stone patio at the back of the house where Raph  and he had been standing to conduct the only formal part of the gift  exchange, and now couples and friends were using it as a dance space.  Noah’s mother was sitting on the edge, tapping her toes and laughing  with the vampire, but most of the others were dancing.  

“You want to dance?” he asked awkwardly.  

“Love to.”

He  moved you gently and his hand found its way to your waist. The warm  steadiness of it was almost intoxicating, and you found yourself leaning  into the contact, distracted only by the way his fingers curled around  yours as you moved to the music. Your earlier words to Raph floated into  your mind, and as you looked up at Noah, trying not to crick your neck  as you did, you realised that over the course of the last year that  you’d known him, you’d been falling for him bit by bit. He was gentle  and empathetic, quiet, reserved, and sensitive, and you knew with  astonishing clarity in that moment that if he kissed you, you wouldn’t  pull away.  

Noah did not kiss you.

He  smiled down at you, and continued to dance, and when the song ended, he  stepped back and thanked you. You tried to bite down the  disappointment, and as his sister came to wish him goodnight before she  turned in to bed, you took the chance to slip away.  

The  garden was a large one, and at the far end darkness pooled between the  tall elderberry bushes and apple trees. You leaned your body against the  back fence and stared out at the road that led out of the town and into  the dark hills beyond. Lights flickered here and there, but mostly it  was a dark, inky wash beneath the waking stars. Music wafted down the  garden, carrying a few snippets of conversation with it, and you rested  your forearms on the fence and sighed. He was a widower. He had lost his  child and his wife, and the woman he’d been married to had been an orc.  He’d given no indication that he found you attractive, or that he was  looking for anything else. And why should he?  

In  the wake of the brief moment you’d allowed yourself to hope, crushing  disappointment flooded in. You cursed yourself, letting guilt plunge to  the pit of your stomach like a handful of gravel. Today wasn’t about you  at all.  

The  rustle of the grass behind you was the only warning you got before a  large hand gently pressed itself against the small of your back. “You  alright?” Noah’s warm voice asked softly. “You’ve been down here for  ages.”

“I have?”

“Mmm.”

“Oh. I… I didn’t realise. I was just… thinking, you know?”

“You want me to leave you in peace?”

“No,” you said, a mite too quickly. “No,” you added more quietly, swallowing thickly. “I don’t.”

He  slid his palm around your waist and drew you close to his body. “I  never thought I’d feel anything for anyone ever again,” he said, making  your heart skip a beat as the meaning of his words began to sink in.  “You gave me time, and you gave me space to work things out. I can’t  pretend that I’ll love you the same way I loved… I loved her, but…  you’ve come to mean a very great deal to me.”  

“You  wouldn’t have to love me the way you loved your wife, Noah. I’m a  different person. Heck, I’m not even an orc. I didn’t know you liked  humans…”

“Nor did I,” he chuckled. “But I like you. And… I’d like to see where this goes, if you’re ok with that.”

After a moment of silence you said in a husky voice, “I’m more than ok with that, Noah.”

“Shall we go inside?” he said. “It’s getting chilly.”

You nodded and let him steer you inside.  

He  took you upstairs and pushed open a door to a small bedroom. It was  furnished with orcish crafts and handiwork, and it was clearly a guest  room. “This used to be my room when I was a kid,” he said, smiling  fondly. “Mum redecorated it when I went to university.” He cleared his  throat and said, “If you want to take this one, I can sleep on the sofa  downstairs.”

“No,” you said. “Stay.”

He did.  

After  he’d found you a new toothbrush, and after you’d both showered and he’d  given you a t-shirt of Brie’s to wear to bed, you climbed into the  double bed and he joined you a few minutes later.  

It  felt strange to be lying next to your friend, but it had a rightness to  it which, as you nuzzled up to him and laid your head on his bare  shoulder, sparked a deep contentment in your chest. You trailed the  lines of his orcish tattoos with your fingertips, breathing softly and  finding no need for words.

He  lay there with his arm around your shoulders, hugging you close to the  heat of his body, until he fell asleep, and not long after that you  slipped into dreamless sleep as well.  

Dawn  filtered through the curtains the next day and woke you slowly. You  were still lying on your side, half draped over Noah’s massive body,  with one arm across his torso and one leg hooked across his thigh. The  length of his morning wood pressed against you and you moaned.  

Noah  grunted as you stirred, and he pressed a kiss against the top of your  head. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick and gravelly with sleep.  

“Morning yourself,” you replied, shifting slightly.  

“Mmmph,”  he complained and moved his hand down to readjust himself. Your hand  beat his to it and he gasped and threw his head back, chin and tusks  jutting towards the ceiling. “Fuck,” he hissed.  

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

He shook his head.  

You  palmed the hard length of his cock through the fabric of his underwear,  the friction making him roll his hips up into the contact, and you felt  it stir beneath your hand.  

You  slid your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and drew them off,  springing his hardening erection free. His cock was beautiful, thick and  slightly curved, the veins straining as he grew fully hard. He parted  his legs slightly and you watched his balls clench softly for a moment.  

“Someone’s  horny this morning,” you murmured playfully, running your fingers up  his torso. He had a slightly soft belly, which was frankly gorgeous, and  you enjoyed the way he gasped as your fingertips found his nipples.  

“I dreamed about you,” he laughed. “I think that got me going.”

“Did it now?” you grinned. “You’ll have to tell me about it…”

It  wasn’t quite possible for you to close your fingers all the way around  the girth of his cock, but that didn’t really matter. You stroked his  length a few times before thumbing a cheeky circle over the head of his  cock through the pre-come that was beading profusely at the tip. He  gasped and cursed in orcish.  

Using  your mouth and your hands together, you got to work in earnest, and in  no time he had begun to tremble. His thighs shook as you lavished  attention on him, and his breath came in fast, heavy pants. He tried not  to thrash as you sucked the tip of his cock, using your tongue to tease  the ridge around his head and the underside of his cock while your  hands worked the rest of his length, occasionally cupping his balls as  well.  

“Shit,”  he gasped a while later, balls suddenly clenching, “I’m… I’m not gonna…  I can’t…” and without any further warning, Noah came with a stifled  grunt.  

Thick  ropes of come painted his soft stomach as he curled his torso inwards,  eyes screwed tight, hands balled into fists at his sides, one knee  drawing up as the sheer force of his orgasm tore through him. You tried  to stroke him through it but he tipped into oversensitivity almost  before he’d finished coming, and he whimpered softly, trying to swat you  away with a vague motion of his hand. Finally he lay back on the bed  and let his knee fall to one side, leaving his hips open with a gorgeous  view of his twitching, drooling cock as it now lay over his hip bone.

He  took a while to come back to you, and when he did, he looked up at you  and his unfocused eyes sparkled. “Look at you,” he said. “I’m sorry…”  

You  had a splash of his come over your cheek and down your chin, and he  reached for you and thumbed it away with a gentle gesture.  

“Fuck,” he hissed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve come like that.”

“My pleasure,” you grinned.  

“Distinctly  mine, I think,” he countered. He glanced at the sun rising through the  little crack in the curtains and turned his attention back to you. “Give  me a minute, and maybe help me clean up a bit, and then let me repay  the pleasure…”

You  nodded and he tugged you down to lie beside him. You glanced down at  his slightly soft stomach and ran your finger through the come that  covered it, making him groan. “What a mess…” you smiled.  

A smiled “Uhhnff,” was his only reply. 

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

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[heartslobbf]

analysis of underrated perwaine moments, i hear literally no one you all asking for. you’re in luck!!! today we are here to cry about 4x12 and 4x12 exclusively.

i don’t know how many people actually remember this moment because i honestly don’t see that many people talking about it (even though it’s a very important glimpse into gwaine’s character development since the third series) but, the scene i’m talking about is the one in the infirmary at the beginning of 4x12, in which gwaine tells percival to leave without him.

first of all, let’s talk about why this is an important moment for gwaine: in series 3, we are repeatedly told that gwaine is lonely, that gwaine’s only friend is merlin, etc, etc. he feels purposeless, aimless, without a home, which is why he never stays put in one place until he meets someone he has such an undeniably genuine connection with, merlin. at the end of series 3 we are only just beginning to see gwaine’s arc unfold, but it’s almost completely dropped in series 4 along with a lot of other side characters. this exchange between gwaine and percival in 4x12 is important because it shows how gwaine now has people in his life other than merlin: notice how he specifically chooses to say goodbye to percival, says, ‘i’ll keep them off your back,’ makes it personal to him and shows that yeah!!! gwaine has friends and loved ones and people he cares about, people he is willing to die for!! this teeny tiny moment tells the audience that gwaine has finally found the love he deserves (not that merlin isn’t gwaine’s favourite person on earth, it’s just that merlin was the only person who cared about gwaine in return before).

so, yeah. it’s an important moment for gwaine that very few people talk about, but now i’m going to go off on a perwaine rant and basically claim that perwaine is intrinsic to the importance of the scene and both characters’ arcs which, like,,,,,, i mean it’s fucking true and i’ll fight you on that.

it’s such a tender moment. sure, it’s hasty and there’s tension, and it’s not really the time, but god whenever i watch this, what, thirty second clip i want to cry. it’s a goodbye. it’s played off as gwaine just buying the others more time, but if that’s really what the writers wanted to convey they wouldn’t have carefully crafted the whole thing to centre around percival. gwaine would have been like ‘oh, go on without me,’ to merlin as well, he wouldn’t have been so calculated in taking percy aside and gently, nobly sacrificing himself. because between the eye-fucking and the fucking bro hug, this is an incredibly romantic moment, not the sort of goodbye you save for anyone.

and again, this goes back to gwaine’s character development and only enhances it further: almost two years ago, gwaine claimed that merlin was the only person in the whole world who cared about him, that ‘people got sick of [him] too quickly’. and now gwaine is so invested in someone else that he’s willing to completely risk his life in ensuring they are safe. this is a sad moment, sure, but it makes me so undeniably happy knowing that gwaine finally feels loved and appreciated, that maybe his insecurities have eased up because it’s not just merlin who can bear to put up with him.

this rant is a bit off brand for me considering it’s so gwaine-centric, but i don’t think loads of people think about the implications of this scene, and it really is significant to gwaine’s development over the show however small it is. but, because of course i have to make everything about percival, we’re gonna go off about why it’s important for his nonexistent arc too.

don’t get me wrong, i know percival basically doesn’t have any purpose in the show. but first of all, fuck you, and second of all, if the writers hadn’t dropped every other knight’s storyline after they wrapped up lancelot’s, he’d be incredibly important in gwaine’s, and that would’ve opened up his own.

anyway, two main things to say about this moment and it’s impact on percival: it’s foreshadowing, and it shows the development in his character that only someone as sad as i would pick up on. percival’s entire family was killed by cenred’s men at some unspecified time, as mentioned by merlin in a throwaway line during 4x06. as the self proclaimed number one percival stan, i spent way too long overthinking this whole thing and came to the conclusion that percival is reasonably emotionally closed off. he’s quiet for starters, and presents himself as sort of shy, and when paired with the fact he doesn’t really have any connections to any of the characters in the show, you can quite easily assume that he doesn’t really feel part of the inner circle. and maybe he doesn’t even want to be, because he’s scared that if he gets attached to people he’ll lose them, just like with his family.

now apply that to this moment in 4x12, when gwaine and percival have an established and firm relationship. percival accepts this goodbye, reluctantly, but he accepts it nonetheless. and percival clearly cares about gwaine a lot, considering there are multiple instances he’s saved his life in the past and the show is quite keen on presenting these two characters as close. this acceptance suggests that percival is overcoming his grief, his trauma, and is able to form relationships with people and realise the tangibility of them ending, without letting it destroy him.

some of you might think that’s a stretch, which is fine, but all i can say is bbc hire me and i’ll rewrite the show with percy as the protagonist.

anyway, continuing where we left off at, foreshadowing and the demise of relationships: in 4x12, gwaine chooses to stay behind at the mercy of morgana to ensure that percival is safe. this is foreshadowing the very dumb subplot from 5x13 with gwaine and percival, what with the implication that this might be the last time they see each other, this is their final goodbye, blah blah blah. it’s preparing for these characters’ final moments together, in which gwaine will just have a nap die, and percival will have to go on without him. sure, i absolutely hate the weird revenge plot the show tried to make with these two characters and morgana in like, the last half hour of the show, but this scene in 4x12 does echo it in a foreboding way that just makes me want to cry.

this is kind of a nonsensical rant about everything i’ve ever felt about the ten seconds of a merlin episode that actually features percival, but i do think this stuff is important if you care about the knights. and the show chose to keep it in, so they must think it’s important too.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 4: The Feast

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Should she really be surprised that Valdas tricked her, kidnapped her, and now is forcing her to attend a dinner party? Well... that last bit isn't exactly a villain cliche, but Nadya learns all too quickly who the real villain truly is.

[READ IT ON AO3]

They aren’t exactly whispering but Nadya still feels like she’s intruding on something she shouldn’t.

“I’ll leave you two to get ready. He’ll want everything to be perfect and you know how he obsesses over the smallest detail.”

Valdas cups Isseya’s face, threads his fingers through the curls at her temples, and kisses her hairline. The sight of them — creased foreheads and the way crinkles rest just at the corners of their eyes in age and fear and in acknowledgment of all the lonely souls who have walked the paths of grief before them — burns behind Nadya’s eyelids against her will.

She looks away before she gets swept up; before she drowns in them.

“And remember, my love,” he rests their foreheads together, “she can help us. I know it. I’ve felt the power myself — he was right.”

Isseya flickers heavy-lidded eyes in Nadya’s direction. She feels the hairs at the back of her neck stand up; alert.

“That she can does not mean she will, Valdas.”

“Have faith.”

“In who — the fledgling child?”

“In me.”

Nadya looks back — quickly wishes she hadn’t. Every other time she’s seen the woman smile it’s been in some twisted form of malice. It’s been Isseya taking pleasure in someone else’s pain.

But that’s genuine hope she sees now. She’s felt that brief-but-meaningful lifted weight before and well enough to know it when she sees it.

Looking like that, Nadya understands how easy it must have been to fall in love with her.

Valdas barely spares a glance Nadya’s way — his nod curt and formal before he departs and closes the door behind him. She doesn’t even bother trying to run for freedom any more.

She just has to hope that the longer the night goes on the closer Kamilah is to finding her.

“What did he mean,” she asks; and finds it easy not to take it personally that Isseya refuses to look at her, “he said we had to ‘get ready,’ what did he mean by that?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Stuff that usually involves me is my business.”

“Not when you have no choice in the matter.”

“Like you don’t?”

Nadya’s gut lurches at the sudden red-eyed glare she’s staring into. But she holds her ground — which is a lot more than to be said for the last time she and the Trinity vampire were alone together.

Unlike last time, though, it doesn’t last. The heated fury flitting away, smothered into embers.

“I… suppose such a case could be made, yes.”

She makes her way around the room and when she even gets close to the bed Nadya curls her knees up tighter to her chest on instinct. If Isseya sees it (if she gets any joy out of it, more likely) she says nothing. Just opens another door and flicks on the lights to an en suite.

This is your chance, but even her thoughts don’t hold a full heart in it. So Nadya stays put.

Her gaze falls on a nearby pillow — it’s just a pillow; as fluffed and embroidered and tasseled as Nadya’s failed weapon. But it triggers a memory. Or is it a dream?

“Who was the other woman?” she asks — though she isn’t holding her breath for an answer. “She looked familiar — someone else from the Ball?”

“What other woman? There’s no one else here.”

Because she would know, wouldn’t she? “She was in here before Valdas. Having someone watch me in my sleep is creepy, by the way!”

When Isseya returns she’s wielding an ornate hairbrush like someone would a kitchen knife and doesn’t that make Nadya press herself back further against the headboard. “Do you call me a liar?”

“N-No,” but… “but I remember someone was here.”

“Haven’t you had a hard time telling fantasy from the truth?” And she didn’t need to come at Nadya that hard but she does anyway. “She was in your head. Now — come here.”

Of course she doesn’t — which was the wrong decision to make and one Nadya doesn’t even get the opportunity to regret before she’s being shoved into a chair in front of the nearby vanity. “Hold still,” Isseya growls; and this time Nadya listens.

Everything she does is methodical; stiff and out of an obligation Nadya still doesn’t understand. But at the risk of being tossed around like a doll again she complies with every one of Isseya’s clipped commands. “Turn your head,” “remove your glasses,” “hold still — you fidget like a squirming hog.” And she isn’t gentle about her movements, either.

Though when the vampire steps back to observe the high-and-tight bun she’s somehow fashioned out of the impossible she does give a little “hmm” of self-congratulations.

“Strip,” comes next and that crosses so many lines Nadya doesn’t even know where to begin.

“No.”

“Was I asking?”

Which is how Nadya ends up in nothing but her underwear trying not-so-subtly to cover herself. Though Isseya apparently couldn’t care less; barely turns an eye to her that isn’t observing something only on the surface before she’s digging in the armoire in the corner.

Finally she pulls out a dress — beautiful and plum and way more skin than Nadya’s ever shown in her life and probably not something she can decline — and gives it a careless shove into Nadya’s hands. Nadya tries to grab it before the fabric hits the floor — by the looks of it such a thing might actually be a federal crime — and god forbid their fingers brush.

Isseya recoils as though burned. The suddenness of it has Nadya stumbling back. “Keep your distance. Now dress — quickly.”

Suspicious might be the understatement of the century. Though it sparks in Nadya a thought, one confirmed when she struggles to reach for the zipper at her back and the woman hesitates to help.

“Why are you scared to touch me?” she all but accuses, “I’m not the one of us who bites, remember.”

The very implication which Isseya takes a little too personally. “As if I would fear a thing like you.”

“Well whatever we’re doing there’s no way I’m doing it half dressed so either help me or fess up.”

She does help — eventually. Somehow she still manages to avoid skin contact, too. But when the dress is zipped properly there’s a shield once again between them; this one of rich velvet. Isseya’s fingertips rest underneath Nadya’s ribs light as a feather but make it impossible for her to pull away.

A glance in the vanity mirror tells her everything she needs to know. Epics and tragedies spun in the dark eyes watching Nadya’s reflection.

“He said… at this stage of your condition that… touch is the trigger.” Of course. Nadya nods.

“Just as he told me of the memory you conjured. How do you do it? How do you choose?”

Isseya’s own touch turns pressing; makes Nadya feel like she’s about to be pushed into the floor and lower still. “If I knew I would tell you.”

“Would you?” comes the snapped reply. This time Nadya doesn’t let it phase her. This time she knows what that forked tongue means; what it hides.

“I would, I mean it,” and she continues more for herself than for Isseya, because like she’s gonna let all of this happen and not get her two cents in; unlikely, “because this might surprise you, Isseya, but not everyone is as selfish as you two are. Some people do things even though they know they won’t be getting anything in return.”

Nadya actually watches the incredible amount of restraint it takes for the woman not to rip her throat out right there. She watches with her head held high and maybe a little bit of haughtiness — almost taunting her.

It doesn’t work.

Whatever Isseya is doing here — whatever she and Valdas both are doing here — it’s more important than two thousand years’ worth of pride.

“Wait here,” the vampire tells her; and she actually sounds a lot scarier in this weird state of calm more than she ever did with her fangs bared.

Enough to keep Nadya rooted to the spot while she goes about getting herself ready.

The moon is high in the sky by the time Valdas comes to fetch them. He knocks but doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter and he cleans up just as well in a tuxedo as he had in his old Roman fare — Nadya won’t deny it. He offers his arm to Isseya and she takes it in all of her splendor. Shiny and sleek and like the thing weighing her down is her own perfection — not the pain she feels every time she remembers she’s alive.

Her partner takes in every inch of her like it’s the very first time; like she’s the only thing in his entire world. Judging by the way he almost startles when he catches sight of Nadya behind her — that’s not too far from the truth.

“You look lovely, Nadya.” But Isseya preens under the implied compliment. Nadya just shrugs it off.

“Come, we’ve made him wait long enough.”

Nadya stops in the doorway. “Who?”

And it isn’t the first look of remorse the man gives her… but it’s the first one she actually believes.

“Come.”

No matter how much she wants to Nadya stops herself from punching the familiar bespectacled vampire who pulls her chair out for her.

She’s not a violent person, really she isn’t. But the same kind of feeling has her stomach in knots as it did back during Adrian’s trial; after all hadn’t Jameson betrayed Kamilah just as Nicole betrayed Adrian?

Jameson waits for her to sit. Nadya doesn’t feel like sitting.

“How could you do this to them?”

“If you’d be seated, Miss.”

“Screw that — answer me. How could you do this to Kamilah? She gave you a spot in her Clan.” Which has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Apparently not. “If you would be seated, Miss.”

Nadya makes her protest well known despite the fact that she does, in fact, sit. Jameson pushes her chair in maybe a little too tight before offering the same courtesy to the Trinity.

From what little she’s seen of the so-called scholar it’s not exactly unusual for him to be acting the way he is. Stiff, formal and adhering to rules of etiquette they probably stopped teaching around the same time as the invention of the light bulb. He’s the picture of politeness and it’s just plain unnerving.

The dining room is one of the places that had been roped off during the Ball. Nadya actually prefers it this way. It makes the castle feel a little less familiar and with all the awful memories she already has tied to this place… it’s probably for the best.

Rather than taking a seat himself, Jameson keeps busy with a decanted wine on a silver serving cart. Which leaves one place — the head of the long (long) table — and one guest unaccounted for.

“Where is Marcel?”

Valdas and Isseya exchange glances across the table centerpiece; a bouquet of blood-red orchids and deep purple roses covered in thorns. Night-blooming flowers, she recalls.

“It was decided that the young Lord not join us for this evening’s meal. This is all very distressing to you, of course, and he agreed it would not do well to make it worse.” Valdas answers.

“Wait — decided? Decided by who?”

“‘Whom,’” he corrects, but chooses not to answer.

Instead he waves two fingers in a summoning gesture even Nadya would be insulted by. “Jingyi, the wine if you would.”

Jingyi is apparently Jameson; even more apparent is his contempt for the name and, Nadya is quickly realizing, the vampires who would use it. It bleeds through his teeth clenched around his words “yes, my Lord,” but the Trinity don’t deem it worth even the smallest acknowledgment. Their attention is instead reserved for Nadya.

“Sweet reds, correct?”

Nadya hates to admit it but she’s glad for the distraction of Jameson’s suddenly very close proximity to her neck while he pours. “Sorry?”

Valdas nods to the contents of her glass. “You prefer sweet reds.”

“What’s with you and being creepy about my eating and drinking habits?”

“Live as long as we have and you learn to differentiate people by things other than their faces and their names.” Valdas takes his filled glass and gives it an idle sip. “For example; you are hardly the first Nadya in our lives. But you are Nadya of sweet red wines and terrible eyesight. That sets you apart.”

Isseya’s snort is, like the rest of her façade, perfectly maintained and somehow glittering. She looks to her lover in amusement. “As if the rest of her did not?”

“Your dinner conversation is as tactless as ever, beloved.”

“Well… yes, but that aside,” she turns to Nadya and raises her own glass in a toast either forced or mocking — it’s hard to tell, “he picked a Lambrusco especially for tonight, for you.”

And yeah, okay, any other time one or even two incredibly attractive and incredibly flirtatious people fixate on her with such intensity Nadya might find it in herself to be flattered. But she’s seen what they can do and how little they can feel doing it. That darkness—Valdas’ darkness—she still has trouble shaking.

So for now she’ll settle on feeling uncomfortable.

“Oh…” Quick, what do fancy people do with wine again? Nadya racks her brain hastily until a vision of Kamilah on their last date comes up in her mind’s eye. She swirls the contents slowly (and in doing so tries very hard not to make the literary parallels between red wine and—y’know—blood but ultimately fails) and brings the glass just shy of the tip of her nose.

“It’s very… wine.” Nadya… no…

So she chugs the entire glass on the first go to avoid saying anything else incredibly stupid.

Thank god Jameson doesn’t have to be asked to top her off.

Jameson who disappears through a set of doors and returns not moments later with a new cart bearing trays of small nibbles and bits. It’s almost getting difficult to play along — like she’s supposed to pretend she isn’t being held against her will, dressed up like Secretary Barbie, and still is refused any actual answers? But when a plate is set down in front of her Nadya’s stomach remembers she had declined (with big big regret) to eat at the cafe… so she pushes down any worries of this is probably poisoned they’re totally poisoning me and samples a bit of everything.

Scraping cutlery, chewing, swallowing; scraping cutlery, chewing, Jameson’s muffled footsteps on request, swallowing. Over and over again. What, are they saving the juicy gossip for their missing guest?

Their plates are cleared before Nadya finishes, which is just as well because now that it remembers what food tastes like her body is ready for more than snacks. This time the scholar’s cart bears four silver-domed platters that he places at the head of the table last.

Before Nadya can do a dramatic food network reveal Valdas startles her with a quick tilt of his head. Listening for something her human ears can’t quite hear. Whatever it is it sets the Trinity on edge; makes Isseya look about ready to crawl out of her own skin and Valdas tug at his collar and loosen his tie even though it can’t exactly choke him out.

Nadya slowly slinks her hand back from her cover almost comically.

The double doors at the other end of the room swing inward with dramatic gusto. The small breeze that comes with it pushes an unfamiliar and definitely unpleasant smell against her crinkling nose. Not even the centerpiece flowers or the aroma of the food so close can cover it up.

Her vampire companions stand with creaking chairs just in time for his grand (if trumpetless) entrance.

It’s not an active resistance to this the unmasked authority that keeps her seated. Nadya’s just not sure her legs would be able to hold her up right now. So sitting and not collapsing is probably more respectable, right? She’s rambling — worse than that she’s rambling in her own head.

What else is she supposed to do, though? All these months of crippling headaches and nightmares unending and the feeling of losing herself and filling up the space with a bunch of unknowns — nothing like this has ever happened. She’s seen faces, spoken names, held identities of her own that she could never be. And this is the first time she’s come face to face with one of them.

Nadya knows this man; she’s been him, been loved and Turned and banished and even killed by him. The things she’s seen… the things she’s done with those hands as her own both pale in moonlight and drenched dark near-black with blood how his fingertips look spread wide over the tanned slopes of Kamilah’s bare skin and the strength with which they’ve plunged into hundreds, no, thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of ribcages—

And he’s more than that, too. He’s the man who brought vampires to America, who built his Shadow Kingdom with a conviction Nadya feels like a knife in her gut.

He’s the man who Turned Kamilah, Adrian. The man who loved both of them before eternity did.

The worst part of it is that Gaius Augustine is beautiful. That’s just an objective fact. It’s what makes him so seductive. No wonder the world has fallen on bended knee to him. He looks like a god.

In a way, perhaps he is.

Jameson moves quickly — and with an anticipation that definitely wasn’t there before; something like eagerness — to pull out the high-backed chair but Gaius waves him off with a flippant hand. The same carelessness shown by Valdas but from this man Jameson accepts it without disdain.

There’s a reverence by which Gaius grasps the velvet backing of his chair. Deep in every fingertip; an appreciation Nadya empathizes with against her will. He knows what it’s like to not have such things; little things, insignificant things… or they were until he was entombed.

He looks good, uncomfortably good, for a guy who spent a hella long time starving in a black stone coffin.

He sweeps a crystal blue gaze over his dinner guests but doesn’t seem to register Nadya’s lack of respect. Actually she suspects he only backtracks to her because she’s on the verge of a panic attack and is conveniently the only one in the room with a heartbeat.

“Nadya,” croons a voice she recognizes instantly; her mysterious guide through the winding paths of the Musea Sanguis, “we finally meet — well… face to face.”

He smiles at her; it isn’t returned. Even if Nadya wanted to say something to him she’s not entirely certain she wouldn’t just turn off her filter and let him have it right there. Her mom would probably forgive such unladylike behavior in this one case.

Only her tongue is knotted up too tight for even a little peep.

Of course now would be the time I learn to shut up.

Gaius watches and waits, and when he finally accepts she’s zipped her lips he throws his head back in jovial laughter. The sound makes Isseya crumple the steel fork under her hand into a ball like tin foil.

He stops just as abruptly. “Is this really how we want to begin things? The choice is yours — and yours alone.”

No, it wasn’t, her mind quickly reminds her but Nadya hasn’t forgotten. She didn’t get to choose this awful, terrible thing in her head. Just like she didn’t get to choose to be here; the definition of kidnapping or nearly so. Nadya didn’t even get to choose her own dress! And frankly her thighs are really cold in here.

It’s in that moment that Nadya learns everything she needs to know about Gaius Augustine. He’s a beautiful face and honeyed words but hell will freeze over before he lets anyone forget he’s also death incarnate.

In a blink Gaius’ smile is gone. “Dolling her up was a waste, Valdemaras, if the time could have been better spent teaching her simple manners.”

Valdas fixates on a spot on the table. His head lowered in respect — and fear.

“My apologies, Augustine.”

The older vampire throws him a look of disdain. “Not that I did not anticipate it and prepare myself for the disappointment. You’ve always fallen just short of the mark — little Made-God.”

He seats himself; undoes the black button of his trimmed dinner jacket and relaxes into his chair like a king on a throne. She’s seen his throne — this is exactly how he would sit upon it. On either side of them the Trinity sink back into their chairs and Nadya realizes, now, the cruelty with which Gaius has devised their arrangement.

Isseya’s hand twitches and closes; hard enough for her blood to try and fill the gaps in her fist. She just wants to touch Valdas in comfort. And Gaius has made sure she cannot. In some strange way her heart breaks for them — or is breaking with them — or her heart is theirs and breaks as them — or…

This is really starting to make her head hurt.

Jameson resumes his duties with an obvious change in attitude. He fills Gaius’ glass with a different decanter — the contents of which are still a deep and rich red but she’s been living with vampires for a year now; Nadya knows what blood looks like. And the sight of it takes away all her appetite. Even as Jameson takes the covers off of their plates and reveals what looks like a delicious and expensive cut of steak… she can’t stop looking at the elder vampire’s cup.

“Marvelous,” Gaius compliments, “absolutely marvelous. Boundless are humanity’s shortcomings but they’ve always retained a passion for decorating what they eat. I suppose that may be the one thing left I have in common with them.”

He looks to Nadya with a smile — as if she’ll somehow understand, or agree with him. But she is decorated tonight. And she knows exactly what he eats.

“Don’t you agree?”

Nadya once told Kamilah that she was prone to doing stupid things when she was scared. Good to know that still holds true. “That what, you have something in common with humanity? That’s a hard no.”

Valdas’ knife scraaapes against the china plateware; his quick recovery is honestly impressive.

In a mockery of disappointment Gaius lets his head hang and as he does the waves of his dark brown hair fall in a shadow over his face. Nadya pushes her wine away so fast and so hard she nearly spills it all over the tablecloth.

Because she needs to be clear-headed for this; and she’s obviously already tipsy. How else is she supposed to explain it; he way his skin goes from vivacious and full to taut and decaying and grey; pulled back thin over the shape of his skull.

It makes Nadya think of the strange smell that preceded Gaius’ arrival. The smell of rot and death, she realizes, and can’t even bear the sight of her plate when she does.

And with everything else going weird and wrong in her life Nadya isn’t even surprised that when she looks back up Gaius once again looks perfect; not a hair out of place.

“Why are you so adamant on rejecting my hospitality? Surely you’ve realized this is all for your comfort.”

She chokes on her laugh. “All of what? The meal?”

“Of course. To serve purpose as both an apology for the… unfortunate terms of your arrival —”

“You mean my kidnapping.”

Gaius ignores her interruption; “— and to ease any discomfort you might have about me. I imagine Adrian hasn’t exactly been singing my praises.”

Petulantly Nadya leans against the back of her chair; slumping a little as she does with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Actually, kinda the opposite.”

Of course that grabs his attention, but she doesn’t expect the strange delight captured in his smile. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, given that he hasn’t mentioned you at all. And—before you ask—neither has Kamilah.”

The fork in his grasp bends and is made useless. But then Jameson is there with a replacement in hand and she doesn’t even get the satisfaction of Gaius being inconvenienced.

“I know you believe the course you stay now is, perhaps, the upper hand. But dear Nadya it takes much more than that to get under my skin.”

“Good to know.”

“Nadya.”

Is Valdas seriously trying that right now — does he really think that after what he’s done that’s an okay thing to be doing? Because no, it’s not, and she’ll be more than happy to stop whatever she’s doing that gave him that impression. “No.”

“If you would calm yourself —”

That’s it — Nadya snaps.

“‘Calm myself?’ You’ve gotta be joking. Because that’s a really good joke. Right up there with how you reached out to me, offered me help, and wedged a knife in my back with a psychic roofie.” She chokes on her voice, thick and wet, but to Nadya’s credit she’s gotten really good at keeping how badly she wants to sob inside and close to her chest.

“The things I’ve seen him do — the things I’ve lived through because of him? I told you, Valdas — I told you how this is making me feel. I… I confided in you. Told you things I haven’t even told my best friend, things like how I feel like I’m falling apart at the seams… how sick I feel because I shouldn’t know what killing someone feels like but I do—

“And now, after kidnapping me and bringing me to him —” she jabs her finger at Gaius who simply watches; silent, bemused, “— the man who has done more of those horrors than I can count — horrors I’ve been forced to live through… you think you have a right to tell me to be calm?”

She’s splotchy and flushed and can hear her pulse in her temples but nope no way Nadya regrets absolutely nothing. Even though were this any ordinary dinner party — or even ordinary adjacent — she’d be mortified enough to flee from the room crying.

Then Gaius is clapping; polite and reserved. Jameson goes to join but doesn’t get in even one before a glare from Isseya has him practically cowering where he stands.

“Brava signorina, brava,” and really, does nothing phase this guy, “it’s been far too long since I’ve had dinner and a show. It’s the little things you miss, really.”

“It wasn’t for you.” Nadya snaps with far less heat.

“No, no I see that it wasn’t. It is fascinating, though.”

“What is?”

“How you seem to attract the affections and loyalty of my progeny.”

It gives her whiplash. “Wait—seriously?” But Valdas doesn’t deny it. “So you’re the one who set him free.”

There’s no use in pretending this is going to be a conversation over a polite and decadent meal, so Gaius sets his utensils down and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. Nadya swears she isn’t hallucinating when she sees morbidity and decay for a hand where the cloth covers it.

“My my my, you’re more informed than I could have hoped for. And this regardless of your efforts to spite me, Valdemaras.”

“I know how entertained you are by the pursuit.”

“Is that what you call it?” Gaius nods; makes Valdas look so petty — so small, “Well I suppose one of us ought to succeed in the end. And even Nadya here knows such a thing is impossible for you.”

Don’t bring me into this she wants to say, but to what end? She already is in this. Way way deep in it. Drowning, practically.

So what’s the harm in diving deeper if she’s already going to die choking on water? Too far with the analogy, maybe.

“I know the Council locked you up because you were mad with power. Because so many people were dying and they knew you wouldn’t listen to reason.”

Nadya feels her confidence waiver at something as little as Gaius cocking a brow. “Oh please, do go on.”

“I know there’s a throne under Central Park that once belonged to you.”

“Once? Who sits there now, pray tell?”

“No one.”

“Then perhaps it is mine still.”

“I know you’ve killed more people than I think even you remember.”

Gaius hums. “Possibly. The ends more than justify the means.”

No they don’t. “And I know that everything you do—all the killing, Turning, plotting and kingdoms and thrones… it’s all for her.”

A hollow caricature of sentiment crosses his face and if Nadya were a bigger person (bolder, braver, any other b-word for that matter) she’d smack it right off him in a heartbeat.

“My Queen has —”

“No, I don’t mean Kamilah.” The name tumbles from her lips before she can hold it back.

“I meant your Maker… I meant Rheya.”

Nadya’s having dinner with the dead but only now is the room silent as the grave. Gaius’ expression is unreadable no matter how much she tries. Valdas can’t quite meet her in the eyes and Isseya, well she’s the opposite; like she’s looking at Nadya for the first time and with tears prickling in her eyes.

“Then it’s true…” She laughs in the way mourners are reminded of small fragments of their loved ones’ they’d forgotten. “It’s… you. You’re her.”

Her? Who her? “Indeed she is. And a far more advanced Bloodkeeper than the last I possessed.” Gaius drinks deeply from his glass like he wants her to marinate in his words; wants her to panic from them. “You’ve served me well, Jameson.”

And Jameson nods with a beaming smile. “Thank you, Master. Anything to see our good work done.”

Gaius thumbs a stray drop of blood from the corner of his lips and sucks it clean. “My turn, I think.” But when he stands this time he stands alone. “Shall I tell you what it is that I know, Nadya?”

She has a strong feeling she can’t exactly say no. That feeling would be correct.

“I know the forces that govern our supernatural world are never without a sense of irony. I know that you, the genuine Bloodkeeper, are more valuable than you realize. You call them visions; nightmares. We —” he gestures an arm wide to their vampire audience, “— would call them memories. The Bloodkeeper has been for as long as we have been. Back through the centuries, the millennia, all the way to my Goddess, the woman you name Rheya.

“The more I spread our kind across the world, the more memories there were for her to see. Too many for a mortal mind, though. The last one could not give me what I seek. So I knew when the time came… I could not risk losing her again. Her gift had to be… cultivated properly.”

Gaius leans forward against the table with palms spread wide. Pushing darkness; death out into the world and all of it in her direction. “I had my doubts about you, Nadya. I am not above admitting it was the incessant vehemence of my progeny that convinced me to pursue you; not a mere human dabbling in psychic parlor tricks but the real thing. But you’ve convinced me now; you are that which I am unable to deny.

“So few know of her; my Goddess of Blood and Fury, the First Vampire. Fewer still know the truth of my beginnings; that I am the last of the pure, her devoted one. But you do, Nadya, you do. And the joy that knowledge brings me… I dare say in my current state I am unable to express it justly.”

She’d like to tell him he’s expressing it just fine; perhaps a little too much even. Eyes wide, practically maniacal; the only way to widen his smile would be to take the cutlery to the corners of his mouth and tug.

But Gaius is like all beautiful things — the longer she looks the less perfection she takes in; the more flaws start to leap off the canvas of him and scream to her for attention.

His irises once a blue as bright as the sky now faded pale like a heralding storm, even the pupil gone grey — pearls perfectly fit into the eye sockets of his skull now a little too prominent, protruding a little too stark.

Teeth even and dazzling cracked, thin like eggshells and the same kind of not-quite-white. All the white he could ever need rather rests in thin wisps on the top of his head in clumps and disarrayed — torn out from decade after decade of endless isolation.

Nadya came here (however unwillingly, that didn’t matter now) for the truth. That truth now stands before her in all its repulsive glory and she doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for some unexpected shadow to pass it by. Gaius Augustine hasn’t aged well; not at all. He is a corpse; now as ugly on the outside as he is within. All that without even mentioning the smell of death her senses will no longer deny.

A breath catches in her throat. Nadya quickly covers her nose and mouth with the back of her hand; couldn’t give less of a care about subtlety or Gaius’ feelings on his condition. She can’t look away and Valdas’ stare is too heavy for her to deny; the weight of sympathy.

The Trinity, Jameson; they’ve been seeing Gaius as he really is this whole time. His masquerade; just another lie Nadya didn’t ask for.

His voice was a ruse, too. Because now his every word creaks of old stone lids prying themselves from their coffins. “You ought to be a little more cautious with the tales your expressions tell. A lesser man might take offense to such… distaste.”

If he expects Nadya to apologize for hurting his feelings he’d best be ready to live another couple thousand years before that happens. “What was it? A—A veil of some kind?”

“Of a sort — you learn quickly. But it was merely a glamour to ensure the evening was an amenable one.”

“For my peace of mind,” unconsciously Nadya plucks at a string; not a real one but one within her mind — everyone else has been digging around in there so she might as well join the party, “or for your vanity?”

Gaius’ decaying face can barely show a frown but some vibes just can’t be mistaken. “Cheeky.”

“So what do you want from me?” Nadya asks; with a calm even she didn’t expect. “You’ve spent all this time planning, plotting, torturing—sorry, cultivating—me… what memory was it all for, Gaius?”

He resumes his seat and smiles slow; satisfied. Maybe he thinks she’s being complacent… and maybe there’s a part of her that is.

“I need you to find something for me; an object of great importance.”

“Something tells me it’s not the teddy bear you lost when you were five… hundred.”

This time Gaius laughs a bit more reserved. He taps a withered finger to his lips in thought and Nadya pretends for her own sake that she doesn’t see a fingernail just fall off and onto his half-empty plate. “It is an object of mine; an amulet. And it was, at one time, my most cherished possession on this earth.”

All of his guests (willing and otherwise) watch the unconscious way Gaius trails his fingertip down his chin, his throat — to rest just shy of the last button done up on his crisp red dress shirt. They watch as he traces an idle and misshapen circle. Lost in the moment; in the memory.

So why does he need Nadya?

“When the time came for me to part with it I was reluctant. But it was for the best given the circumstances. For centuries come and gone I had conquered armies, laid waste to entire lands and cities — and yet even I am unable to bend nature to my whim.”

His words lull her in their own strange way like the low, rasping drag of a violin. The first time she feels a tickle at her nose Nadya brushes it aside — it’s an old castle, dust isn’t any surprise. But the second, the third? Nadya can’t help but drag her knuckles over her cheek.

She pulls her hand back and the skin is stained a smeared grey. Darker than Gaius’ pallor across the table. And it burns.

Ash.

Nadya remembers the nausea starting to churn in her belly all too well but that isn’t exactly a good thing. She almost jumps out of her skin when Jameson is suddenly at her side pouring a glass of water from a clear pitcher — didn’t even realize how parched she was until she snatches it forward and practically out of the scholar’s hands for long, deep drinks.

“Beautiful…” Gaius breathes; watching Nadya in awe — even when she chokes on the last gulp. “You can feel it, can’t you; you know exactly of what I speak.”

With anyone else — even Kamilah, even Valdas — she could at least try her best to avoid this awful feeling by keeping her hands to herself. But Gaius is all the way over there, and Nadya is all the way over here, and it doesn’t. matter. one. bit. She feels the influence of him — of his memories — reaching out to her from the other side of the room.

Nadya takes a burning breath and the answer finds itself somewhere between them.

“Vesuvius.”

Gaius confirms with a nod; “I could not risk my amulet falling prey to anything — even that which was beyond my control. So I entrusted it to my firstborn and tasked him with its protection.”

“Hold on — ‘him?’” This whole time Nadya’s been under the impression that Kamilah was the first person Gaius Turned. Or that’s what her visions—his memories—had made her assume.

But who was the only person she knew of that was older than Kamilah?

She looks to her right and Valdas nods without a word, chin resting on hands clasped in front of him.

“You?”

“My first mistake,” answers Gaius for him — contempt for the man beside him dripping foul between his teeth, “and regrettably not my last. As I had given it to mine, so too did Valdemaras give the amulet to his firstborn. And we all know how that ended.”

Neither of the Trinity will look at her; at Gaius either. No longer with their heads held high; like his disapproval of them is a real, tangible thing forcing their heads down, eyes down, and demands of them to feel nothing but shame.

Jameson refills her water slowly. Nadya drinks because if she does then she can’t open her big mouth.

“Thus the task falls unto you, my little Bloodkeeper, to remember where the cur misplaced my amulet.”

He says it like it’s so simple; like flipping through the pages of a book she ought to know well. But not only has Nadya never even heard of that metaphorical book — it’s in a whole other freakin’ language.

And she has a feeling Gaius isn’t the kind of guy to take excuses in stride. So — she stalls.

“And what are you going to give me in return?”

Gaius scoffs but easily grins around it. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” though judging by the state of decomposition on his ears… “I have something you want,” or at least that’s what you think, “so what do I get out of it?”

“You get to live.”

“Not good enough.”

Isseya’s lips twitch — the barest hint of amusement that Gaius misses in his incredulity.

“Is that so? Here I was under the impression mortals held their lives in higher value.”

“Well you’re not the first vampire to threaten me. Actually, that was Kamilah. Heck, you aren’t even in the top three. So I’ve gotten used to it. And besides…” Nadya pushes her glasses up her nose until it hurts. “If you kill me then you don’t get what you want anyway.”

In the silence that follows Nadya’s thoughts dissolve into a whirling chaos; desperate to think of her next move. She could demand that Gaius let her go — but that didn’t help her much. She could demand that and that she’s brought back to Manhattan, to Adrian and Kamilah, safe and sound. But the thought of him anywhere near them just makes her queasy. He kept them out of this — what would they think of her if she were the one to bring them in?

The longer she’s left to think the more incredulous Nadya’s ‘conditions’ become, though, so it’s almost a relief when Gaius inclines his head in a subtle nod.

Almost because he’s smiling and so far nothing—nothing—good happens when he smiles.

“I can see why my Queen has taken to you so.” Gaius says darkly, somehow darker than all the darkness he’s been hurling out already and it makes Nadya’s blood curdle in her veins. “She always preferred a certain recklessness in her mortals. Not to mention how surprisingly refreshing it is to meet such resistance for so long. But understand well — it never lasts.”

He raises a hand and Nadya’s body flinches on instinct, eyes squeezing shut waiting for a blow that doesn’t come.

Instead, Gaius snaps. “Get on with it.”

And she can’t move. She can’t move. Why can’t she move?

Fingertips brush feather-light at her temples.

Jameson.

One touch and Nadya can already feel the headache starting to build; storm clouds gathering on fast-forward in her head and everything is growing fuzzy at the edges of her eyes. The same kind of reaching, probing curiosity the psychic vampire had used back at Adrian’s trial but comparing the two is the difference between water and acid.

He’s killing her. Oh god he’s killing her. Burning her up from the inside out and without the mercy to let her even so much as scream while she’s forced to endure it.

Isseya on her left, Valdas on her right. A not-unfounded pity in their eyes watching but not making any move to help her as Nadya struggles, tenses her muscles until she’s shaking in her own skin but it’s all in vain — she still doesn’t move.

Help her, because it isn’t Nadya who owns her thoughts anymore; they belong to Jameson. Help her please help her help her helpher—

They don’t.

“I would have thought all of this —” Gaius’ voice blends into the pain; makes them synonymous with each other, “— would have explained things as they are, crystal clear. You are valuable to me as an object is valuable, Nadya. But objects do not dictate who owns them, nor make conditions upon their use. They are but objects; used as the owner sees fit.”

Behind her, Jameson’s whisper roars over the pain that can’t be anything other than her brain trying to punch its way from her skull.

“Remarkable — a vast improvement from when last I walked these paths…”

Get out get out getout!

“Valdemaras tells me she’s encountered these particular memories before. Does that make your task easier?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then find what I need, and be quick about it.”

“If he isn’t cautious… she may burn out.” And even though Valdas sounds sympathetic she knows he’s anything but — this is all his fault. What she wouldn’t give to tell him to shove it. “Or the memory may be… incomplete.”

Nadya blinks, feels tears clinging to her lashes heavy and the warm trails they leave down her cheeks. But she can’t see. Not black or white, not the dining room or whatever Jameson digs for in her mind.

She just sees agony.

There’s a clap — the distinct sound of flesh on flesh. What might be a choked noise from where Isseya was sitting.

“Question me again, Valdemaras, and you will be mourning two-fold.”

“… Forgive me, my King.”

“If you earn it.”

“I feel it,” cries Jameson with glee, “I believe I’ve found the Amulet of Nero, Master. Strange… how she resists me still. As though she’s pulling the memory just out of reach.”

Nadya doesn’t have to see Gaius to feel the weight of his glare.

“Then dig deeper.”

Then she sees nothing; nothing at all.

[robxstar]

can u please compare dickkory's bond and chemistry in tt.,ttg, dcamu, live action and in the au comics. they're both in love in all adaptation,, but i feel like their relationshionship is kinda different in every universe. also wht do you think about titans. i personally think the writers just make them friends with benefitis which really sucks they didn't even give us their famous iconic first kiss and idkw

Wew lad.  That’s a bit of a tall order there.  I shall endeavor to do my best!

Full disclaimer: I have not actually watched Titans (I just kind of live vicariously through people’s gifsets and isolated clips), and I haven’t really kept up with Teen Titans Go! so my analysis may be a bit generalized and surface level with those two.  I apologize.

DC Comics: The OG source material!  Dick and Kory’s relationship was a long-running subplot in the classic New Teen Titans run by Wolfman/Perez.  Kory was emotionally open and vivacious at a time when Dick was having growing pains about his role as Robin and being kind of broody and closed off as a result.  He tried to deny his feelings for her (because of course having been raised by Batman he was an emotionally constipated inept doofus) but eventually wound up softening up and the two started dating and being a generally adorable and loving and supportive couple.  Kory is cited as a major positive influence on his character growth and despite their occasional disagreements and issues they always wound up gravitating back towards each other.

After their breakup (and I won’t go into all the sordid details because honestly that whole thing was A Mess), they still remained very amicable and sweet and supportive to each other.  (For the most part.  We don’t talk about Certain Runs.)  Modern runs have flirted with and teased them on occasion and when the two are being written competently they’re still a pretty good pair together, though unlikely to ever be as solid as their NTT days.

2003 animated Teen Titans: The version that started it all for me, lol.  I’ve written plenty of meta gushing about this particular version of these two (just check the masterlist or the meta tag) but I’ll sum up the basics here.  And that is that they’re basically an aged-down version of their comic selves, keeping the Brooding Boy Gentle Girl dynamic and Robin’s emotionally confused How Do I Do Girls?, but perhaps with a little more emphasis on Starfire’s fish out of water tendencies and of course toning down her openly sexual nature.  So they are best friends crushing on each other from the start, fumbling around their feelings for each other like awkward dorks, but full of mutual care and concern for the otherand a strong bond of trust between them.  And they were a pretty epic Battle Couple too.

Teen Titans Go!: In keeping with the show’s cynical, sometimes twisted sense of humor, Robin and Starfire’s relationship is basically a running gag of Robin being completely besotted with Starfire and constantly scheming to get sempai to notice him, often going to extreme and awkward lengths, with mixed to nonreciprocal results.  I have conflicted feelings.  On the one hand, Robin being hysterically 110% about being In Love with Starfire is really kind of cute and I felt positively spoiled by it in the beginning.  Genuinely heartwarming moments between them when the mutual care and concern I adore about them shone through were rather scant though, and the joke got old.  Really quickly.

Later episodes hinted at more mutual affections between the two but I haven’t kept up to see if anything’s stuck, so as far as I know they’re still doing the whole running gag song and dance of never letting Robin catch a break with her.

DC animated movieverse: Algafkhsg okay it’s really all just Judas Contract because the teasing hints we were getting in the Batfilms were pretty much all about how dang thirsty Dick and Kory were for each other but MOTHER OF X’HAL I LOVE THIS VERSION.

They were basically comic DickKory at their post-hookup level of comfort with each other, which means lots of open affection, being supportive and respectful of each other, and snuggling a lot.  With the particular line-up of younger Titans that made up their team they also had a very strong Team Mom and Team Dad dynamic.  It was great.  It was quintessential DickKory, almost a perfect blend of their comic and cartoon incarnations.  I love this version of them.

Titans: I feel like Titans is trying to blend the Team Mom/Team Dad dynamic of the DCAMU version with comic DickKory’s pre-hookup awkwardness and hangups on Dick’s end, only with even more Angst.  Good grief is the boy constipated in this one.  He is so emotionally closed off and bottling everything up and releasing it in unstable ways and having no growth and he is just a mess.  And I still have no idea what they’re doing with Kory’s characterization besides making her basically a cinnamon roll.  Which is of course very Kory. :)

They seem to be a bit prickly with each other at first, but there’s undeniably an attraction, and some of the classic Kory-trying-to-open-him-up-and-get-him-to-trust-people is definitely there, as is a bit of the mutual worry and concern for each other.  He basically spends most of the time making heart eyes at her.  They just kind of seem like they’re falling into a lowkey comfort and intimacy level with each other.  I am kind of waiting for Dick to get over himself and relax into the playful dork he became as Nightwing with her.  But I think it’s still pretty undeniable that they care about each other already.

*wipes forehead*  How’d I do anon?

[newtothewaywardparty]

Is it Really Me You're Mad At?

Dean shifted on the white leather couch. Jack sat, content, in the center cushion, contently sipping whatever new-age tea sat on the coffee table. Dean rolled his neck uncomfortably. Kid didn’t get the concept of giving a guy some space. Last time Dean had been in this waiting room, Sam had the decency to sit as far down the sofa as possible, while Jack was planted in a nearby chair.

“You wanna get some air?” Dean hinted to Jack.

“I’m comfortable here, thank you.” The kid gave him one of his half smiles.

Damn if that wasn’t endearing as hell. Dean felt his chest twist; gritted his teeth, looked away.

The problem was, he couldn’t deny Sam anything. After this last hunt, his brother had arrived the next morning with snacks and coffee and said “Hey Dean, you know that grief counselor?” Real casual, Sammy, thought Dean. “She really helped Jack. I wanna go back.” Sam obviously thought Dean was too thick to catch his careful sideways look.

Dean grunted from his laptop, already scouring his alerts for a new case. Hunting. That’s what he needed.

Sam continued after a beat. “And I want you to come.”

Dean looked up at him. “What?” he snapped, suddenly belligerent. “Um, no thank you.”

Sam pressed on, sitting across from Dean at the research table. “You were right. I know you want me to ‘keep the faith’ or whatever, but...I’m not dealing with Mom’s...well, we’re both not dealing too well. I really think it could help. Please? For me.”

And so Dean was screwed because of course he was gonna go. Whatever bickering song-and-dance went on from there on out, it ended up with him here on the couch, babysitting the son of Satan while his brother got his kumbayayas out with a shifter therapist. Dean drummed his fingers on the couch cushion with the arm stretched out behind Jack, who startled, then relaxed. He seemed to be getting more comfortable with Dean since the hunt. Sam had been right about that one, at least for now.

Dean jiggled his leg impatiently, then stilled. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. They were here for Sam. Sam was the one who couldn’t admit it, face it, accept it.

Yeah, Dean said he needed his brother to keep the faith, for the both of them. But if Sam wanted freaking ‘catharsis’ far be it from him to keep Sam from it. He tried not to think of that thing appearing as their mother, in the next room, hugging it out. Dean wondered if she was telling Sam all the happy lies he needed to hear.

Sam emerged some time later. His eyes were a little watery but otherwise he seemed lighter, freer, happier. Mia Vallens waited in the doorway, her brown eyes wide. She raised a slim arm, inviting Dean into the office. “Are you ready, Dean?” she asked. For a woman so recently stalked by her emotionally abusive ex-lover, in Dean’s skin nonetheless, she seemed remarkably calm. Counselors, man.

Dean stood and shook out his jacket, patting one hand to Sam’s shoulder as he passed.

“Thanks, man,” Sam said quietly, and caught Dean’s hand with one of his own. He fixed Dean with those soulful eyes that Dean could never refuse. “Seriously,” he added, with an intense look. “I hope she helps you, too.”

Dean just nodded. Once the door was closed behind him, he whirled on Mia. “So, how’re things since we ganked Buddy?”

Mia narrowed those wide eyes of hers at him. “Your need to be in control is pretty transparent Dean.” He shrugged. A guy’s gotta try. She smoothed her flowy skirt with one hand. “But,” she nodded once, “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Your brother’s worried about you, though.” She tilted her head.

“Yeah, Sam worries too much.” He raised his chin. “I just want you to know, I’m only here for him. Before you go…” he waved his hand indistinctly “doing your thing, you should know: I don’t need you to.” Dean continued, pacing. “I already made my peace with Mom.”

Dean turned around to find Mia had already exited the room while he had been talking. “It’s okay, Dean,” Mia’s voice came from the upstairs hallway. “Sam already showed me what you need.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Dress shoes and slacks were stepping down the stairs behind the white bannister. A tan trench coat fluttered over a crisp white shirt. That nerdy blue tie. A hint of dark stubble. Dean’s heart clenched, cold, in his chest.

“Hello, Dean.” A dark rumble, so familiar. It’s not him, Dean forcibly remembered. His heart beat frantically, disobeying orders.

“No.” Dean’s voice shook, betraying his lack of control. He wanted to strike fear into this shifter’s heart. To make her feel afraid, the way all monsters should. “Don’t be him. Be you.” His syllables were clipped. He swallowed, mouth dry. He looked at the floor, blinking back the tears that had suddenly appeared in his eyes.

“Dean.” The soft growl insistent. “Look at me.” Dean’s eyes rose, unbidden, to regard the familiar features of Cas’ face; firm jaw, tousled hair, icy blue eyes. His heart burst open.

“How fucking dare you?” Dean exploded. He was shouting now, drops of spittle escaping his lips. “Be you.” he shouted. “Don’t be him. You cut it out right now, you hear me?” He crowded into the shifter’s space, bristling as big and as threatening as he could get.

The shifter was uncowed. “All right, Dean. But ask yourself,” the shifter tilted Cas’ head. A perfect imitation. “Is it really me you’re mad at?”

Dean made the mistake of looking at its eyes. He told himself he just wanted to see, you know? Could he tell it wasn’t Cas in there, looking out at him? Was there something to give it away, like the lens flare on camera? But it was too much, like it always was. Looking in Cas’ eyes was looking at something so pure and beautiful it hurt. Dean’s heart broke.

He grabbed Cas by the lapels of his dirty trench coat, shaking him. “You moron! You goddamned idiot! So the son of Lucifer tells you it’s all cool and you just believe him?! Really, Cas?” Dean shoved and the shifter flew across the room. That was enough to startle Dean out of the illusion. Cas wouldn’t break so easily.

The shifter rose to its feet, but it was Cas who stared at him, panting. Dean couldn’t help it spilling out of him now. “You’re so naive, so trusting, and what does it get you?” Dean was echoing his tirade to Sam back in the bunker. “It got you dead! And I need you. I need you, Cas, you selfish prick! Did you ever think of that?”

Dean knew he was too far gone to stop now. “No! You try to fix everything and you just make it worse every time. Leaving me alone with Sam to pick up your mess.” Dean crowded into Cas’ space as he spoke, backing him up against the wall. “You chose him.” Dean’s voice was low and dangerous. “You chose Lucifer’s son over me. You fucking played me. And I hate you for it.” His voice broke.

Cas put a hand on Dean’s chest. Far too gentle, Dean remembered. This wasn’t Cas, angelic strength and righteous fury. This was a fake. “Is it really me you’re mad at?” Cas repeated.

Dean drew back sharply, shaking his head. “No.” The outward rage twisted inward instantly, like the cold steel of a knife sliding into his gut. “No, I’m not. Cas. I’m sorry.”

Dean crumpled onto the floor, holding his head in his hands. “I’m so stupid. I never told you…” he ran a hand over his face. “...what you meant to me. And now you’re gone, and you’ll never know.”

Cas sat on the floor beside him. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I knew, Dean.” he said. “I always knew.”

Dean huffed a wet chuckle. “C’mon, I know you’re not really him.”

Cas looked at him earnestly. “I talked to Sam. If even a fraction of what he told me was true, I knew, Dean.”

Dean sighed, a heavy thing full of regret. “I thought knowing if you didn’t feel the same way would be the worst.” He smiled a tiny smile. “But now…” Dean nodded, certain in his hopelessness. “This is worse. You’re gone and now I’ll never know. Never knowing is worse.” Dean looked at the shifter Cas, who still had a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You can’t give me that, no matter what Sam thinks.” Dean flashed back to yelling at Sam in the bunker, lost and desperate: “Cause right now I…right now I don’t believe in a damned thing.”

Cas put a hand on Dean’s face. Dean closed his eyes. It was how Cas had healed him. It was also exactly how Dean had fantasized about finally, finally, being held, drawn close, kissed.

Cas’ deep voice broke Dean’s reverie. “I hate seeing you like this, Dean. I lived and died for humanity, at its best and its worst. For free will. For you. Is this what you do with it? Give up?” Dean’s eyes flew open, stung. “I want you to live. I want you to be happy.” Cas’ tone brooked no argument.

“What show have you been watching?” Dean scoffed and gave a grim laugh.

Cas sighed “Seriously, Dean. Not butterflies and rainbows happy. Just living, the way I always wanted, if we ever got the rest of it figured out. If I can’t have that, I want you to have that. For me?” Cas placed his other hand on Dean’s face, and reverently pressed his lips to Dean’s.

Dean knew, in a million different ways, this wasn’t real. The shifter didn’t smell like Cas; wasn’t as warm, and the air didn’t crackle with the electricity that always buzzed between them. But this Cas had lips as soft as Dean had ever imagined. This Cas was holding him like he was precious; like he mattered.

Some time later, Dean emerged from the office to find Sam and Jack playing a game on Sam’s phone. Their questioning faces snapped up in unison. Dean inhaled, putting on his armour once more. “Let’s roll,” he ordered.

Mia appeared at the doorway of the office behind him. “Don’t forget what I said, Dean.” She adjusted one of her bracelets, and gave him an encouraging smile.

Dean returned it with one of his own, a genuine one. “Yeah, yeah,” he groused. “C’mon, Sammy. I’m hungry. Let’s grab some more of those hot dogs.” Jack’s eyes lit up at that. The kid liked to eat, Dean would give him that. Jack hurried ahead to the Impala.

Outside, Dean drew even with Sam on the front stairs, catching his arm. “Hey, Sam, uh,” Dean hesitated, unsure. “Listen, you were right, ok? I did need that. I mean, I guess what I’m trying to say,” Dean looked off into the distance. “Thanks, man.”

Sam wordlessly clapped a hand on Dean’s back and walked him to Baby.

[nyangibun]

Little Wolf: Part VIII

@jonsa-countdown – for day 8: free day. again, so sorry it’s late!

@jonsa-creatives – for day 2: celebration

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV | PART V | PART VI | PART VII - AO3 LINK

PART VIII: CELEBRATION

“You look cute.”

Sansa turned around and scowled. “This is all your fault.” His barking laughter made her irritation grow ten folds. “It’s not funny! I look ridiculous.”

Jon walked further into her bedroom. He stood behind her just a few inches shy from where she was standing in front of the full-length mirror and pulled playfully on one of her plaits. “I don’t know. I think it’s quite fitting.”

She rolled her eyes. She was about to tell him how wrong he was when she finally took in what Jon was wearing. Dressed in a dark tunic with burgundy linings and pointy shoes, he looked even more absurd than her. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Jon’s ears began to turn pink. She forgot how easy it was to make him blush. Broad-shouldered and broody he may be, but Jon, at his heart, was a big softie. It was one of the reasons why she had fallen for him in the first place. There was just something so utterly endearing about an awkward man who didn’t know how kind-hearted and handsome he was.

Shaking her head, Sansa smirked. “Nothing. You just look way worse than I do.”

“Hey, I thought I looked quite… dashing,” he protested, while smiling toothily at her. “But I guess we can’t all look like a princess now, can we?” He tugged her plait again and Sansa slapped his hand away.

“Stop that! You’re going to ruin my hair.”

His grin was smug as he inched closer. Jon bowed his head. “Aye, aye, m’lady. Whatever you say.” And with that, he turned on his heels and walked out of her room, no doubt grinning like a buffoon. Sansa ought to smack him, but she couldn’t help the grin on her own face from widening.

Of all the parties she thought she’d be hosting at her house, Sansa never thought she’d be hosting a one-year-old’s birthday party – at least not at twenty-five. She had spent most of the morning running around town buying last minute decorations and picking up the Olaf-themed birthday cake, while Jon, Arya and Gendry decorated the house. Blue and white streamers were tied to her bannister, a birthday banner to one of her walls, and more Frozen characters taped to her furniture than she ever expected to see.

She knew Chloe wouldn’t remember this, but Sansa would, and if she was honest, they all needed this. It had been six months since Robb and Margaery’s accident and there’d been very little to celebrate in that time. No one wanted to celebrate, not when so much of their days were drowned in grief, but for Chloe, everyone was willing to push aside what pain they may be feeling to be there for the little girl. Even Rickon had shown up – although he still wasn’t talking to Sansa or Jon.

Descending down the stairs, Sansa’s grin grew wider at the sight of Arya and Gendry arguing over where a cardboard cutout of Olaf should go. It had taken her much less time to like Gendry than Margaery, but the big bullish man was sweet, genuine and utterly devoted to her sister. If there ever was a human personification of that heart eyes emoji, it would be Gendry when he was looking at Arya.

“Sweetheart, this looks wonderful.” Her mother greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. The bags under her eyes were visibly smaller and the smile was more genuine than Sansa had seen it in a long while.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, as she came to stand before her. “But it’s not all me. It’s them too.” She pointed to Jon and her siblings, who were now laughing as Arya hit Gendry over the head with the cardboard cutout. “Especially Jon.”

Her mother nodded. She knew Sansa hadn’t meant just today, and the quiet acquiescence was a victory in and of itself. God knew Catelyn Stark and Jon Snow had never quite seen eye to eye. Sansa suspected her mother always held a grudge because it was at Jon’s house that Robb first got drunk. It only grew when Jon was left as the guardian of Chloe.

“So where is the little birthday girl?”

“She’s down for her nap,” Sansa said. “I didn’t want her to get cranky just when the guests were starting to arrive.” The smile her mother sent her was bizarre and she couldn’t get a read on it. “What?”

“You, Sansa.” Her mother placed a hand to her cheek. “The way you’ve handled all this responsibility. I’ve never been more proud of you.”

“I told you, it wasn’t just -”

“And Jon too,” her mother cut in with an exasperated sigh. “I hate to admit it, but he’s good for you. For both of you. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“He loves Chloe and that’s all that I care about right now,” Sansa said testily. “So whatever else, mum, can you please just let it go?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t doubt that one bit,” her mother said with a shocked expression. “I may have been… resistant -” Sansa snorted, but remained quiet at the look her mother sent her, “- at first, but he is a good man and a good father. Chloe is lucky to have him.”

“Then what is it? Why are you so difficult about us?”

“Because Sansa, what’ll happen when he meets someone else?” she asked quietly. “When he has a family of his own? I just don’t want to see you get your heart broken again.”

“Again?” Sansa’s voice must have reached a higher decibel than she’d intended because Jon immediately looked over, his brow raised in question, but they had perfected nonverbal communication months ago, and with one look, he smiled and turned back to face Bran.

Her mother shook her head, as if she was disappointed. “I remember when he left for Spain. More importantly, I know when a woman’s just had her heart broken.”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed. She inched away from her mother. “It wasn’t like that. I just - you know what? This is Chloe’s day. I don’t want to be talking about this.”

Without another word, Sansa retreated towards the kitchen. She braced her hands on the countertop and inhaled deeply. This was the second member of her family to call her out on it. Had she been so obvious even back then?

February 11, 2016 - 2:36pm

The car stuttered to a stop in front of a cluster of buildings. Sansa pulled down the sun visor and checked her reflection one more time. Lipstick? Check. Eyeliner? Check. Hair down or up? Sansa worried her bottom lip, as she considered the merits. She always did prefer to have her hair pulled back from her face. It was less of a hassle when at school. But if she left it down, maybe Jon would run his fingers through her hair, as he kissed her deeply.

Pulling the clip free, Sansa smiled at her reflection. Hair down? Check.

Today had been a long time coming. Jon was her best friend, the only person who’d ever made her feel safe, and if he didn’t reciprocate her feelings, they’d still be okay. He loved her; it was just a matter of how he loved her. Was it the same way she loved him? Because god, she loved him so much it ached in her bones.

The walk towards Jon’s flat was the longest in her life. It didn’t matter how many times she’d been here before. This time, she felt as if she was walking to the slaughter. A completely irrational thought, but one that created panicked and anxious butterflies in her stomach. She forced herself to continue, however, and headed towards the centre courtyard. Sansa was just rounding the bend when a familiar voice stopped her. She crept towards the edge of the wall and peeked out. Jon was standing on the steps of his building block. A blonde woman stood before him. She was beautiful.

“Val, what are you doing here?”

A feminine chuckle sounded in the air. “I heard you were heading off to Spain this weekend. I thought I’d come say goodbye.”

Jon laughed. “It’s not like I’m not coming back, you know?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to miss my opportunity.”

The blonde woman grabbed hold of Jon’s collar and pulled him to her. Sansa wasn’t sure how long she stood there watching them kiss. It could have been seconds or hours - time didn’t seem to exist. But the moment she saw Jon’s hands go to Val’s shoulders, Sansa bolted out of there. She got into her car and drove. Home wasn’t an option. She couldn’t bear to be alone right now and being near her family wasn’t an option either, not when Sansa was close to falling apart. Her only destination was anywhere but here; anywhere where he wasn’t, where they weren’t.

For the first time in her life, Sansa understood. She thought she knew when Joffrey cheated on her, but how she’d felt about him was nothing in comparison to how she felt about Jon. Losing Joffrey was a relief, a breath of fresh air after months of stormy sailing, but this was different. Sansa now knew what it felt like to have her heart break in two - to feel the cracks rip her slowly apart. She thought she could handle it if he didn’t love her back. She thought that she’d be okay and they’d just go back to being friends.

But maybe she wasn’t strong enough for that. Maybe this was it for them.

February 11, 2016 - 11:36pm

The key wouldn’t go into the lock. Why wouldn’t it go into the lock? Sansa frowned at the metal object in her hand and jabbed it once again at the slot. Finally, it fit perfectly and she was able to stumble back into her house. For a long second, Sansa blinked at the not-so-dark room. She didn’t remember leaving the lights on. Maybe she had been burgled; or maybe -

“Where the hell have you been?”

Sansa jumped back, hand clutched around her bag, ready to swing at the intruder. When she saw it was just Jon, she scowled. “What am I doing? What are you doing in my house!”

“God, Sans, are you drunk?” Jon walked over to stand in front of her. His grey eyes looked obsidian in the dim lighting, but she could still see the concern there. She hated it. Who gave him the right to make her feel loved when he didn’t even really love her?

“I had a drink. What are you, the…” Sansa faltered, as she was unable to come up with an appropriate term to call him. But then genius struck and she added, “the alcohol police?”

Jon furrowed his brows. “Sansa, what are you doing drinking on a school night? Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

“I had a date!” she blurted out without thinking. It hadn’t really been a date. Sansa had bumped into Harry Hardyng at the pub and they drank and got dinner. But for some reason, it felt imperative right then for Jon to believe it was a date. “Am I not allowed to date? You date! Arya dates! Robb had plenty of dates before Margaery!”

“What? I never said you couldn’t -” He growled in frustration and turned away from her. “So you didn’t think to even ring me?”

“Ring you?” Sansa repeated, feeling increasingly confused and angry. “I didn’t realise I had to check in with you every time I did something.”

“You know that’s not what I meant!” he shouted now, apparently just as angry. “We had plans, Sansa. I -” He gestured behind him to her table. “I got you your favourite takeaway.”

“I’m sorry. When did we have plans?” she bit out. She should feel guilty, but there was something about this situation niggling at the back of her mind that told her to stand her ground.

Jon looked perplexed now. “We always have plans. Every Thursday.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, bristling. “You just expect me to always be there, don’t you? While you’re off doing whatever, whoever you want, I’m supposed to just always be available for you.” That was it, wasn’t it? She was always there whenever Jon called. “I had a date, Jon! I’m sorry I didn’t ring, but I have a life outside of you!”

“And what am I to you? Just a placeholder until another guy comes into your life?” he spat back. “God, I thought you’d grow out of being such a prissy princess, but I guess not.”

Tears stung at the back of her eyes. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Not like this. Sansa stepped forward, steeling herself, as she stared him down. “Get out,” she said as calmly and as coolly as she could. “Get the hell out, Jon.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, grabbing his coat and heading towards the door. “With pleasure.”

July 17, 2017

Someone touched her shoulder and Sansa nearly jumped straight out of her skin. She whirled around, her glare already firmly in place. It grew when she saw who it was that had startled her. “Bloody hell, Jeyne, you scared me!”

Her best friend snorted. “I did call your name like five times. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Sansa said. She pulled the birthday cake from its box and placed it on the stand – what she was meant to be doing instead of thinking back to one of her most painful memories. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“Okay. I’m not even going to ask what you were thinking about because I already know,” Jeyne said with a smug smile. “But it’s time to grab the birthday girl. The guests have mostly arrived now.”

Sansa nodded. She left Jeyne to prepare the snacks and went upstairs to wake Chloe from her nap. To her surprise, Jon was already there putting her into her Princess Elsa outfit, and it struck her then how different their relationship had been over a year ago. She might’ve dwelled on it more had the birthday girl not caught sight of her.

Chloe reached out her hands, immediately shouting, “mama, mama!” Sansa swallowed back the guilt and aching grief, and walked over to her little girl and pulled her into her arms. “Hi birthday girl, do you know how old you are today?”

“Don’t bother,” Jon said, straightening up. “I tried that earlier. She just continued to babble baby gibberish at me.”

“Awe,” she chuckled, patting Jon on the arm, before returning her focus back to Chloe. “Is your daddy sad because you love me best?”

It was becoming easier for her to refer to Jon as Chloe’s father. Maybe because she truly believed it. The way Jon was with her – there was simply no doubt in her mind that Chloe was his and he was hers. For some reason, however, Sansa couldn’t come to terms with it yet for herself. She loved Chloe with all her heart, more than she ever thought possible, but to call herself her mother seemed like a betrayal, even if she knew rationally it was what Margaery would’ve wanted.

“Hey, not true,” Jon said indignantly. “The lil’ wolf loves me just as much. Don’t you, sweet girl?” He bent forward to kiss her on her forehead. Chloe giggled and tried to grab his nose. “See, told you.”

“Whatever you say.”

With Jon bringing down Chloe’s comfort blanket and stuffed snowman in case she became uneasy around the large crowd of people, Sansa cuddled Chloe close to her chest and murmured to her, hoping the soothing tone of her voice would prepare the little girl for a party.

Twenty minutes in, it turned out they didn’t have to worry at all. Chloe loved being the centre of attention. Being passed around and kissed only made her peal with laughter, her babbling growing more and more excited. It didn’t mean Sansa was ready to classify the day as a success yet. Having raised a baby for the past six months, she knew how fast her mood could turn. It was like living with a tiny, very cute and non-threatening Hulk.

Sansa was just heading towards the kitchen to grab the cake when her phone buzzed – several text messages coming in quick succession. She pulled it out quickly just to turn it off so she could spend the day fully focused on Chloe, but what she read made her heart stop dead in her chest.

He’s back, Sansa.

They rehired him.

Deborah said he’s going to be the assistant principal.

I’m so sorry.

Call me, okay? x