#like he also needs the constant reminders of his vitality

[aashiqeddiediaz]

eddie saying "to be fair, you had just died" and then moving to put his thumb on buck's pulse i see you eddie diaz

[gd-dollopole]

Just wanted to point out how interesting the choice of the directors has been here:

to shift the camera to very specific people when Lancelot makes his speech as to why he wants to serve Arthur as a knight in the episode, “The coming of Arthur” (season 3, episode 12).

When Lancelot says, “Justice” and, “Honour”, the camera immediately shifts to Arthur. That’s what the king stands for. That’s why Lancelot and Gwaine and everyone else, although sceptical, decides to serve their king. For these are his values:

Although Lancelot says that Arthur has thought him to fight for freedom, which is in part true, since he had shown him kindness and strength and mercy, even against the strongest enemy, the moment Lancelot says it, he turns to Merlin:

and the camera shifts to him:

Merlin looks at Lancelot with hope in his eyes, for he sees the future Arthur might bring, for he knows Lancelot understands what this might mean and bring for him and his people too, for those with magic, and Lancelot is more than happy to see it through, and help him along the way, and if that means to serve Arthur, for Merlin to be free, Lancelot is more than willing to accept.

They both know something the others don’t:

Lancelot is serving Merlin too, without saying it, simply because he can’t. To Lancelot, it was Merlin who thought him the value of freedom and courage: “You’re the one Arthur should knight. You’re the bravest of us all, and he doesn’t even know.”

But most importantly and heartbreaking at the same time, it’s the end. Lancelot says, “And all that’s good”,

and the camera shifts to Guinevere:

The choice of words is interesting.

Guinevere is, “all that’s good”. If her and Lancelot has to be like Arthur and Merlin, then they really are, “two sides of the same coin”.

Guinevere is the one who reminded Lancelot to fight, to live better, because he deserves it, because he’s a good man, because he loves her like no one ever did. He was there for Guinevere since the first moment. But it’s also not only referred to Lancelot, isn’t it? After all, Guinevere is more than an attachment to another character.

Once again, Guinevere is all that’s good.

Gwen is what remains of Camelot’s growth.

She is the daughter of a Blacksmith.

She is not only vital for the city, but she was thought to be patient, kind, generous and to be helpful towards those in need. She helped Camelot’s citizens during the siege with Morgana by sharing food that she didn’t have, and she never asked for any later.

She forgave Arthur’s sins and mistakes, although that would have meant a life of perpetual loneliness and worry towards those she loved.

She could have betrayed Arthur and Camelot in a second, if it meant she would have lived, but she had preferred to lose her friend and to stand for what was right.

She fought for Camelot, for her friends, with a sword, with her words, against Agravaine, and even Uther. She never backed down, and by doing so, she was able to help her father, her brother.

Merlin’s loyalty is admirable, but so is Gwen’s.

She is, and always will be, “all that’s good.”

And Lancelot is ready to serve Camelot’s queen, even if he may not be her king. He loved her enough to be able to do that, they respected each other, and that was all they needed.

Lancelot is such a brilliant character.

Not only he shows what he stands for each episode he’s in, but he brings with him everything that he learned in the past episodes too.

I must admit that among each character in the show, Merlin and Arthur included, Lancelot is perhaps the most constant one.

He knows what his values are, and he knows who he has to thank for them.

And it’s bittersweet to know that he died too soon, that he wasn’t able to see, even if small, the actual change Arthur brought to his reign, that he couldn’t be there for Guinevere as a friend when she felt lonely as a queen, to help Merlin with his destiny when he felt hopeless thinking everything he had helped Arthur build may have fallen.

The directors knew what they were doing, and this is one of the many reasons this show attracts me completely.

It may be wrong under so many aspects, but the way the choices for the camera movements, the little facial features, along the dialogues were made, are such an important part of BBC Merlin that makes this TV show stand out amongst the rest, and it has to be appreciated.

[veronicaphoenix]

zutto — chapter one | wc: 4.9k | series masterpost

chapter summary: lia refuses to stay in the hospital one more day and convinces noah to go back to los angeles.

tags and trigger warnings: best friends to lovers, mentions of an overdose, brief descriptions of it, ptsd, angst/comfort, vomiting, mentions of nightmares, breakdowns.

general trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

“No,” Noah said.

            “But—”

            “I said no.”

            His reply was stern, hard. If Lia didn’t know him like the back of her hand, she would have been terrified by the way his features hardened as he repeated the word, resisting her plea to leave the hospital just a day after waking up. His gaze on her was severe, his eyes —usually warm and inviting— were cold and piercing as they bore into hers, as if trying to drill the seriousness of the situation into her. His jaw was clenched tightly, and a muscle ticked in his temple.

            His October eyes were filled with all the fear and pain of the past few days, and more than that: they also the carried the dread of what might come, of the dangers Lia could face if she left the hospital that day.

            Lia, who was the reason for all his fears.

            Lia, who was aware of it all.

            It didn’t matter if he ever forgave her: she would never forgive herself.

            Swallowing hard, Lia pressed her hands to the mattress to straighten herself a bit more, ignoring the crack of her back bones, if only to give Noah the same sense of seriousness she felt about leaving that place.

            “I just want to go home, Noah,” she murmured, her eyes pleading. “I need to go home.”

            She waited for his reaction, but Noah remained still. He stood in the middle of the room, still, lips pursed, hands nearly clenched at his sides. The only sign of his agitation was his increasingly rapid breathing.

            “Staying here will only make me sicker,” she continued. “I want to go home. Please.” At her pleading word, her voice diminished to a whisper, allowing the sounds of professionals and other patients outside the room to seep in, reminding her and Noah that they were not in a bubble where it was just the two of them.

            Not yet.  

            Tears welled up in her eyes again. She wasn’t lying—she felt sick, sicker than the day before. Two diseases resided within her, and she could distinguish them with painful clarity. One was the result of her overdose, leaving her weak, perpetually sleepy, struggling to retain information, and nauseous at the mere thought of food. The other was born from the hospital’s sterile smell, the constant reminder of why she was there, amplified by the pitying glances from doctors and nurses whenever they came in to check her vitals.

            She didn’t want to be there anymore. She wanted to go home and recover in the safety of her apartment’s walls. She needed to leave before she truly got worse.

            Noah was waging his own internal battle; battling against the powerful hold she had on him. He wasn’t sure he could ever deny her anything, especially not when she was so vulnerable, so in need of his care. He just wanted her to get better, and he would do anything to make that happen, even if it meant going against all reason and logic.

            He dropped his head, letting out a heavy, defeated sight. He wanted to hit something, in all honesty. He hated how easily she disarmed him, how effortlessly she did so.   

            He had watched her sleep most of the night, still trying to comprehend how she hadn’t complained about much despite her condition. It was as if she had accepted all the suffering she was enduring, as though she deserved it. Certainly, she was in pain. Dr. Dayal had mentioned that her body was slowly recovering but reminded them of many issues that still needed healing. She hadn’t mentioned feeling weak or having a headache. Nothing. Not until she told Noah she wanted to leave the hospital. He couldn’t decide whether to admire her strength, even after hitting rock bottom hours earlier, or to feel devastated at how he knew she was punishing herself internally.

            “Noah—”

            “All right,” he cut her off, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll ask Jolly to book the earliest flights and grab our things from the hotel,” he then redirected his gaze back to her. “But I’m going to ask the doctor to run another round of tests before they discharge you, and you’re going to let them, understood?”

            Lia nodded, knowing that if she fought him on this, it would only take Dr. dayal’s insistence on her staying a few more days to change Noah’s mind.

            Once it was settled, Noah slumped back into the armchair where he had spent his last three days. He was exhausted. Lia would have reached out to touch his hair if the space between the bed and his seat hadn’t been so vast. It wasn’t just her that needed to go home—he needed it just as much.

            The tour had just finished, and he was stuck in a hospital room in another state, far from home. He hadn’t had the time to rest or sleep. He hadn’t even showered since they’d been there. So, when Lia suggested he use the ensuite bathroom and wash up, Noah diligently complied, aware that he indeed needed a shower, and he might feel a bit better afterward. After all, Lia was awake, and she was okay; awake. She was back with him, and this time, he wouldn’t let her stray any farther than the steps that separated the bed and the shower.

Despite Noah’s futile efforts to stay in Illinois for a few more days to ensure Lia’s recovery, stubborn as she was even in her condition, they left the hospital and found themselves at the airport not even twenty-four hours after her discharge and merely two hours after she had met the boys.

            Th moment the Nicks and Jolly entered the hospital room, Noah had been forced to leave, overwhelmed by the emotional weight of the scenario unfolding.

            Jolly held Lia against his chest as she cried, clutching his jacket and repeating the same words over and over: “Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jolly cradled her, and so did Nicholas after. When Noah stepped outside, a heavy feeling crushing his chest, he found Folio pacing around, biting his nails. He was still scared, still consumed by nightmares, haunted by the sigh of Lia lying on the hotel room floor, white foam at her mouth.

            Noah and Nick acknowledged each other silently. Noah gestured towards the room with a nod, and nick, gathering his courage, entered.  

            Lia raised her head from Nicholas’ shoulder, and immediately let go of one Nick to crash into the arms of the other one, though it wasn’t clear who was holding whom. Lia and Nick cried together. From outside, Noah could hear their sobs, Nick’s voice telling her that she had no right to put them through this, to hurt them like this, while Lia apologized again and again, sobbing harder than the day Noah had brought her home from Mitch’s apartment.

            But as angry and hurt as Nick was, he didn’t let go, and held onto her because she had always been one of his dearest friends, the closest thing he had ever had to a sister.

            As the hours passed, the consequences of her actions sank deeper into Lia’s consciousness. She had not only plunged herself into darkness but had also dragged every person who loved her along. Even though she was safe for now, she knew you couldn’t just offer yourself to Death and then pull your hand away, expecting to play the game by your own rules.

            Once alone with Noah in the room again, Lia steadied herself by leaning against the bed, her gaze lost on the white tiles of the floor. She was still wearing the hospital gown and plain black underwear underneath. Her head was spinning slightly, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle the airport hustle and the trip back home. She only knew she didn’t want to spend another minute in the hospital, surrounded by reminders of mortality. It didn’t matter that Noah was looking at her with eyes that begged her to reason, to stay for a couple more days and let the professionals ensure she was truly okay.  

            Lia simply didn’t want to be there.          

            “Do you need to lie down again?” Noah’s arm was already extended toward her as he saw her lose balance. Lia’s eyes met his, and she shook her head.

            “I just need to get home,” she whispered.

            Noah’s shoulders dropped as a sigh escaped his lips. After a few seconds, he took two steps toward her, ready to stand in front of her, to move the hair away from her face and to hold her.

            They held each other’s gaze for a while, Lia’s hands clutching the same bedsheets that had covered her weak body the previous days. Why did it suddenly feel hard to swallow with Noah standing in front of her, looking at her like that?

            He was looking at her like a boy whose heart had been broken, like a boy who blamed himself for every bad thing that had happened—for every bad thing that had happened to her.

            She felt a rush of tears returning.

            If she didn’t make it home soon, she would just crash in his arms and be unable to pull herself together.  

            Before his hand could touch her face, Lia pleaded: “Please, let’s go home.”

            The tremble in her voice, the brokenness, could have brought Noah to his knees.

            He nodded fervently, and a moment later, Lia was in his arms, her hands clutching his t-shirt while his found their way through her tangled hair, pressing her head against his shoulder. His other arm wrapped around her middle, determined to keep her from ever straying far from him again.

The hours of waiting at the airport were worse than Lia had anticipated. Part of her knew she should have listened to Noah, that she shouldn’t have argued when he insisted on making sure she was ready for the hustle and bustle of travel less than three days after an overdose. But another part of her –the one that felt most lost and hurt— longed for the safety of her small apartment, the comfort of her bed, and the sense of isolation provided by her four walls. There, she could cry and scream without anyone noticing, without anyone appearing at the door with a medical report and administering another dose of who-knows-what to calm her down.

            She missed her bed, her plants, her books, the view from her balcony, and the breeze that slipped through and rustled the curtains whenever she left the door open and a slight gust of wind swept in to caress her cheeks. Lia had blocked out the traumatic images and memories of the last few days by projecting images of her apartment and the happy moments she had lived there.

            As she watched Noah lean over the counter of the airport’s only Starbucks to order drinks for everyone, she recalled one of the last times Noah had been at her apartment. They had spent a couple of hours on the couch, each with their MacBook on their lap, working on a song that now remained safely stored on Noah’s hard drive. That day, they had eaten together. They’d prepared a vegan lasagna after shopping for ingredients and following a random recipe they found online. After eating, they cleaned up together, and Noah walked around the apartment for a while with a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder, commenting on how full he felt. Lia had bitten her lip from her spot still in the kitchen, imagining how wonderful it would be to see him like that every day—so relaxed and happy, so... at home. The only problem was that that wasn’t his home; it was hers, and entertaining that idea was simply dangerous. Their time of sharing a home had passed.

            Yet, in a few hours, she would have her best friend back in her home, in her kitchen, in her living room.

            She had almost lost herself in that hotel room where she would never set foot in again, but the worst part had been nearly losing Noah. She had come close to losing a chance with him. The chance of a life by his side.

            Lia almost smiled despite the pain still gnawing at her insides and the weakness enveloping her, but as soon as Noah turned around, her attempt at a smile faded. The dark circles under Noah’s almond-shaped eyes had deepened in the last few hours, and his entire body reflected his exhaustion: his dejected expression, greasy hair, slumped shoulders, and the way he seemed to drag his feet as he moved.

            “Chamomile,” he said when he returned to the row of chairs where Lia waited, along with the two Nicks and the pile of backpacks they carried with them.

            With a small, gentle smile, Lia thanked him and took the hot drink from his hand. Dr. Dayal had recommended she avoid coffee and strong beverages for the next few days. Despite the doctor’s reluctance to discharge her, he had no choice but to let her leave.

            “Be careful. It’s hot,” Noah warned.

            As soon as his hands were free, Lia noticed how Noah put his sunglasses back on as he took a seat across from her, sinking into the uncomfortable chair.

            During the taxi ride from the hospital to the airport, he had been silent, only speaking to give directions to the driver and responding to questions with monosyllables or short phrases that didn’t invite further conversation.

            Jolly had taken care of collecting both Lia’s and Noah’s belongings from the hotel, though he waited for the cleaning service to go through Lia’s room first. Having grown up with a group of friends where alcohol, tobacco, and even drugs were never lacking, he never thought he would find himself in a situation like this, where one of the people closest to him would experience something so harrowing. He was not prepared to relive the image of Lia in Noah’s arms, unconscious, convulsing, losing herself and everyone who loved her.

            The only comfort Jolly found in the whole situation was that the nightmare wasn’t just haunting him; it was haunting everyone.

            With a long inhalation, Lia brought the Starbucks cup to her lips, holding it with both hands because she knew her strenght wasn’t back yet, and the last thing she needed at that moment was to spill a hot drink on herself. She took a small sip and savored the sensation of the liquid sliding down her throat. Around her, the bustle of the airport continued. Nicholas was talking to Matt on the phone, informing him that they would soon board and be home in a few hours. Nick had his headphones on and was trying to pretend nothing had happened while humming a song and bouncing his leg to its rhythm. Lia took a second sip, her eyes peering over the cup at Noah. He had changed clothes but was still wearing a loose hoodie and his white sneakers. With his sunglasses on, Lia couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed, if he was looking at something specific, or if he was looking straight at her.

            At that moment, a wave of nausea hit her again. Despite having eaten nothing more than a plain yogurt since leaving the hospital, she knew she was about to vomit.

            Her eyes widened in alarm as she bent down, struggling to place the chamomille tea on the floor, the only surface available. She barely registered Jolly calling her name or Noah’s figure urgently following her as she bolted to the nearest restroom.

            Stumbling into the bathroom, she collided with a woman’s shoulder. Lia wasn’t concerned with the words she might get from her, though a few seconds later, she heard the woman’s raised voice declaring that men were not allowed in that restroom.

            By the time Lia was kneeling by the airport toilet, holding her hair away from her face with one hand and gripping the seat with the other, Noah was beside her. He gently took her hair from her hand and held it back for her.

            He soothed her with soft words while she retched, oblivious to the open door and the young girls looking on with a face contorted by yuck. Noah would have told them to fuck off if it weren’t because his utter attention was on Lia.

            When her retching subsided, giving way to her heavy breathing and watery eyes, Noah tucked another loose strand of hair back behind her ear with gentle fingers and waited for Lia to straighten up.

            She did so right after flushing the toilet. Noah tore some paper from the roll and handed it to her. Her barely audible thank you got lost amid the sound of the water flushing, taking away the bile that had come out of her and the little chamomile tea she had drank. Such a waste, she thought.

            “It’s okay,” she heard Noah say beside her.

            Confusion stirred within her as he suddenly grasped her wrist, and she realized he was trying to get her black hairband out. She allowed him to proceed, and a minute later, he had deftly tied her messy hair into a bun.

            With a supportive hand on her waist, he helped her stand. Lia braced herself against the fragile wall separating the other cubicle. She spent a moment regaining her breath and composure. She wanted to lean on Noah, to let him carry her out of there and onto the plane, but the tranquility she craved wouldn’t come so easily, at least not until she was finally home.

            Turning her head toward him, her eyes still watery from the ordeal of vomiting, she asked if he could retrieve her toothbrush and toothpaste from her backpack. She didn’t need to specify where it was; he knew she kept her toiletries in a denim bag adorned with Lilo & Stitch, a souvenir from a trip to Disneyland a few years back.

            Sending a furious look to the girls still staring, he made sure Lia could stand on her own before leaving.

            A minute later, the girls were gone and Lia was alone in the bathroom. Noah returned with her toiletry bag and a bottle of water. He watched Lia as she tried to regain a sense of normalcy. After spending a few quiet minutes looking at her reflection in the mirror, Noah said: “Just a few more hours and we’ll be home.”

            She tried to send a smile his way, but all she could do was keep staring at the pain etched all over his face.

Once settled in her window seat, with Noah still standing in the aisle as he set their backpacks in the overhead compartment, her eyes landed on the buildings in the distance. No matter the buzzing sound of the plane’s engine and the chatter of the people on board, she felt distant from everyone and everything. Her eyes grew heavy, threatening to close in a matter of minutes. She knew she could never look back at this city the same way again. Her past, chasing her until the present, had put a stain to this place. She wondered if she would ever be able to come back with the boys, if Noah would ever want to perform here again, or if the memory of what had happened would forever taint the city.  

            As the skyline shrank into a thin line below, Lia felt herself drifting away, her eyelids heavy, her stomach still unsettled. Her mind was wandering to places. Her throat was dry, and she knew she should drink some water before sleep took over, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. As she sank deeper into her seat, her eyes fell to her lap. She watched her own hand move toward the seat next to her, where Noah was now sitting. His arm rested on the armrest, his hand hanging off the edge.

            Her fingertips touched his palm first, and then, slowly, her fingers intertwined with his.

            Noah’s heart skipped a beat as he watched Lia’s hand —small compared to his— wrap around his. She felt warm, and he wondered if she had a fever. He was about to ask, but when he peered away from their intertwined fingers to her, he realized she wasn’t looking at him.

            Within moments, her head gently leaned onto his shoulder. A long exhale escaped him. His chest sank, lips parted, and shoulders dropped. With his thumb, he tenderly caressed the back of Lia’s hand, noticing the subtle change in her breathing. It was calmer now. She had fallen asleep.  

            The knot in his throat wasn’t receding, though. It might not persist for days, lingering until he could replace the memory of Lia unconscious in his arms with something brighter. He wasn’t sure what awaited them upon landing in Los Angeles. The doctor had warned of tough days ahead, possibly worsening during Lia’s withdrawal process. Noah wasn’t looking forward to anymore worsening. He’d had enough. Yet, he was willing to weather any storm if it meant bringing her back, or even a stronger, better version of Lia.  

            Allowing himself to envision a moment of calm and joy with Lia once they reached her apartment, he pressed his lips to her hair.

            It wasn’t a kiss. It was just a touch, the gentle, soft pressure of his lips against her hair, and the relief that always washed over him when he touched her; the reassurance that she was there beside him, and that she was okay. Or at least, that she would be.

Most of her plants had died.

            During her absence, Lia’s flowers had wilted. Maybe because they’d been neglected in the weeks she was away, or perhaps because they had sensed Lia drifting away, and the same sadness that now filled Noah had also filled Lia’s plants. They didn’t want to live without her, just as Noah couldn’t bear to live without his best friend, without the girl he loved. The only difference was that no one could save them now. Noah had appeared on time to save his Lia, but Lia was too late to save her plants.

            Tears burst forth the moment Noah and Lia stepped into her living room, her only bag dropping to the floor.

            In an instant, Noah was holding her, cradling her head against his chest as he shushed her, desperate to comfort her despite the circumstances.

            But it didn’t matter that they were finally home, that they were finally alone, away from the noise, away from the people, away from the triggers. There was no way they could stay away from the pain. They carried it within.

            Noah had thought it a good idea to get an Uber from the airport to her apartment. Matt had come to pick them all up, but Noah considered that driving home and having to get Lia through the inevitable hassle of reaching the house and dealing with well-meaning men hovering around wouldn’t aid her condition. So, Noah arranged the ride, finally bringing Lia back to her flat.

            Her crying, however, wasn’t solely for her dead plants and the fallen, dried leaves strewn about. Her tears also fell for the empty alcohol bottles and pill blisters littering the space, remnants of the past days, of her life, of every internal wound bleeding, of the person she once was—the same person that had taken Noah to the edge.

            “Hey,” Noah whispered, reaching for her face. She buried her face in his hoodie, muffling her sobs. “Hey,” he urged, tilting her chin to meet his eyes. “We’re home. We’re finally home.” Her lip trembled. She looked so small and vulnerable. She wanted to say something, but her voice failed her. Noah continued, “we’re home and we’re going to be okay, all right?”

            She wanted to believe him so desperately, but she didn’t trust herself, and she didn’t want to break his heart anymore. She wanted to take care of it, to take care of himself. But she needed to heal first, and she didn’t know how long that would take.  

            “Why don’t you go take a shower?” Noah suggested, his thumb brushing down her temple. “I’ll clean this up, and when you’re out, I’ll have a movie ready. We can order takeout and spend the rest of the day on the sofa. Sounds good?” He tried to smile, really tried. But his words didn’t seem to have any effect on Lia, so he couldn’t bring himself to cheer up, either.

            Nonetheless, after a moment or two, Lia nodded and let go of the tight grip she’d had on him.

            As she disappeared down the hallway, Noah turned around to face the mess. He wasn’t sure he would be able to deal with it on his own, but he had no other choice.

            He moved their suitcases to Lia’s room while the shower ran in the apartment’s only bathroom. Shedding his hoodie, Noah efficiently gathered all the glass bottles, empty cans, and plastic blisters. He planned to handle the recycling tomorrow, for now stowing everything discreetly in bags where Lia wouldn’t see.

            In just fifteen minutes, he completed the task—sweeping the floor and collecting scattered dry leaves. Apart from this, Lia’s apartment remained exactly as he remembered: not minimalist, but tidy and organized. It was a space he had always adored.

            Memories flooded back of the day they had visited this same apartment together. Lia had brimmed with excitement about having her own place. Despite Noah’s sadness at the fact that his best friend wouldn’t live with him anymore, he had shared in her joy. Lia was blossoming into the independent, strong woman she was meant to be, and Noah cherished every moment.

            Succumbing to a wave of sorrow, Noah sank onto the sofa, elbows on knees, hands covering his mouth. His eyes scanned the room, eventually resting on a frame hanging in the hallway. It contained a drawing they had created as children, during one of those endless summer days spent together in his grandparents’ house. In the picture, Lia had depicted Noah with long stick legs and a wide grin, while Noah had drawn Lia as a diminutive figure with a flower crown on her head. It seemed they had both unknowingly known the tall man he would become, and the thought stirred a yearning within him, making him wonder about all the small details that had escaped them while they grew up, every single thing that Grandma knew about them and that they had laughed off.  He would make sure to ask her once he was in Japan. He wanted answers. He needed them.

            For now, he would remain in Lia’s apartment, enveloping himself in the familiar embrace of her walls and taking comfort in artifacts that not only chronicled her life, but the one they had built together; the life they had built together as kids and then as young adults; a life they’d been building since they were mere six and seven-year-olds, two kids oblivious to the obstacles ahead,  of every moment of ecstasy and misery, of love and pain.  

            The sound of running water ceased. Noah’s eyes were fixated on the hallway leading to Lia’s room. There was a churned mix of frustration, temptation, and longing inside of him. He wanted to get up and rush to her, drag her out of the shower, press her against a wall, and kiss her until the fervor might somehow mend the wounds within her.

            But he couldn’t.

            Minutes stretched agonizingly, the bouncing of his right left joining the ticking of the clock on the wall.

            When Lia appeared a while later, she halted in her tracks upon seeing Noah on the sofa, looking as if he was going to be sick, eyes rimmed red, watery, and a pulse throbbing visibly on his neck.  

            She swallowed hard.

            “Noah?” She asked softly, tentatively.  

            His eyes had been fixated on her since she stepped into the living room, the sweet scent of vanilla trailing in her wake. She wore cotton shorts and a plain t-shirt, her damp hair cascading over her chest. She looked thinner than he remembered, and perhaps it was that realization which struck him hard, pushing him to the brink as he began to shake his head.

            “Don’t ever do this to me again,” he said, voice quivering, barely audible, cracking, breaking. “I beg you. Don’t this to me again, Lia. Ever again. Please. Please, I beg you.”

            And just like that, the tears and sobs surged fort, uncontrollably.

            The intensity that his own words overwhelmed him. He buried his face in his hands, unable to contain the anguish, every cry and sob echoing through him as his chest heaved.  

            Only nine feet away, Lia turned pale, frozen momentarily, processing the image of Noah breaking down in front of her like never before. Then, she hurried to him. She knelt between his legs, her hands prying his from his face as tears streamed down her own cheeks, as she asked for forgiveness, for mercy. She pressed her face against his lap, clutching his torso tightly as Noah leaned into her, holding her close in any way he could. Their cries mingled together, filling the apartment with their shared pain, the only sound that mattered in that moment.

— prev. chapter | chapter two

I cannot express my gratitude at each of you that has been patient with me and with lia and noah's story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you didn't cry too much (I did every single time I reread it to revise). We're back to regular updates, be it every week or every couple of weeks, but I promise to deliver the rest of this story during the coming months x

[suraemoon]

I don't know if your taking request but your fics are amazing, and i just wanna cry reading each one -> there so beautiful. I was wondering if I could request a john egan x reader, where the reader is upset one day, and john finds her crying, and the whole thing is just fluffy and adorable. Thank youu!!!!🩷🩷🩷🩷

Baby Blues

John Egan x Reader

💙: It is John Egan’s birthday but that doesn’t stop him from dedicating the time to help his wife love herself again. For she’s the greatest gift he’ll ever have.

🌌 Warnings: Postpartum Depression, Body Dysmorphic Behavior, Self-Criticism, Body Insecurity, Talks about not eating, Anxiety

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You didn’t even bother to open the curtains this morning but pesky light still managed to slip through soft fabric and fill the cold bedroom despite all of your best efforts. A sun filled-life felt like an overcast of dark clouds that a wind of self consciousness called your way.

On a typical day, it was customary for a housewife to open the windows and air out the room after a long night. You learned that from the “The Housewife Guide” book your Aunt Nellie gifted you at your bridal shower. That same book is now well loved, repeatedly red, and sat on the shelf above your dresser. The aproned and pin curled housewife is taking dinner out of the oven with one hand while holding a baby in the other.

Maybe she was Rosie the Riveter’s long lost cousin.

The mother of domesticity.

Here to remind young women that war was indeed over and the role of a strong woman was no longer needed once the boys were home.

The factories might’ve laid them off but the marital bed will always welcome them back home with open doors and soft, feathery pillows.

The to-do book had a step by step morning routine and airing out the rooms of the house was written first on the list of tasks. While you’re at it, maybe wave at your next door neighbor who was doing the same exact thing. Some days you two had matching colored aprons and sleepy babies clutching to the fabric of your dresses prompting a sweet laugh that only a woman would understand.

But today, the less people who saw you, the better. The idea of fresh air did not sound the least bit freeing but suffocating instead. It will remind you of the tightness in your lungs as you suck in your stomach. New air is right there, but no you cannot have it. You won’t allow yourself to let it in.

September 8th.

It is none other than your husband’s birthday.

Reflecting on this year of his life, there was one extra special thing that this trip around the sun entailed for the pair of you. This was also the year that you and Bucky became parents. He had been by your side through it all; showering you and your newborn baby girl with everlasting love, ample care, and unfading attention that never lost it’s sense of vitality. These heartfelt behaviors came so easily to Bucky for his soul was a complex haven holding unfaltering flame. All of these factors only added to the heavy pressure of making today perfect for a man who has made your life better in countless ways.

Ever since you gave birth to your daughter, there had been an underlying sadness, an incomprehensible emotion that served a constant source of guilt and confusion for you. Your little girl was the best thing that ever happened to you, how could you feel raindrops when the sun was shining brighter than it ever had before?

Spontaneously feeling the urge to sob during her nap time

Crippling anxiety when the pressures of being a new mom in the midst of baby boom starts to catch up and suffocate you

Total neglect of your personal needs in fear of feeling vain

Every family member gravitating towards your baby without even having the decency of offering you a simple hello.

You simply were not yourself.

Earlier in the week, you had planned a birthday lunch for Bucky at the local diner. Your mama was coming over to take care of the baby, you and your husband would be alone all day, everything was supposed to be perfect. But standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, wearing the new dress that was supposed to make you resemble an absolute dream was shaping up to be your absolute nightmare. It seems that your eyes have a lens of self-criticism that made everything worse.

It is a blue wrap around dress with a white floral design, a style that had grown very popular in the war due to the convenience of not requiring a lot of material to make. You had gotten this dress over a year ago and it simply did not look the same on your body as when you first tried it on.

Tears start to run down your cheeks upon looking at yourself in the mirror and taking in the reflection that you’re met with. The shape of your body simply isn’t what it used to be pre-pregnancy. This is something that you have noticed before and have tried to suppress, but it being Bucky’s birthday brought out every fear and insecurity about your body.

The pouch in your lower stomach area made you want to give up eating for a week. Sucking it in worked for a little while but was an impossible to uphold.

Is this cut shorter than the other dresses? Since when were your thighs so plushy? The sensation of your thighs touching gave you some sort of horrible reaction like you were allergic to your own skin.

Immediately, you start taking it off. The only thing that kept you from ripping the dress into pieces was the material perceiving instincts that you had developed during the war. When the dress drops to the floor, the lens of insecurity do not leave with it.

You’re met with the unforgiving reflection of your lingerie. A satin white one piece set, the same one you wore for your wedding night. You chose it for today to bring back sexy, sentimental memories from the first moon you and Bucky spent as husband and wife. When it was slipped on earlier it did not evoke any strong negative emotions, you actually loved the way it differed from the nearly tired Aprons and pastel peter pan colored dresses you usually wore. But now, staring and picking apart every little detail of your body, you can’t help but hate the way it looks. When you slipped it on last year on the morning of your nuptials, you were in the best shape you’d ever been in. Your bridesmaids recommended a pre-wedding diet that went beautifully and you had received a home workout book from your mother. But fast forward to today: it was too tight in some places, milk filled breasts spilled out of the cups, your arms have more fat on them than they did before.

Believe it or not, it was the lingerie that broke you. A piece of delicate fabric made to repsrent femininity and confidence, wearing you down until you were a ball of tears on your bedroom floor. You precede to slide your body backwards until your back could feel the wall and the coldness of the hardwood began to irritate the back of your thighs. The nearest shoe becomes a weapon as you hurl it at the unforgiving glass, flinching at the loud bang it made on impact, like the mirror was your body and your heaving figure was the destructive mindset trying to abuse it.

Suddenly, there is a knock on the door and immediately you knew who it is. It is a warm knock. One full of certainty. Followed by a sing-song whistle.

“Honey?”

Oh no. He had left you in here to change and time had flown by quicker than you realized. He can’t see you crying, it’ll ruin the happy mood. He also can’t see you in the lingerie, your figure has never looked worse.

Your head drops on top of your knees as you wrap your arms around your legs. As if wanting to hide. As if scared of a man who has never once put an ounce of fear into your mind.

“Yes?” Your voices comes out more fragile and broken then you intend, making your whole body shiver in cringe.

“Are you okay in there? You said you wanted to get going by noon. Just making sure you’re still alive.” His knuckles make smaller knocks on the door, as if imitating a song.

“Um…” Your eyes begin to dart to the clothes hanging out of the wardrobe, the shoe sitting ashamedly next to the mirror, your dress still sitting in apollo of itself on the floor. “I need a few more minutes.”

“Alright, baby. Take your time. There’s no rush.” You can hear the pressure of his 6’2 body leaning against the door.

A few minutes pass by like a strike of lightning and you can’t stop the tears from rushing down your face.

Go fix your drawers and find another dress.

It’s not a big deal.

But you can’t. Your body is too weak to stand up.

Reality crashes down when the doorknob is heard twisting, the door is open but only open a centimeter. “Honey…I’m coming in.” He says that but he still waits.

“Bucky, two more minutes.. please.”

“I hear you crying in there. You don’t have to be alone. Let me help you.”

“Bucky-”

“Please. There's nothing else I wanna do but be there for you. Hearing you cry behind the door is torture. I can’t stand here and listen anymore.”

“Alright…”

The tall, commanding figure that is your husband enters the room gently and lightly as if everything is made of porcelain and he’s scared of his footsteps being too harsh or accidentally bumping into something that’d make everything go south.

In the center of the room, he sees the most fragile thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. It’s you, hands around your knees on the floor, sobbing in a set of lingerie. It was the oddest oxymoron.

“Baby…What happened? Is something wrong?”

There is a desperate but futile attempt to catch a tear threatening to run down your cheek. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m ruining your birthday. Making it all about me.”

“No you aren’t. Don’t say that. I just wanna make sure you’re alright is all.” Bucky makes sure that his steps are light as he walks across the room, he can sense obstacles but cannot see them. His biggest fear is making things even worse. Bucky’s heart yearned to be useful and he knew that. You both knew that.

His blue eyes would have took in the mess of a bedroom, one that resembled a retail store during the holidays, but instead fixated on only you.

His wife. The one who was always full of life, exuding kindness. The one made sure the whole house did not go to ruin with her careful routines. The one who ran her fingers through his hair when the nightmares became too much. She was a puddle of emotion on the floor and he was desperate to help her.

He sits down next to you. Your bodies are close but in fear of overwhelming you–in fear of breaking you–the only physical contact is his firm hand rubbing your back in a circular motion.

“Nothin’ looks good on me. I’m ugly, Bucky. I gave birth and nothing’s been the same. My midsection still looks pregnant. My skin breaks out. I ain’t got no waist. My arms are fat. It’s.,.it’s a disaster. A shitty disaster. It’s shitty. It’s…fuck!” Something about cursing felt so liberating in that moment. It’s a common habit you usually did not allow yourself to partake in. It was something that was a cause of many timeouts in your household growing up. But life did not want to cooperate to its own rules, so why should you?

He reprimands you, not for using the word shitty, not even for using the word fuck, but for using the word ugly. “I don’t want to hear that U-word coming out of your mouth again when talking about yourself. You ain’t ugly. There’s nothing ugly about you.”

There’s a whine of desperation to get a glimmer of understanding in his brain, “I don’t look like the girl you married. I feel like a total wreck.”

Bucky proceeds to take your left hand in his, running his fingers soothingly over your knuckles. When met with a wedding ring, disrupting the procession of soft skin, he stares at the gold fondly while processing your words. “And what did the girl I married look like? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’m looking at her right now. I see her every day, I make love to her at night, I can’t help but smile like an idiot when I see her wearing the ring I gave her…It’s you, baby.”

“You know what I mean! I don’t even recognize myself. I was never insecure, Bucky. This isn’t me. I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize my own reflection. I’ve never felt so awful.”

Bucky sighs and then licks his plush lips before meeting your eyes again. “I wish you could see what I see. It’s the opposite of what you’re saying. You aren’t ugly or a wreck or whatever mean word you wanna say about yourself. God, you’re gorgeous. You’re stunning even when you’re crying your little eyes out.”

He is met with only a sigh and then one of the deepest hugs he’s ever experienced. It’s as if you were holding on to him for dear life. As if the world was a vast ocean and you were so afraid of losing yourself that you clung onto the only buoy that could bring you back to shore. Then there is a few minutes of silence, taking the time to hold one another. The only sounds are your little sniffles and Bucky’s warm breathing.

After the hug shifts from intensity to pure comfort, Bucky kisses the top of your head as you lean your head on his shoulder, your wet cheek dampening his shirt.

Your small voices breaks the silence as you whisper to him defeatedly, “I got a new dress..was sposed’ to wear it for your birthday.”

He raises an eyebrow not only from your words coming unexpectedly but also his natural sense of curiosity, “And what’s stopping ya?”

“It don’t look good.”

“Bullshit.”

“It doesn’t, Bucky! I think I’d know.”

“Go put it on and let’s see. I’ll be the judge and you be the model. Sounds like a good arrangement.” He gestures around the room to random articles of clothes misplaced everywhere, assuming that the dress in question is among the crowd.

“No, I gotta pick something else. I was trying to but everything I own is maternity clothes. I could probably pass for pregnant.” You laugh dryly but can immediately recognize that Bucky did not find it the least bit funny.

He sighs and you sit there for a while, when he speaks up it's in a low grumble, “Are you done being mean to yourself?”

“What?”

He sighs at your failure to comprehend his point but tries again, “I said, are you done being mean to yourself? Then we can get started on finding a solution, honey. There’s always a solution.”

“I already tried a diet.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He sits through for a moment in deep thought, you think about smoothing the crease between his eyebrows but you know your hand would be too shaky. He gets up from his spot next to you and starts to walk towards the mirror.

“Where are you going?”

He does a quick pose in the mirror in attempt to make you laugh and then waves you over with a chuckle, “C'mere baby. Wanna show you something. The mirror ain’t gonna bite.”

You scoot towards the front of the mirror and upon the realization that you would not be getting up onto your feet, Bucky sits down next to you.

Seeing your reflection in the mirror brings you back to reality for a moment. All of that sobbing without the realization of what the man comforting you might be seeing. A blush tinted your tear stained cheeks as you try to wipe away ruined mascara.

When you manage to get a considerable amount of black makeup from beneath your under eye, you look right at Bucky. His facial expression is nothing short of gorgeous as he stares into the mirror wistfully, lost in thought and admiration. But he isn’t looking at himself, when you follow his line of sight, he is looking right at you. “Can I tell you what I see for a second?”

“If you want to.”

He takes a deep breath, “God I’m bad at words but I’ll try. First of all, you’ve got the most stunning pair of eyes that I’ve ever looked into. Truthfully. Your eye contact could make a man swoon. I know from experience that it does. I remember when I first met you, I couldn’t tell my left from my right. I even forgot my own goddamn name for Christ’s sake. They’ve got so much warmth and sparkle. The way they light up when you're excited. Or the way you squint when I make ya laugh.”

Your cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink and you cannot help but smile at this sudden confession, immediately getting the urge to show your gratitude. “Bucky, I-”

“You’ve got the softest hair too. How do you get it so soft? They’ve gotta give you your own hair products or somethin’ so your pretty face can be on the covers of those magazines.”

“Bucky, it’s your birthday. I should be the one saying nice things about you, not the other way around.”

“Shhh.. I’m on a roll and you’re gonna mess me up. If I start stuttering, it’s your fault. You get me flustered. One flutter of those lashes and my train of thought falls off a cliff.”

“I’m the one that’s flustered. You’re so sweet and your words are so kind but…you really don’t have to compliment me just because I was crying.”

He kisses your cheek and whispers his words against your soft skin. “I’m not saying these things because you are crying, I’m saying them because I love you. I absolutely adore you and everything about you. There’s not a conceited bone in your body but, Jesus Christ, you deserve to feel good about yourself.”

“I don’t know what to say except that I’ll let you continue. I’m not gonna cut you off.”

“You don’t gotta say anything. Just listen, baby. Now let’s see…” Bucky’s hand starts to trial down your thigh, his lightly calloused palm being the perfect contrast from your smooth skin. “Your legs give every starlet on Sunset Boulevard a run for their money. So perfect and smooth. If I could spend every second of the day kissin’ em, I would. Hopefully, that’s in the cards for tonight. That’d make today an even better birthday in my humble opinion.”

You couldn’t help but comment despite your prior statement. “But my thighs-”

“-are absolutely incredible. You think I’m mad because you’ve got a little more thigh? The more, the merrier. Your thighs are absolutely delicious.”

His eyes trail down to your chest, taking it all in. “Is it too crude to talk about breasts in a motivational speech?”

You giggle in response to the question, “It might be.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, his eyes thoroughly entranced with the shape of your body as if mentally undressing you. “Oh well, I don’t care You’ve got the most perfect set of knockers to ever grace the earth. I know it’s impolite to stare but you’re my wife now, so I can admit that I proudly stare. I stare like an idiot to be exact.”

“You’re the only one I want staring at ‘em so that’s good. They’re all yours.” You can’t help but chuckle since your chest has always been something that keeps Bucky enthralled. He most definitely stared proudly and unapologetically even before the wedding ring got placed on your finger.

“If you thought breasts were too dirty for conversation, I’ll refrain from talking about pussy. Fits me like a fuckin’ glove. You’ve got the tightest, most satiny and gorgeous-You know what? We can save that for later on before I get distracted.”

“You’re too much.”

Bucky smiles not only at that response but also at the sound of your gentle laughter, “Wanna know what my favorite part of you is?”

“What?”

“Your heart, baby. I married the sweetest woman. I married the strongest woman. I married a girl that I want to spend the rest of my life with because she makes me feel like the luckiest man in the world. I’m walkin’ on clouds whenever you’re around. You bring the best out of me. You always know what to say. I’ll admit that sometimes I can be hard headed but you are always there. And I’d happily scream to the heavens that you’re mine. You ain’t anyone else’s but mine. Forever.”

You smile widely and take a deep breath. The reassurance and certainty of his words were exactly what you needed. Maybe you weren’t completely happy with yourself but the fact that you will have Bucky by your side through all of the tribulation, made a feeling of warmth and security spread throughout your body. It made you feel strong and fortified. “And I married the kindest, sweetest, most lovable man. Thank you, Bucky..for all of this. You really didn’t have to take time away from your birthday to lift me up like this , but you did it anyway. Now let’s spend the rest of the day celebrating you because that is what you deserve.”

“Then let’s go put that dress on, baby.” His voice is pure cuteness and it makes you swoon.

“Let’s put it on.” You smile and for the first time this morning, there’s a sense of hope and confidence in your delicate voice. Both of you stand up at the same time and Bucky runs a hand down the side of your satin lingerie, feeling the shape of your body. “Bucky, you aren’t even supposed to see this lingerie yet. I’m ruining the surprise.”

“This is what I have to look forward to later? All of this for me? Seeing it a little early doesn’t ruin anything for me.”

You reply, “But does not seeing me cry in it make it less sexy?”

“Not at all. Because when I take it off of you later, there’s gonna be nothing sad about it.” He shrugs with a smirk on his face, very confident in his statement. The two of you exchange a shared look of anticipation. Your mind wanders to the scene in question: coming home after the sun comes down after a day of festivities and having your husband on his knees, desperate to undress you. Eager to unwrap you like a birthday present and indulge in what’s his.

You’re taken out of these fantasies abruptly by a subconscious shake to the head: a habit of yours developed to help get back on task whenever you get whisked away by daydreams. You gesture at the blue dress still in its abandoned spot on the wood floor, “This is it.”

“Oh, it was right here the whole time? Let me help you, baby.”

Once you step into the dress, Bucky pulls it up your body as if dressing a doll. After putting your arms through the correct holes, you know that this is the final moment before it would be zipped up, becoming a showcase of your true figure. Unaware of your hesitation, Bucky takes the zipper and gently pulls it up, careful to not nip any of your skin. He then takes a step back to admire you and take in the beauty of the woman standing in front of him.

“You look absolutely stunning. God, you’re unreal. Do a spin for me?”

You do a quick spin and end with your arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. His lips are as soft as clouds but his desire for you is absolutely ravenous. You two move in a perfect rhythm with each other, going in for more and more as time goes on.

After a few minutes of kissing he pulls away and whispers in a raspy voice, “You had nothing to be worried about. I’m already thinking about taking it off of you but I’ll try to control myself.”

You smile at him, wiping some pink lipstick off of his lips with your finger. “C'mon we’ve still got a whole birthday to celebrate.”

“As long as I get to spend it with you, I’m the happiest birthday boy.”

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I hope you enjoyed. This was my first time doing a full length MOTA fic and it’s been a while since I’ve written something so it definitely took me out of my comfort zone. 💙

[swanimagines]

BOUND IN DARKNESS | NIKOLAI LANTSOV

Summary: You and Nikolai see nightmares about the Darkling every night - making your duties as the King and Queen of Ravka hard. But you both know you have to push through.

Darkling was dead, yet the damage he had left remained.

Just one night of peaceful sleep was unreachable, and hoping for it was futile. You and Nikolai both woke up at some point every night to the image of the Darkling plaguing your dreams. You held each other then, shaking slightly, trying to rest just little longer so your tiredness wouldn’t show as much. Genya helped you hide your eyebags, before you dressed up and were going in front of people once again, putting on your brave face and trying to act like nothing was happening, you weren’t damaged. You needed to show that Ravka was strong, that their King and Queen would thrive and show them how to be strong again. Ravka could and would be rebuilt. Your people would be able to recover, and the Kingdom would become whole again.

The court alkemi had made you a potion that basically prevented your brains from total exhaustion, as it would have been dangerous on the long run - usually this severe nightmares were treated by resting and taking it easy, but you didn’t have that option if you didn’t want to look like weak rulers. Vulnerability was also an important part to show if you wanted your people to feel closer to you, but time for that wasn’t now. So the vials were vital for your survival during this time, and you rewarded the alkemi handsomely for making the potion for you. But he, too, reminded you that it isn’t a miracle potion you could consume for very long. Its side effects would begin coming after a week, and after that they’d become more and more severe with every vial you’d consume and eventually those could end up killing you.

So you had to avoid using those too - gulping them down only if you felt like you wouldn’t get through the day without it. It didn’t mean days without it were easy though. One of those moments were now, you and Nikolai having a meeting with your advisors. The chair you sat on started feeling impossibly comfy, the words your advisors spoke to you blended together, they echoed in the room as you slowly felt your body falling asleep.

“Moya tsaritsa, are you alright?” your advisor asked, snapping you out from your stupor and you cleared your throat, nodding and blinking rapidly.

“Yes, I just need some water,” you croaked out, feeling Nikolai’s hand grasp yours and you squeezed it back. Your maid came over in a few moments, handing you a glass of water and you smiled at her softly before taking a sip from your glass.

The water brought a welcomed burst of energy as it made its way down your throat, and you put the glass down, nodding for the advisor to continue. You knew you had a duty at hand, and it couldn’t wait - you had to push through whatever it needed.

Nikolai squeezed your hand lightly again and you shared a brief look, and you could see weariness plaguing him too. But he was better in hiding it. At that moment, you wished you had been raised as a royal, they had training even on how to stay composed and remain alert even when exhausted like this - probably because during wars, rest wasn’t an option.

You tried your best to follow the example of your husband, listening to the proposals and checking through documents, occasionally interjecting the discussions with questions, but it wasn’t long before their voices began to blend into a constant hum again, and you couldn’t really hear what they said. You just saw their lips moving and hands gesturing, but you no longer heard what they said.

Nikolai seemingly sensed your struggle and nudged your leg with his own under the table, an unspoken reminder to remain alert. You straightened your posture again, and the advisor paused again for a moment, but then continued as you were following along again. You used all your willpower to stay alert and reminded yourself that this was the only way so you would get to rest sooner today - how you would get to rest for days. Once this was over, you wouldn’t have to sit here listening to plans and trying to act like everything was okay.

When the sun started to set and the advisors finally left to their own quarters, you were letting out a sigh of relief, knowing that now you would be able to rest - even if it meant you would see your loved ones being cut in half again. You had to try to rest. Seeing nightmares and crying in Nikolai’s arms was better than sleeping while you were expected to listen.

You stood up, with Nikolai supporting you by the waist and you walked to your bed chambers together and immediately after you had taken off your jewelry, you were falling onto the bed together, wishing to be able to take even a nap before dinner without nightmares. Nikolai spooned you, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist while his other hand grasped your hand above your head on the pillow.

As children, you both had heard the story that sleeping while touching a friend or a loved one guarantees no nightmares. It hadn’t worked til now, and you knew it wouldn’t work this time either - but it was still more comforting to wake up and notice you’re safe, with Nikolai holding you - and for him, to see you alive and breathing in his arms.

It wasn’t a situation you wanted to find yourself from when you married Nikolai while he was still Sturmhond, but the sense of duty this situation had forged into you was something you knew you should follow. For the people of Ravka, if not else. They needed to see they were safe now - they had a strong King, a strong Queen, ones who cared for them.

So you night after night, you had to try to rest. To wake up, hold each other, listen to each other, comfort each other, try to fall asleep again. Something good in the middle of this darkness, you needed to remind yourselves what was worth fighting for. Darkling was dead, for good this time. His shadow monsters weren’t attacking people anymore, things were better than in ages. Uniting Ravka was a task not any ruler would be able to accomplish, but you knew that with Nikolai, you would do it. 

You let your eyes droop closed, keeping this in mind, telling yourself that some dead shadow man wasn’t going to drag you two down. You would beat this. Together.

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[earthlybeam]

Just some random headcanons i think that fit lindir (my opinion)

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Lindir Version below.

🪻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

What’s their love language? Lindir’s primary love language is acts of service, and it’s where he truly shines. His love isn’t loud or flamboyant; instead, it’s deeply ingrained in the everyday, thoughtful actions he takes to make life easier for his significant other. He’s the type to notice the smallest details that others might overlook—like the unfinished book left on your nightstand, and without a word, he’ll quietly mark your place with a small bookmark. He might notice that your favorite tea is running low and make sure it’s replenished before you even have to ask. His love language is all about providing care and comfort in the most subtle ways. He’ll keep your space tidy, make sure you’re well-rested, or take the time to prepare your favorite meal when you’re feeling down. If there’s a piece of clothing you’ve been wearing out of necessity, he’ll quietly repair it, making sure it’s as good as new, without making a fuss. These thoughtful acts aren’t a grand declaration, but they speak volumes about his deep affection.

However, Lindir is also highly affected by words of affirmation. Though he may not always express it openly, he’s someone who craves acknowledgment, especially when it comes from his significant other. He often second-guesses his own worth, so when you take the time to compliment him—whether it’s about his appearance, his talents, or even the little things he does—it fills him with a quiet, glowing joy. A simple “thank you” for something he’s done, or a heartfelt acknowledgment of how much he means to you, will have him blushing and glowing with a quiet, contented pride. These words, even if soft and simple, are a balm to his sometimes uncertain heart, making him feel seen and appreciated in ways that nothing else can. In this way, his love language balances the quiet actions of service with the occasional, deeply cherished reassurance of affirmation.

How do they view their significant other? Lindir views his significant other as the anchor that grounds him in a world of swirling thoughts and ever-shifting emotions. They are the steady, calming force in his life, the quiet melody that helps steady his chaotic, often overactive mind. In the midst of his constant internal chatter and overthinking, his partner is the gentle reminder to pause, breathe, and take a moment to simply be. They are not just a source of comfort, but also a safe haven, offering a sense of peace that he doesn’t often find elsewhere. To Lindir, they’re more than just a lover—they’re a confidant, someone who understands his inner world and offers solace without judgment. He finds his partner endlessly fascinating, drawn to the way they bring light to even his darkest days. Their presence alone is enough to brighten his world, and he admires their ability to shine effortlessly, offering warmth and joy when he feels most lost. His significant other becomes the lens through which he sees the beauty in the ordinary, and their love inspires him in ways he never thought possible. To Lindir, they are his muse, the one who sparks creativity in his music and brings meaning to the sometimes monotonous rhythm of his daily life. In his eyes, they embody balance—his calm in the storm, and a reminder that he doesn’t always have to strive for perfection. They bring a sense of stability and grounding that he sorely needs, and in their presence, he learns to embrace imperfection. He often marvels at their ability to simply be, without the need for constant striving or achieving, and this eases some of the pressure he often places on himself. To Lindir, they are not just someone to love—they are a vital part of his world, a source of inspiration and the peace he never knew he needed.

How do they act when falling out of love? Falling out of love is a deeply painful and confusing process for Lindir, one he struggles to face and doesn’t handle easily. He tends to deny it for as long as possible, clinging to the hope that the relationship can be salvaged if he just tries harder. His first instinct is to convince himself that the issue lies with him—that if he just works harder, is more attentive, or proves himself more worthy, things will return to how they once were. During this time, he overcompensates in small, but noticeable ways—doing more acts of service than usual, over-apologizing for minor things, offering affection even when it feels mechanical and forced. He’s trying to make up for something that he can’t quite identify or admit, desperate to fix things before the truth becomes undeniable. The idea of admitting that things aren’t working terrifies him, and he would rather push through the discomfort, silently hoping things will improve.

When he can no longer avoid the truth and the reality of his emotions settles in, Lindir begins to pull away. His behavior grows more distant, quieter, and his actions become hesitant and uncertain. The warmth and care he once poured into the relationship start to fade, replaced by a quiet, heavy guilt that weighs on him. He begins to withdraw, unsure of how to navigate the growing chasm between him and his partner, but unable to continue pretending everything is fine. He would still care deeply, but the emotional strain becomes overwhelming, and he struggles to find his place in a relationship that no longer feels right. Even if the relationship eventually ends, Lindir carries the memories of his partner with a quiet tenderness. The love he once felt doesn’t easily fade, and even though the relationship has ended, the echo of it lingers in his heart. He would still wish his partner happiness, hoping they find the peace and fulfillment that he couldn’t provide. However, he would also carry a bittersweet sadness with him, the ghost of what once was, and the weight of the love he can no longer give. The memories would haunt him, tenderly and quietly, as he tries to move on, but never forget the person who once meant everything to him.

Will they do anything for their s/o? Lindir is profoundly selfless when it comes to his significant other, willing to go to great lengths to ensure their happiness, comfort, and well-being. His love for them is expressed through constant acts of service, whether it’s staying up late to repair something that matters to them or simply ensuring their favorite things are always within reach. He’ll sacrifice his time, energy, and personal comfort without hesitation, sometimes pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, all in the name of making sure they feel loved and valued. He might forgo his own needs, prioritizing their happiness and peace, quietly and without complaint. For Lindir, seeing them content is often enough to sustain him, even if it means he bears the burden of their burdens silently.

That being said, his selflessness isn’t blind, and he is not easily manipulated. If someone tries to sway him with insincere tears, empty promises, or unreasonable demands, he won’t hesitate to set clear boundaries. His kindness is genuine, but it’s also grounded in a strong sense of fairness and respect. He understands that love doesn’t mean sacrificing one’s sense of self, and if his partner asks something of him that conflicts with his values, integrity, or moral compass, he will stand firm, no matter the emotional cost. Lindir’s loyalty and devotion are unwavering, but they are not at the expense of his principles. His ability to say “no” when necessary is something he does with kindness, though he may still feel the sting of disappointment or regret when a compromise is out of reach. In relationships, Lindir seeks balance, not martyrdom. He’ll give freely of himself, but only in a way that respects both his needs and his partner’s, and if a request ever feels unjust or unreasonable, he won’t compromise his sense of what’s right—even for love.

How do they kiss? Lindir's kisses are a reflection of his deep, tender affection-gentle, yet imbued with a quiet intensity. At first, his lips meet yours with a tentative softness, as if he's seeking permission, testing the waters. His kisses are light, almost like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, careful and respectful of your boundaries. Each touch feels like a delicate note in a symphony, slow and intentional. He's attuned to every shift in your response, letting his movements mirror your comfort, as though he's waiting for you to invite him deeper into the connection. As his confidence grows, his kisses become a little bolder, yet still full of reverence. His lips linger with more certainty, pressing gently but firmly against yours, as if to convey everything he feels in that moment-admiration, affection, and a quiet devotion. He holds you close, one hand always finding yours and pressing it gently to his chest, allowing you to feel the steady beat of his heart as though it's in sync with yours. His other hand might rest lightly at the small of your back, subtly pulling you closer as he kisses you, creating a cocoon of intimacy and warmth around you both. Lindir has a way of making each kiss feel like it's just the two of you in the world. He often seeks out quiet corners or hidden spaces where you can be alone together, away from the noise of the outside world. As you grow more familiar with his touch, you can feel his growing confidence-his kisses, once shy and hesitant, now communicate everything he's unable to say with words. Each kiss is an unspoken promise, a quiet testament to his love and devotion, pouring his heart into each lingering connection.

What’s their favorite part of their s/o? Lindir is deeply enchanted by his significant other’s hands. Whether they are strong and calloused from hard work or soft and delicate from gentleness, he finds them endlessly fascinating and beautiful. He loves the way they move—each gesture carrying a language of its own, whether they are crafting something with care, offering comfort to those in need, or simply resting beside him in quiet peace. There is a grace to the way they operate, a quiet strength he admires with every glance. For Lindir, holding your hand is a sacred moment, one of his favorite things to do. The warmth and closeness it brings make him feel grounded, as though everything in the world aligns when your hands are entwined. He often traces delicate, absentminded patterns along your skin with his fingertips, as if mapping the rhythm of your soul in each touch. Your hands symbolize everything Lindir admires about you. They represent your strength and resilience, your creativity and capability, as well as the tender way you navigate the world. To him, each touch, each gesture, carries a depth of emotion and meaning. He treasures the way your hands can comfort him on his darkest days, how they show the love and care he feels even in the smallest of actions. To Lindir, your hands are a living testament to who you are—a beautiful blend of power, grace, and tenderness that makes him fall in love with you all over again.

Are they protective? Lindir’s protectiveness is subtle but runs deep, rooted in an unwavering desire to keep his significant other safe and cared for. He isn’t one for grand gestures or loud declarations of loyalty, but his vigilance is constant, quiet, and unwavering. He observes closely, always aware of the smallest shifts in their world—whether it’s the careless remarks from others or potential dangers lurking in the background that they might not yet see. He can sense when something is off, and he’ll quietly adjust his actions or position to shield them from harm without drawing attention to himself. If the need arises, Lindir would place himself in harm’s way without hesitation, but he does so with a calm, measured resolve rather than rushing in with brash bravado. He doesn’t seek glory or recognition for his sacrifices; his priority is always your safety, and he trusts that his quiet presence is enough to protect you. If his significant other is ever hurt, it affects him profoundly. He takes it personally, even if there was nothing he could have done. He will blame himself, quietly chiding himself for not being able to prevent the injury or distress, even when it’s unrealistic or unfounded. His protective nature extends beyond the physical—it includes shielding you emotionally, offering comfort when you need it, and trying to provide a sense of security when the world feels uncertain. To Lindir, protecting you is not a duty but an instinct, a quiet promise he keeps within his heart.

How far will they go to take care of their sick s/o?When you’re sick, Lindir becomes the embodiment of unwavering care and devotion. His natural instinct to nurture takes over completely, and he’ll go to great lengths to ensure you’re as comfortable and cared for as possible. He’ll prepare calming herbal teas, carefully blending the right ingredients to ease your symptoms, and make nourishing broths that are gentle on your stomach but packed with healing properties. The warmth of your blankets will always be just right, perfectly tucked in to keep you cozy, as he watches over you with quiet concern. Lindir’s tenderness knows no bounds. He’ll sit by your side for hours, his presence a constant source of reassurance. If you’re too weak to speak, he’ll softly read to you—his voice a soothing melody, carrying words of poetry or stories that calm your mind. If sleep eludes you, he’ll gently sing to you, the sound of his voice filling the room and slowly lulling you into peaceful rest. Even if you protest or try to dismiss his help, Lindir is persistent but never forceful, gently reminding you that rest is the most important thing for healing. His voice will be soft but insistent, always encouraging you to take it easy and let him care for you.

He’s tireless in his efforts, willing to stay up all night to monitor your condition, checking your fever, bringing you water, or adjusting the blankets whenever needed. Even if you don’t ask, he’ll sense what you need before you do, anticipating your discomfort and doing his best to ease it. When you start feeling better, he’ll be just as watchful, hovering ever so slightly to ensure you don’t overexert yourself. He’ll insist that you continue resting, and will take on any responsibilities you might have, not allowing you to push yourself too quickly back into your routine. To Lindir, your well-being is of the utmost importance, and he would go to any length to make sure you recover fully and are well taken care of, without ever making you feel like a burden. His care is both selfless and gentle, an expression of his deep affection and commitment to you.

How do they cheer their s/o up when they’re down? Lindir’s way of cheering up his partner is deeply thoughtful and always attuned to your individual needs. He’s not one to force a cheer or demand a smile, understanding that some moments of sadness require quiet patience. Instead, he takes note of the small things that make you feel cared for and loved. If you’re feeling low, you might find your favorite treat waiting for you, or a soft, comforting tune drifting from his harp, played just for you. His music is never loud or overwhelming; instead, it’s a soothing melody that wraps around you like a warm blanket, gently lifting your spirits without asking for anything in return. Lindir excels at small, meaningful gestures that speak volumes. You might wake to find a delicate flower resting on your pillow, its fragrance a reminder of his affection. Or, a handwritten note, simply but thoughtfully expressing his love, encouragement, or an inside joke that reminds you of better times. If you’re still feeling down, he’ll never push you to speak before you’re ready, but he may hum a melody you cherish, or softly sing a song that has meaning for both of you. His presence alone is comforting, a quiet anchor that you can always rely on.

When you’re ready to talk, Lindir listens with undivided attention, never judging, only offering gentle words of reassurance. He doesn’t offer solutions unless you ask, instead letting you express yourself fully, creating a safe space for you to share whatever is on your mind. If you don’t feel like talking, he won’t press; he’ll simply stay by your side, offering silent companionship that says, I’m here, and you’re not alone. He understands the power of a comforting presence, and will sit with you in companionable silence, giving you time to collect your thoughts and find your way back to yourself. His efforts are always grounded in patience and a deep, unwavering commitment to your well-being. To Lindir, the most important thing is that you feel understood and supported in your time of need.

How do they react when they find out their s/o is dead? The loss of his significant other would destroy Lindir, plunging him into an overwhelming silence. Grief would consume him so entirely that he would retreat from the world, pulling away from everyone who cares about him. He’d become a shadow of himself, unable or unwilling to speak of the loss. Music, once his source of joy and self-expression, would transform into an unrecognizable expression of sorrow. His melodies would become haunting and mournful, every note filled with the weight of his heartache. His music would carry the echo of his sadness, but it would be so raw and fragile, like he’s trying to communicate all his unspeakable pain through every chord. Lindir would be unable to part with the smallest reminders of his partner. He would keep their belongings as they were, unable to bring himself to touch their things, as though doing so would erase their presence. He would revisit the places that held their shared memories—their favorite spots for walks, their quiet corners, places where they laughed and talked late into the night. Those places would become sacred to him, though they would no longer hold the warmth they once did. In his solitude, he might find comfort in these small rituals, though each visit would deepen the pain.

As time goes on, Lindir may try to keep their memory alive in tangible ways, though it would never be enough to fill the void they left behind. He might plant a tree in their honor, something that could continue to grow, a living testament to their life. Alternatively, he could compose a song in their name, pouring every ounce of love and loss into the notes. These acts would help him channel his grief, but the ache of their absence would never fully fade. Even as the years pass, Lindir would carry the weight of their absence in his heart. Though his life would continue, he would remain forever changed, a part of him always holding on to the love and the deep connection they shared. He would never forget, and the memory of them would be both his greatest comfort and his greatest sorrow.

What makes them worry about their s/o the most?Lindir’s worries for his significant other stem from his deep care for their well-being, and they are often triggered by the smallest signs that they are struggling. He is especially concerned when his partner pushes themselves too hard, whether it’s overworking, neglecting their own needs, or putting others before themselves. He can always tell when they’re running on empty, noticing the subtle signs—tired eyes, tension in their shoulders, or a lack of energy—and he can’t help but feel a gnawing anxiety. He’ll quietly insist that they take time to rest, gently encouraging them to prioritize their health, even if it means stepping away from responsibilities for a while. His nurturing instincts are fierce, and he’d rather sacrifice his own peace than watch them suffer in silence. Beyond that, Lindir’s mind often races with the “what ifs,” particularly when he’s not by their side. He worries about all the dangers beyond his control—unexpected accidents, illnesses, or any threat that could harm them. His overactive mind can spiral, and he’ll spend hours thinking of all the worst-case scenarios, his heart heavy with concern. He tries not to show it, though, not wanting to burden them with his anxieties. Still, when they’re out of his sight, a part of him is always alert, checking the distance between them, hoping they are safe.

How often do they stare lovingly at their s/o? Lindir finds himself staring lovingly at his significant other far more often than he realizes. He’s captivated by the little things that make them who they are—how their eyes light up when they talk about something they’re passionate about, the way their smile seems to brighten the entire room, or the quiet focus they have when immersed in a task. Every small movement feels meaningful to him, and he can’t help but watch in awe. His gaze is often soft, filled with admiration and tenderness, though he tries to remain subtle. He’ll steal glances when he thinks you’re not looking—his eyes following you as you move about the room, taking in the gentle curve of your lips when you concentrate, or the way your hands gesture when you speak. If you ever catch him in the act, he’ll blush deeply, his heart racing with the realization that he’s been caught adoring you. His usual calm and composed nature slips away, and he’ll quickly look away, his cheeks turning a soft pink as he becomes embarrassed by how openly he wears his feelings. But even in these moments, there’s a quiet joy in his heart. He knows he’s found someone truly special, and it shows in the way his eyes always seek out your presence.

How do they impress their s/o? Lindir impresses his partner through his deep, quiet thoughtfulness and his subtle yet profound talents. He doesn’t believe in grand, ostentatious gestures—he prefers to express his love in ways that reflect his genuine feelings and attention to detail. One of his favorite ways to impress his partner is through music, crafting a piece specifically for them. Each note he writes is imbued with his emotions, the melody flowing with the affection and admiration he has for them. He may even perform it for them in a quiet, intimate moment, his eyes watching their reaction with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability.

In addition to music, Lindir may create something small but deeply meaningful—like a handcrafted trinket, a scarf woven with care, or a carefully written letter that captures his thoughts and love for them. He’s attuned to their preferences, noticing the little things they might not even realize they need. His acts of service are never random; they are always carefully planned and designed to bring comfort or joy in exactly the way his partner will appreciate. He might fix a broken heirloom, restore a cherished book, or organize their space in a way that feels like a gentle gesture of care. Despite his humble nature, Lindir always hopes his partner will notice the time and energy he puts into these actions. For him, it’s not about recognition but about showing how deeply he cherishes them through the little things he does. His love is expressed through quiet gestures, hoping that in these small but meaningful moments, they can see how much they truly mean to him.

Extra bonus (these parts just for fun, love writing them 😈🙈)

♫ Resting-Scared Face as Lindir’s resting expression always seems fraught with worry, like someone just told him the library might flood or a shipment of rare herbs has gone missing. He isn’t actually scared, but his overactive imagination runs through disaster scenarios at lightning speed. He’s tried practicing a more serene look in the mirror, but as soon as his mind drifts back to his endless responsibilities, the concerned face returns. Visitors to Rivendell sometimes ask, “Is everything alright?” to which Lindir always replies with a polite but hurried, “Of course!” (even if it isn’t).

♫ Easily Spooked For someone who spends so much time worrying, Lindir is surprisingly easy to scare. A sudden noise or an unexpected tap on the shoulder will make him jump and let out an embarrassing yelp. Once, someone dropped a book behind him, and he was so startled that he tripped over his own feet and landed in a pile of scrolls.

♫ A Terrible Liar Despite his quick wit, Lindir cannot lie to save his life. The moment he attempts to fabricate something, his face betrays him—his voice rises an octave, his hands fidget, and his sentences grow unnecessarily elaborate. Even when telling harmless fibs, like trying to keep a surprise dinner secret, his behavior becomes so obviously suspicious that others usually figure it out immediately. This makes him utterly dependable when honesty is required, as he literally cannot hide the truth.

♫ Meticulous but Forgetful While Lindir is exceptional at organizing events and keeping records, he’s surprisingly forgetful about his personal belongings. He’ll misplace his quill, set down his harp and walk away, or leave his favorite cloak draped over a chair in the library. It’s not uncommon for others to return his items to him with a fond, “You left this behind… again.” Lindir always responds with an embarrassed smile and a quiet, “Thank you.”

♫ Perpetually Cold Hands No one knows why, but Lindir’s hands are always cold, even in the warmest seasons. He’s grown self-conscious about it over the years and avoids unnecessary physical contact for fear of startling others. Still, on particularly chilly days, he’ll warm his hands on the sides of a teacup before holding a pen. A few trusted friends have given him soft woolen gloves as gifts, which he cherishes but rarely wears because he finds them impractical.

♫ Too Many Hobbies, Not Enough Time as Lindir has a long list of hobbies he wants to master—calligraphy, gardening, embroidery, and flute-playing, to name a few. He throws himself wholeheartedly into each new craft but quickly finds himself overwhelmed by all the unfinished projects. His desk is perpetually cluttered with half-written poems, a half-knitted scarf, and several small potted herbs he meant to plant but forgot about (rip plant still their 🥹).

♫ Overthinks Simple Gestures If someone hands Lindir a gift, he’ll spend hours analyzing its meaning. “Why this specific flower? Does it symbolize something? Should I reciprocate with something similar? Or is it meant to convey something deeper?” By the time he’s worked himself into a frenzy, the person has long since forgotten they gave him anything.

♫ Accidentally Intimidating Despite his polite and mild-mannered demeanor, Lindir can sometimes come across as terrifying when he’s deep in thought. He has a way of staring at people as though he’s evaluating every decision they’ve ever made—but in reality, he’s probably just wondering if he remembered to put his quill back on his desk.

♫ Too Polite to Leave a Conversation If someone corners Lindir with a long-winded story, he’ll stand there nodding politely for far too long, even if he has urgent tasks to attend to. He’s mastered the art of looking interested while internally panicking, trying to figure out how to escape. Once, he stood in the same spot for an hour because he didn’t want to interrupt someone’s monologue about frogs (you decide that as it can be anything really. I’m going with frogs 🤣).

♫ The Feather Quill Obsession as Lindir insists on using only the finest quills for his work and has a small collection of “lucky” feathers (very pretty ones and bright coloured, so he know if you got his feathered quill). If someone borrows one without asking, he’ll smile tightly and say, “Of course,” but he’ll mentally add them to his list of people who can never be trusted again. (Just below perfect example lindir 🤣 silent observer and hold grudge.)

♫ Flustered by Compliments as Lindir is so unaccustomed to receiving compliments that he struggles to handle them gracefully that he turns an alarming shade of pink the moment one is directed at him. If someone praises his singing or harp-playing, his hands fidget with the hem of his sleeve as he stammers out something incoherent, his voice soft and rushed. By the time the compliment has registered, he’s already desperately searching for a way out, blurting, “Ah, yes, thank you… Have you noticed how well the lilacs are blooming this season?” Compliments about his appearance leave him even more hopelessly flustered; he’ll avoid eye contact entirely, his blush spreading to the tips of his ears as he mumbles, “Oh, that’s… very kind of you. Speaking of kindness, I think the gardeners planted new roses—have you seen them?”

♫ Extremely Distrustful of Mushrooms, Lindir has a deeply irrational suspicion of mushrooms. He doesn’t trust their texture, their appearance, or the fact that they grow in the dark. He once spent twenty minutes poking one with a stick during a forest walk before deciding it was “too suspicious” to eat. (I can see it. pokey pokey than whack like “bad squish off finding Nemo” 🤣)

[ashitakaxsan]

🎉Franky: The Unsung Hero of Spy x Family 🕵️‍♂️💥

Franky Franklin seemed like the goofy, lighthearted informant in Spy x Family, but Chapter 105 shows how much rigorous training he underwent. Besides the humor and awkward moments, Franky is a man who plays many roles—some light, some heavy, all vital to the mission and to those around him.

On a day that feels almost ordinary for Franky, we see him waking up in the morning to Japanese karakuri. Interestingly also he starts his morning ritual by enjoying listening to government-banned music. 🎉 🌟 As a well-functioning informant he listens to Fiona Chan's request for a "forged pass for the Podam School of Science. Cool that agent Nightfall(our cute, lovable Kuudere is here) has absolutely recovered after the fight against Mole Wheeler. And he's got the guts to remind her how has wants to be treated :)

and a man still holding out hope for love. His day starts with babysitting Anya, a task that, for anyone else, would be overwhelming. But for him, it’s just another part of his vigilant life. His relationship with Anya is one of the most endearing parts of his character—he’s her goofy uncle figure, someone who can make her laugh and doesn’t mind stepping up when needed. The man is a solid uncle figure, he makes it where Yuri simply fails. 🎭✨

As he takes the fee he goes to invest the money to a bet in horse races, but he's unlucky.

So he's up again to get info about any lucky route. that's when he hears the bad news from the teller. The only informant regarding access to gates 4 and above, Latchkey Lachy(whoever he is) got arrested by the always-feared force throughout Ostania, the SSS! So there's the looming menace of the Secret police.

What’s striking is his relentless optimism—even in the face of constantly changing hideouts and near-constant danger, Franky holds onto the hope that one day, he’ll find love. That's why now he's on a date with a familiar girl, Priscilla, and they'll go to watch a movie.

It’s this mix of resilience and vulnerability that makes him so relatable. He’s a man living in the shadows, often overlooked, but still working to hold onto the idea that there’s more to life than just survival.

Suddenly the news comes: Their teller is arrested "by the you-know-who": The SSS who has him, and Franky has to act quickly to save him.

The way Franky charges in and saves him is Amazing: He steps up prepared, with an effective plan as a real spy, saving the teller from the clutches of the SSS.🕵️‍♂️🛡️👧

The seeming "flower bouquet" is actually a pistole of smoke gas to make the SSS interrogators lose their focus, briefly and it works!

Watch this. How he gives them an awful time:

As they see the SSS reinforcements arriving he says: "They're welcome to try. But I'm going to show them just how hard catching rats can be!" With goggles for concealment, he fights them, using a real handgun, he presses a secret button to open a hatch, and they escape with his well big balloon:)!

This is Franky at his best—quick and profound thinking, resourceful, and willing to risk everything for the people he cares about. In this moment, we see his true heroism. He may not have the physical strength of Yor, but Franky's improved, worthy peer of Twilight. He’s a man who understands the dangers of the world he’s in, yet continues to put himself on the line.

Then he listens to Priscilla, about how she has found a boy to chaperone to the movies.🤔💔 Despite the disappointment, he calls it a good day.

Thus he and the teller go to watch a romance movie:

"How did he get so determined for the rigorous training?" you'll ask me the question.

The failings for finding love didn't get the better of him, so he made up his mind: To become someone as effective as the two people he's looking up to: Twilight and Nightfall.💪🕵️‍♂️🤔

Franky’s ability to juggle these different aspects of his life—his spy duties, his loyalty to his friends, and his optimism for happiness—makes him one of the most vital characters in Spy x Family. He reminds us that even the seemingly ordinary people in a story filled with super spies and assassins can have profound, heroic moments.

[mvltisstuff]

Hey! Can you please do a enemies to lovers (both in 118) with eddie diaz? Thanks:)

chasing pavements - e.d

summary: request

eddie diaz x reader

gif from @agentoutofdiaz

a/n: THREE MORE FINALS GUYS I GOT THIS 🤌🤌 also i am absolutely not up to par with the quality of my enemies to lovers, but i hope you still enjoy 😉

y/n asked herself the same question every single day at the beginning of her shift. what had she done to make eddie hate her so much? it seemed like he physically was unable to smile when she was around. he avoided her like the plague when in reality, she just wanted to be professional about this.

it’s a natural human response to dislike someone back. people never want to be hated and often get frustrated with the other person involved. y/n always thought the word was too harsh, always regretting it when she said it, but there was no other word to describe their relationship.

eddie’s life has been nothing but uncertainty. having a life with nothing to expect led him to loneliness, craving any form of relationship he had. after the army, he struggled with trying to get back to reality. y/n brought him back too easily, and it irked him.

it didn’t help that she was eerily similar to him personality wise. he hates to admit it, but y/n reminds him of all the things he wishes he could change in himself and she is the constant reminder of that. he couldn’t pick something specific out that he didn’t like through all the time of being bugged by her.

as a prime example, y/n walked into work that morning and almost instantly, eddie’s laugh faded away. she wasn’t even going to say anything, she couldn’t deal with him with everything else going on. her family has been on her case the past few weeks and it doesn’t seem to be over. she’s completely burnt out, eddie being part of the ash. she still showed up at work at the 118, perfectly on time for everyone else is her escape.

there’s no denying that she is a wonderful addition to the 118. she’s wildly talented in her field and knows exactly where she’s needed. she’s looked up upon by her coworkers.

“hey, y/n!” buck says, excited to see his friend.

“hi, buck,” she replies, lightly smiling trying to shield any thoughts from eddie or what she’s dealing with. she looks around at everyone, picking around at the bowl of fruit someone had cut up. the team had noticed she’d been off, zoning out and not celebrating with them as much. the thought she was avoiding them after work, and she really was.

she figured anything eddie had to say to her would just add to the pile of stress that she had, so she let him go out with the team for drinks and other stuff. everyone loved eddie, and if she caused problems with him, she thought they’d take his side without hearing the story.

of course, the affect of athena has rub off on bobby and his investigation. he wanted to have a little fun, seeing how bad y/n and eddie were together. he knew working together and saving people would be fine, so he decided to put them on ambulance together. of course, both of them thought they’d been denied to get through the gates of heaven when bobby passed out the demand. the first call was simple, driving to the hospital silently other than vital checks and orders. the next was too, neither of them speaking to each other unless they were administering something. the last call was particularly difficult for y/n, being a close reminder of what she had to deal with at home.

it was just a little kid, being the scapegoat of all the families problems. all the fights, he sat and listened to something he couldn’t control. he was so little that he called 911 out of fear, the police and the ambulance showing up. y/n was relieved no one was actually hurt and no one needed to go to the hospital, but something about it really sent her over the edge.

she was driving the ambulance back to the station, eddie in the passengers seat. she said harmless words to him, “poor kid, it sucks having to deal with that.”

“well, there’s nothing we can do. cant intervene.”

“i know, i just wish i could’ve helped-“

“what could you have helped, y/n?” he interrupts abruptly, causing her to glance at him. “clearly, you have no clue what it’s like to go through that because you wouldn’t be so caught up on it. it’s not like you would’ve made a difference anyway.”

his words were like a sword in her chest. there’s no way he really things she’s no help. the impact she’s made in the community is noticeable, and she tries so hard everyday to make the own community of her last name come together. he was hitting way too close to home, and it was her last straw before the light tears formed on her waterline. she blinked them away, trying to clear her sight but the stinging in her eyes kept bringing them up. she was already embarrassed enough, and crying in front of her the person who hated her was even more humiliating.

“jesus, y/n,” eddie mocks. “you’re a damn adult, there’s no valid reason to be crying right now.”

as they get closer to the station, she pulls into the garage, parking carefully before she shakily shoves her door open. thank god her shift ended before his did, so she could get out of this hellhole. “screw you, diaz,” she says as one final press to his button. he leans back in his seat, not expecting her to retort back to him.

she rubs her red eyes, shuffling out of the car and abandoning the ambulance behind her. eddie couldn’t even bring himself to get out. he thought he might be having a heart attack because of the new feeling he has. did he feel bad for her? he didn’t think that was possible, she’d had enough pity come her way. when y/n walked past everyone and into the showers, hen, chim, and buck gave him a look that had, “are you serious?” written all over their faces. y/n scrubbed off every last word she had received from eddie, or she tried, at least. they stuck with her like a spider in a trap, along with the other baggage she’d been carrying.

the alarm had gone off while she was in the showers, telling her that eddie was gone on a call with the rest of the team. she went into the locker rooms to get the rest of her stuff and leave this exhausting day behind her. she was shoving her stuff into her duffel bag when eddie’s phone started going wild in his cabinet. he usually brings it on calls. she didn’t let the curiosity get the best of her, needing no more reminders of him in her mind. so, she climbed into her car and started the drive home, even though nothing would be different there.

she notices someone sitting on the sidewalk against the stairs of a building. she knew who it was instantly. eddie’s son, christopher, had been waiting outside which was very odd. school had ended a while ago. his red crutches were sitting next to him and he looked around desperately for anyone he knew. she knew she couldn’t leave him there, and eddie didn’t have his phone, so she pulled into the parking lot next to the building.

“christopher? what are you doing here?”

“tía was supposed to pick me up but she didn’t show up, so i was gonna walk home.”

“oh, buddy. i’d call your dad but he’s on a call.”

“i just want to go home,” chris says, making a frown form on y/n’s face.

“you have a key, right?” christopher nods. “here, i’ll bring you home and i can make you something to eat.”

she helps him get into the car and he tells her where to go, eventually pulling up the the house of eddie. he’d probably flip his shit if he knew she was here, but he’d want his son safe at home more. it’s not like she could’ve taken him to her apartment, eddie would be livid.

the 118 had arrived back at the station, putting away their gear and setting their stuff back where it should be. eddie had overheard someone say that there were repeated calls to someone in the locker room, so he decided he should probably check his phone. his heart skipped a beat when he saw his tías name flashing across the screen a million times. “tía! ¿que paso?”

“it’s christopher! i completely forgot he was getting out at a different time and i was picking him up,” eddie hears her say and he almost drops his phone to the ground. “i went to the school, and he wasn’t there, edmundo.”

“what?” he says. “ok, i’m leaving now, i’ll go look. maybe another parent dropped him off.”

eddie speeds over to his home, passing all the cars slower than him. he would never recover if something happened to chris. he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. he slams his car door shut, running to the door and frantically turning the doorknob. he rapidly moves inside, shouting christopher’s name, praying for a reply. he walks into the kitchen to see y/n standing over a boiling pot, and his face goes pale as a ghost when he sees her.

“he’s in the living room with headphones on. i found him trying to walk home,” y/n tells him.

“where was he?”

“the offices on north west,” she takes notices of his expression. “i’m sorry, eddie. i can leave in a minute. i would’ve called you, but-“

“no apologizing, don’t worry about it,” he says, calmly. “thank you. so much, y/n, thank you.”

she nods, smiling lightly because this might get her in the door a bit better. “it’s really not a problem. i was happy to do this for him, i just wanted him safe for you.”

she begins to gather her belongings like her phone and wallet, putting it back into her purse and picking up.

“y/n, wait,” eddie says, placing a hand on her arm. “i have to say i’m sorry. i was nothing but a complete dick for no reason and i had no clue you had so much going on. i got yelled at by hen and was told to lay off.”

y/n laughs a bit, “are you only saying this because hen told you to?”

“absolutely not. y/n, you just saved my son. god only knows what could’ve happened, i mean we live in a massive city. it means the world to me that you were there for him when i couldn’t be. i’ve treated you like shit and you’ve never even done a bad thing. you just… scared me.”

“i scared you? i think you can take the prize there, eddie.”

“ok, maybe not scared, but i was intimidated. because i see so much of myself in you and i couldn’t handle that.”

“it’s ok, really. i just need breather for a little. i am that little kid that we got called to today and you completely disregarded it. i would have never done that to you.”

“i never, ever want to make you feel like that again. i want to make this work, you and i. so, stay for dinner tonight. you already went through the hassle of cooking for him, why don’t you eat it?”

“i’m happy to make boxed mac and cheese for him anytime, eddie. and i’m here for you and your kid whenever you need it.” she and eddie sit down at the table, letting whatever was on their chest come out as christopher played video games in the other room.

[eugenedebs1920]

Trust me! There’s so very little I’d want to share similarities with when it comes to maga. I also have faith in the institutions that serve as the bedrock of our democracy. What I do not have faith in is Donald Trump’s integrity, honesty, or willingness to play by the rules. This is the 3rd article I’ve ran across that seemed credible. I checked the site, small independent journalism, no red flags when checking on its credibility. I’m not saying the election was rigged! While at the same time I’m not saying it wasn’t.

The thing is… We all saw that train wreck of a campaign. We all saw the apparent cognitive decline. We saw Trump ostracize, alienate, and discriminate against SO MANY different voting blocks. Saying, “They’re eating the cats, they’re eating the dogs, they’re eating the pets!”. He was called out on, and we saw and heard, him echo words of that German dictator from WWII, Mussolini and Stalin. We heard the promises to be a dictator on day one. His heavy lean towards authoritarianism. Him calling for the licenses of CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, MSNBC, The Washington Post, The NY Times, pretty much everyone except OAN, Newsmax and Fox News. His calls for across the board tariffs were labeled as detrimental, and recession bound, by nearly every major economic think tank. He got DESTROYED during the debate. We saw hundreds of prominent Republican figures come out in opposition to Trump. Whole movements to ensure his defeat. Almost every single person in his previous administration say they wouldn’t support him, including, for good reasons, his own vice president.

The man’s an American traitor! We all saw the lead up to Jan 6th, then what occurred. I made it my life’s goal, as well as many others, on many platforms to remind everyone of it, and the fake electors scheme, and the theft and retention of classified documents, long after he knew he had last the election. The phone calls with Putin. The sending of vital pandemic relief supplies to Putin in the hype of the epidemic. All the f*ckin Russian ties. I know a lot of Americans ain’t that bright but. Really!? No one else put that together!?

Put on top of that his pressuring of Brad Raffensperger to “find 11,780 votes” and all the conspiring behind that. Not to mention the rape and definition charges. Not to mention his company being convicted of fraud. Not to mention HIM being convicted of fraud and a convicted felon because of it.

Add to that the strange bromance with Elon Musk the owner of Tesla. Trump HATES renewable anything!! He would go off about batteries and sharks habitually! Windmills!! Hates em! Talking all kinds of sh*t on electric cars, saying they would just run out of power, that there wasn’t any charging stations, then if there was you’d be there for hours, that the army wanted electric tanks, typical Trump fabrications. Just ALL the sudden him and the richest man in the world, who just happens to be in constant contact with Putin, who just happened to call for Ukraine to surrender, who just happened to buy a major social media platform, again or whatever. Musk who just happens to own Starlink, who just happens to offer free internet service in nearly every swing state.

On top of all that the numbers just don’t add up. You’re saying that 400,000 people, went in the voting booth, ONLY voted Trump and just walked out? Didn’t vote for the Republican senator, didn’t vote for the Republican representative, didn’t vote on any of the referendums or bills? Just “bullet” voted trump? Even dumbass Tommy Tuberville said in an interview, trying to accuse the left of fuckery, “It’s just weird how, the Democratic candidate, in a state Trump won, would be elected to congress”. Yea! Sure is “weird”, Tommy!

Then, the cocky statements from Trump and the right. I was watching this sh*t like, ‘these MFers are up to something’. Then, Him saying numerous times, he doesn’t need the votes. His “little secret” with Mike Johnson. The straight arrogance from Kevin Roberts, not only in publishing project 2025 but in his statements like, “there’s a second American revolution coming” leading to “and it will be bloodless, if the left allows it to be”. Then, there’s Joe Rogan, who lets it slip on his pod that Elon had an app on his phone where he knew the election results 4 hours before anyone else. Then why did he tell Tucker Carlson he would end up in jail?

You’re telling me, that guy, running that “prestigious” a campaign, with all the shinanigans after and during his first administration, a felon, hated by his own party, that fuckin guy won all 7 swing states, which hasn’t been done by anyone in 40 fuckin years, that guy, who literally said at a town hall, “no more questions, who wants to hear anymore damn questions” then proceeded to sway on stage for 40 mins to tunes, that guy won the popular vote too!? The popular vote that a Republican has only one once since Reagan!? That fuckin guy won all 7 swing states and the popular!? I don’t know if I can buy that.

I guess what I’m getting at is, forensic audits and hand recounts in the swing states would put all that unease to rest. It should be done, and soon! Trump has cheated at everything he’s done in the past, why would that change now?

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 22: Bismuth

Killer x gn!reader word count: 2.3k a/n: got y'all two chapters cause it's the man's birthday, but who knows might fuck around and KEEP GOING next (end)

“What do you mean I have to fuckin’ drink this? It looks radioactive.” Eustass looked at you with pure disgust on his face as he held a cup of green liquid. You let out a hard sigh, looking at him.

“It looks like ass. It’s going to taste like ass. But I promise, it’s going to do a lot of good. It’s something I specially crafted.” 

You watched as he frowned, looking into the cup. He was sitting upright now, which was good. His injuries were healing well and almost didn’t need bandages at this point, so he could sit up without difficulty. “Just fucking drink it.”

“I’m getting there,” he snapped at you. Well, he seemed just fine. He was arguing just like he always did, so you weren’t going to complain. You were just glad to see him conscious. “I swear, I will shove a funnel down your throat and make you drink it if you don’t hurry-”

“Fucking okay!” Eustass quickly slams back the concoction you made for him. It was the smartest decision he’s ever made because you knew that shit tasted like ass so the quicker he downed it, the better. You watched as his eyes widened and he immediately started coughing. Luckily, he already swallowed it, so you didn’t have to worry about him spitting it out. You couldn’t help but snicker.

“That tasted like fucking ass! Are you trying to kill me, Bigs? Is this to get back at me for almost dying?” 

You put your hands on your hips and laughed loudly at his reactions. “No, but it is a brownie point, for sure.” You shook your head, taking the cup from him and setting it on to the counter across the room. “I did warn you that it wasn’t going to taste good.”

“I don’t think anything could have prepared me for how terrible that tasted,” Eustass grumbled. “You couldn’t make it taste any better? Aren’t you some groundbreaking scientist? Can’t even make medicine taste good?” You just chuckled in amusement as he grumbled, more or less, to himself. “Maybe I could, I just wanted to punish you.”

“I knew it!”

As things calmed down, you looked up at him from your clipboard. You followed his gaze over to where Killer was laying. You mirrored his frown, walking over to check on Killer’s vitals. He seemed to be healing up just fine, but something was just keeping him from waking up. 

“I did it, you know,” you said softly, not looking at your brother. You felt the air in the infirmary tense for a moment. “What?” His voice was laced with disbelief, soft.

You finished up checking on Killer before looking at your brother. His eyes were wide and his entire face showed the disbelief that was in his voice. “The reason I stayed in Wano? I did it.” 

Eustass looked from you to the bed where his first mate lay. “Well, why haven’t you given it to him yet?” 

You shook your head. “Not yet. I want to wait until he’s up and awake. I don’t want to overwhelm his body. He’s already got a ton of medicine pumping through his veins and his body is working overtime to heal itself. I didn’t want to add the antidote on top of it. Besides,” you paused, looking over to the unconscious man. 

“Right now that smile is a constant reminder that he is alive.” You looked back at Eustass. “You had your vivre card and he has that curse of a smile. Those are the two tell tale signs that you both are stable and okay. If someone with the SMILE fruit dies, their grins fade. And I…” You took a deep breath. “I had never been so relieved to see that dastardly smile when I found the two of you in the state I found you in.” You frowned.

A frown also settled into your brother’s face. The both of you were concerned about Killer - the whole crew was. Speaking of, you knew they should be waking soon. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, providing a warm glow to the room. “Better get ready, captain,” you mused, looking at him. There was a flash of something in his eye.

The look was much like that of when he came to you when you first set sail. He had been somewhat of a new captain and everything seemed to be going awry. It was doubt in himself. You walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wouldn’t look at you, instead looking over at the floor. 

“Tungsten,” you said, voice softening. It was moments like this that you felt like you were kids again. Just the two of you, you giving him some kind of advice or instilling his confidence once more. It was when you took on the more parental role, consoling your little brother.

He still didn’t look at you. “What.” His tone was short with you and you knew he was going to be a bit more stubborn. “How about you tell me what’s on your mind?” 

“There’s nothing on my mind,” he said, trying his hardest not to look at you as your own eyes bored into him. 

“That’s a fuckin’ lie. Everyone says we’re ass at lying - it’s not in our genes. So, try again.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he finally looked at you with a scowl. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Annoyance runs in the family,” you retorted and he rolled his eyes. He let out a long sigh, mulling over his words before finally speaking. “I got my ass kicked and our ship was destroyed. I don’t deserve the title of captain anymore.”

You looked at him for a moment, thinking about your next words. “Well, you have this ship and you’re not the only captain who has had his ass kicked,” you said simply with a shrug. You knew the way to deal with Eustass wasn’t pitying him or babying him, it was laying out facts. 

“You still have your crew who cares a whole lot about you. It’s only a matter of time before they pile in here, actually. I had to basically lock them out of this room because they didn’t want to leave your side.” You figured you’d keep the small detail of Heat and Wire pleading for his life secret for now. They could tell him that.

“But we don’t have the Jolly Roger either. We’re not a pirate crew anymore. The Kid Pirates are dead,” he mumbled. Seeing him so broken and defeated…it hurt. Your face softened and you looked at him for a moment, thinking. You stood up, leaving the room for a moment before returning.

“You mean this one?” You walked over, handing him his Jolly Roger that was folded neatly. He took it, his eyes widened. “But…wh-” He was stammering, flabbergasted. “How?” He finally spoke, looking at you.

You just shrugged, a grin on your face. It had actually washed up on the shore of the island they had been on. It was an extremely lucky coincidence. A sign that the Kid Pirates weren’t over just yet. A sign of hope. “Now, you have your Jolly Roger, a loyally devoted crew, and a ship. So, I’d say that you’re still a captain.” You grinned at him. “I’m manifesting that your vice captain is going to wake up and you also have me, the world’s best scientist.”

He just stared at you for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find the words to say. “You look like a fish when you do that.” His face immediately turned into a glare as you laughed. 

“Is that captain awake?” you heard from down the hallway. You looked over at Eustass and grinned. “They’re awaaaake.”

“Yes!” you shouted and there was suddenly a collection of footsteps rapidly running down the hallway towards the room. You moved as everyone piled in, dogpiling their captain. “Be careful, he’s healing!” But your cries fell on deaf ears. You let it slide this time. Eustass was mostly healed by now, it was just getting him back into moving around. 

There was a lot of crying and cheering. You took this time to slip out of the room to start cooking for the crew. You figured you’d make your brother’s favorite since he was finally awake. The kitchen wasn’t too far away, so you could hear their excited chatter from where you were cooking. 

--

“So, I’m all good?” Eustass looked at you from where he was sitting. He was on the edge of the bed. You had just given him a full inspection. You nodded. “Yeah. Just don’t go too crazy, but you’re good to start moving around. I’d give you a cane to help you, but I know you wouldn’t even use it so there’s no point.”

“You’re fuckin’ right there’s not. I don’t need a damn cane. I’m not old!” 

“It’s not even that deep. It’s literally to help you walk and it wouldn’t be forever. Just until you were used to walking again.” You rolled your eyes at him, turning to put some things away. His muscles had atrophied a bit since he was in bed for so long, so he was going to be stiff and struggle with moving around properly for a little bit. Sure, you moved them around while they were unconscious, but that only did so much.

You heard as he shifted to stand up, grunting a little bit. You so badly wanted to make fun of him for grunting like an old man, but held your tongue for once. “Like I said, don’t try to move too fast, alright?” You turned back around to see him doing some simple stretches and you sighed. “Careful.”

“What? I’m just stretching.”

“You’ll pull something!” 

“Shut your pus, I’m fine. I’m taking it easy, chill out,” he grumbled, stopping his movements. 

“It’ll probably be another couple of weeks before you can walk normally and about a month before you’re mostly recovered. You…really got fucked up there, Tungsten,” you said with a small frown. He looked over at you, shuffling towards you. He placed a hand on your head and looked at you.

“I…” You looked at him, blinking.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you mused, looking at him with a smug smile. Both of you were somewhat terrible at being serious and sappy, so you always looked to lighten the mood.

“You heard me, I'm not saying it again.”

“No, I don’t think I did.”

“Fucking, c’mon. You know this is hard enough.”

“I think it’s well deserved.”

Eustass groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry for making you worry, Bigs. You specifically told me not to go and get myself killed and I almost did and I’m sorry for that. There. Happy?”

You smiled up at him. “Very.” You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him gently, but firm. You felt him relax, wrapping his arm around you. “Just…please take care of yourself. I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to your brother. He’s been there since you were three. It’s always been the two of you against the world. Well, at least until the other three entered the picture, but for a long time it was just the two of you.

You pulled away, sniffling. “Alright. Take a lap around the ship. Carefully. You need to get used to moving around again. I’ll set up some simple weights to help with your arm as well.” You looked at him, putting a hand on your hip. “I’ve already given everyone else a firm talking to. So, they know not to push you.” You headed over to a closet, rummaging around.

“I need you to get used to moving around so gentle exercise is the way to go, but don’t push yourself. Take frequent breaks. Like I said, this ship is much smaller than the Victoria Punk, so don’t think it’s a large task, okay?” You presented him with his feathered cloak. “Put this on. The breeze is a little chilly and the last thing you need is a cold on top of everything else.”

He took the piece of clothing from you, putting it on. “You worry too much, Bigs,” he said with a sigh.

“I feel like it’s warranted.” You looked at him with a deadpan expression. 

“Fair enough.” He rolled his eyes, heading out of the room and down the hallway. In the distance, you heard everyone greeting him excitedly. You figured it was also time to do check ups for everyone. You were so focused on Eustass and Killer that you weren’t able to focus on much else. Yes, you did make sure everyone was healed up and taken care of in that sense, but they needed their routine check ups. You didn’t even get a chance to do that before they departed from Wano.

Wire making you sleep really helped set your mind straight as well, so you silently thanked him for that. You weren’t about to admit it. Like your brother, you were prideful.

You were standing at your desk, examining your papers when you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms slowly wrap around your middle accompanied by someone’s face pressing into your neck. You tensed for a moment before you looked down, realizing. Your eyes widened as your heart raced.

“K-Killer?”

[multiverse--wanderer]

Unshaken Outlaws | Arthur Morgan x John Marston [ENG]

[ Fan-Fiction based on the OTP between Arthur Morgan and John Marston from Red Dead Redemption ] In a world where the last cowboys are ruthlessly hunted, survival is the only rule. Loyalty, fragile yet vital, is the thread that binds the outlaws together, their sole hope in a landscape marked by betrayal and constant danger. Amidst war and a passion that defies the rules, Arthur and John will find an unexpected path to redemption as their world crumbles around them. For Dutch's gang, the fight for survival has never been easy, but it becomes even more complicated when a forbidden love blossoms amid fallen bullets, lies, and deep wounds. Can this love become the sanctuary they need to withstand the coming chaos, or will it be the end of everything they know?

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

You can find this story on Wattpad and Archive of Our Own.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

Chapter 1: When the Deer Saved the Wolf

Present

The storm showed no signs of letting up. The bare, rigid trees groaned under the weight of frost, and the entire landscape seemed determined to bury the men who dared challenge it beneath its white mantle. The outlaws, hidden among those same mountains, knew they were safer than ever under that icy hell, but they also understood that their safety was temporary. Nature protected no one for long; they had to move before the storm eased and the world began hunting them again.

Arthur trudged forward with difficulty through snow that reached his knees. Every step was a titanic effort, and the cabin sheltering Jack, Abigail, Hosea, and the women seemed miles away, though in reality, only a few meters separated him from it. Finally, he arrived, his face battered by the icy wind and his muscles numb. He shook off his coat, sending a dusting of snow scattering onto the wooden floor by the fireplace, where it hissed upon contact. Without waiting for an invitation, he moved toward the fire, extending his gloved hands toward the flickering flames that greeted him with an almost painful warmth.

—He's been gone for days, and it doesn't look like this storm's letting up. —Abigail's voice broke the tense silence, though her tone couldn't hide her worry—. He's strong, and he's smart. I'm sure he'll...

—Strong, yes —Arthur interrupted, arching an eyebrow with sarcasm—, but smart...

The comment made Abigail frown, but before she could respond, she glanced at Arthur, and her expression softened. The fury on her face gave way, though the restless glint in her eyes remained.

—Hi, Arthur.

—Abigail.

His response was curt, tinged with the indifference Arthur always reserved for her. By now, Abigail knew how to read him. That mask of coldness didn't fool anyone who truly knew him. Determined to break through the wall, she took a step closer, her voice dropping a notch, becoming almost sweet.

—Arthur... how are you?

He glanced at her sideways, his sharp eyes evaluating her with the resigned weariness he used when he knew someone was about to ask him for something. He'd seen that tone in her too many times. With John, it was practically a weapon, a surefire way to get what she wanted. And with him... she only used it when she needed something no one else could give her.

—Fine, Abigail. You?

—I need... —She hesitated for a moment, but Arthur didn't need to hear more. He sighed, tired of always anticipating others' needs—. Sorry to ask, but...

—It's about little John, isn't it? —His tone was bitter, almost biting—. He's gotten himself into trouble again.

Abigail's face hardened instantly. She didn't like the way he spoke about John, but she forced herself to stay composed. Her frown sought Arthur's gaze, as if daring to confront his sarcasm head-on.

—We haven't seen him in two days, Arthur.

—Your dear John will be fine —He replied with an ironic smirk—. I mean... even if he's dumber than rocks and duller than watching grass grow, a snowstorm isn't going to kill him.

The comment echoed in the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Hosea, seated by the fire, lifted his gaze, his expression calm but laden with authority. Arthur seemed agitated—more out of worry than anything else—but his pride wouldn't let him admit it. No matter how much he wanted to hate John, he couldn't help feeling that blend of anger and fear. Because, in the end, he cared more than he wanted to admit.

—Go check on him, at least. —Hosea intervened, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument.

Arthur grunted, frustrated. He couldn't refuse Hosea, because Hosea wasn't just a leader. He was his mentor, his father in all but blood, and the only one who truly understood the complicated relationship between him and John, even when they themselves couldn't figure it out.

—Javier, go with him —Hosea added, directing a look at the young Mexican, who immediately stood.

Javier smiled with that ever-casual air of his, but his gesture was kind as he gave Arthur a pat on the chest.

—You know, if the roles were reversed, John would do the same for us. Let's go, Arthur.

Arthur pressed his lips together, hiding his expression beneath the high collar of his coat. His gaze met Hosea's, searching for support or maybe permission to cling to his pride. But Hosea didn't relent. His silence was a tacit order: "Set your anger aside and do the right thing."

Without another word, Arthur gave a brusque nod and headed out, Javier following close behind. As they shut the door behind them, the icy wind roared with renewed fury, as if the mountain itself were challenging them to find John before it was too late.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

[toneelspeelster]

ethics of motherhood: the jane / charlie spring essay

ever since the release of the second season of heartstopper i've seen so many different opinions on jane spring as a parent; she's the absolute devil, overbearing, completely against understanding charlie and his relationship with nick etc. etc. but i would like to delve into why i think the way alice set up jane spring in s2 is a /great/ gateway into a deeper, nuanced storyline between jane and charlie because, quite honestly - it's clearly long overdue. once again, i'd like to use backstory from the comics to infer what might be happening to jane in the series and how, maybe a bit surprisingly to some - charlie is in some respects a lot more like her than you might think.

please note: this is not an apology, or an excuse to jane's behaviour as a mother to charlie; i just want to give her actions a context and i think, show the room for growth which I think would be a beautiful, very nuanced, storyline between parent and child to take on in charlie's mental health story in s3/4.

(tw for parental abuse, discussion of eating disorder)

one thing that really informs jane spring as a character and as a mother in general is her own mother. we see in the comics that her mother is a. physically abusive and b. does not allow jane to have any criticism against her and uses that as a reason for the abuse.

jane later tells charlie the following on her relationship with her mother, acknowledging the effect that her mother had on her - to an extent. she softens the things that happened to her.

jane knows this of her being a mother: she's overbearing, her mother was too, and she was also hoping to be very different to what her mother was to her.

now what i think is a vital thing to consider is the following: jane grew up in a household where she was physically and emotionally unsafe. she was hit for expressing normal teenage behaviour. it should be okay to sometimes not agree with your parents and pushing back at them. they should provide you with a safe method of communication for doing so but they never taught jane that. as a result, i think it's a very human response of people to try and make sure they deal with things differently when they get older; but that also can result in overcompensating behaviour.

my feeling is that jane is overly focused, i think unconsciously, on keeping in particular charlie safe, and in that sometimes loses sight on making him feel actually (emotionally) safe. because safe means to jane: performing well in school, not doing anything that might be dangerous, but also: keep in line with expected social behaviour. what is the safest thing, jane thinks? that your behaviour is perfect. because if you don't give others any reason to think you're being out of order (in whatever way), you will not get abuse. safe is being perfect, doing everything perfectly. you can and should control your life in such a way that it will be possible for things to be perfect.

and guess who feels that way too?

kids learn a lot more from their parents than they would think (or even like).

one of the most interesting changes from novel to tv series i think, is the change of having jane not being immediately supportive of nick from the get go; as it fits in quite well with jane's character trait of being focused on charlie's safety (and by extension julio's character, but he goes about this differently and quite honestly... can be quite of a wet wipe lol) and exercising control over his behaviour to make him safe in her own eyes. she wants him to be socially presentable ("please change out of your pyjamas to meet guests"), to focus on school work, and for him to listen to her when she says he needs to come home; in a sense i think she wants to be aware of where charlie is at a given time and not too stay out too late, because the night? that might be dangerous.

we have to remember that charlie was severely bullied only a year ago, and julio's constant reminders of charlie in s1 of please calling him when the situation gets out of hand with nick's circle of "friends", indicates to me that his parents were aware of the bullying, maybe being informed by ajayi bc i don't see charlie being able to tell that to his parents himself. so: nick's "sort" (tao mentions his circle as "exactly the sort of people who bullied [charlie]") are in jane's eyes boys to be weary of.

so when charlie tells his parents, jane doesn't totally trust it.

this is worsened when it turns out nick is also going on the paris trip. for charlie, that's not the only reason to on the trip at all, but the way the conversation goes with julio's comment that's the reason why he wants to go, this is where nick gets associated in her mind with charlie as something that she needs to be aware of and perhaps even intervene. to make sure he's safe. she needs to control the situation if it goes wrong.

which she does. almost immediately. when charlie shows behaviour out of the ordinary for him and the only cause she sees is nick; he's the new factor in all of this.

it's like she thinks if she doesn't completely nip this behaviour in the bud in a very hard way, all the bad things imaginable will come immediately. like charlie would flunk school within a few weeks. charlie, who's been a high achiever! julio's response is actually quite appropriate, i personally think: it's not a wonder that you're unfocused bc you have been spending time a lot (which we've seen! on screen!) but also i don't want ban you from seeing him completely, just set some boundaries.

interestingly enough, this is also due to charlie overly focusing his efforts on keeping nick essentially perfectly safe in his coming out as well; unfortunately, in that final scene shown above, he's just realised that he's got no control over nick's coming outs being perfect, as david has shown to be very biphobic and dismissive of nick in a way that neither nick or charlie had any say in or could even prevent from happening. jane has the option of trying to control things because she's his mother and has some authority over his life.

jane disappears in the show after this issue of charlie handing in his course work gets resolved for a while, so it does seem like she very much keeps to her word afterwards.

she comes back in time for some growth. tori rightly mentions that the family dinner is not something that their mum would totally enjoy bc tori has seen the criticism jane has regarding nick. but charlie does know nick, feels emotionally safe with him, especially after their convo in the louvre and nick being open about his dad, so charlie is right in saying nick, as a person not the idea that jane has of him by association, might convince her.

and he does.

nick can be trusted; nick has come out to his neglectful parent, chastised his older brother for being an asshole, mentions he feels happy with his life with charlie and living openly as his boyfriend and apologises to his mother for ruining the dinner (a sign of a well mannered boy!). and when sarah tells jane that this is something that she's never seen nick do and that must be of nick's deep care for charlie, jane thinks..

and comes around (a bit).

unfortunately, her overt focus on charlie's grades slipping being due to nick's influence in his life completely makes her neglect the signs that charlie is not eating well (that's something that is building up so gradually that i don't think she sees it as an option). there are some great metas on here by @ finnicksannie regarding this being one of the biggest reasons why charlie's grades are actually slipping.

all in all, i just want to close by saying this is a deeply traumatised mother parenting a deeply traumatised son and they both need time and therapy for a better understanding of the communication between them.

and i think the end of season 2 sets up a nice storyline about that quite nicely. jane accepts nick in their circle, but her communication with charlie has not been resolved; it's just a little tick towards her needing to trust charlie more. he's got good instincts. she's starting to realise.

this is all not an excuse. it's a set up for a responsibility on jane's part to work to communicate with charlie better. but life is life. and we're humans. sometimes we need to learn to grow.

and in the mean time, in the small moments, maybe with what you would say is the bare minimum, with not agreeing with charlie's self deprecation, jane does show her love of her son.

i don't think it's without reason that this was shown.

--

i have not read the novel solitaire / nick & charlie / this winter. feel free to add in comments if there's something in there too! but i do feel the series might incorporate jane's storyline maybe a little bit differently than from in the books; but it sounds like her controlling behaviour is a throughline to it all.

[acotar-taylorsversion]

Another Rant

I think its funny how people will say that Sarah has had this series planned since 2015/2017 and convince themselves that this means elucien is endgame because they are already mates on page because she said "not much has changed" and that this must mean that gwynriel is real, too.

Like I'm pretty sure it only started out as the first 3 acotar books and the novella anyways. "Not much has changed" means that she didn't go with mor/az and elucien. You can literally see the moments in acowar where she changed this. And please don't forget about acofas. The one where Sarah said that we would have an idea about what Elain would do with her bond. And then in acosf when she literally made Elain and Lucien's only moment together so incredibly awkward. That moment was so telling. And do I really have to go into detail about all of Elain and Az's moments? By the end of acofas I was convinced of elriel and acosf only confirmed it for me. That bonus chapter confirmed that both Elain and Az are attracted to each other and were willing to explore that.

Like first Lucien was meant to be with Nesta and then she realized that wouldn't work out cause Nesta would have destroyed him if he ran up to her after she was turned and told her he was her mate, so she stuck him with Elain. I believe she did this to keep Lucien in the story for one little part of the koschei plot and she has done absolutely nothing to prove that Elain will ever be happy with him. Like I don't honestly see anymore how Lucien could be important anymore. I used to think that he would be this vital thing for the koschei plot but when you think about it, they really don't need him. The only thing he could do is realize his spell breaking powers and free Vassa. That's it.

And Gwyn? All signs point to her being a lightsinger and I don't know why people can't realize that. Az AND Nesta both react to her powers in almost the same way. His shadows reacted to her powers, her music or singing. They also danced to the music that was played off of Bryce's phone so I can't believe that his shadows dancing is a sign that Gwyn and Az are mates. I do not see any kind of attraction or hints of gwynriel. If anything, I think Gwyn just wants to prove herself to everyone around her, especially the one who rescued her and seen the horrible thing that she went through.

And whoever thinks that Nesta would not be happy for Elain and Az because it would "leave Gwyn alone and without a love" clearly do not understand Nesta. Elain is her sister, her favorite sister, and Az is quickly becoming her best friend. She supposedly "hated" Feyre and look at what she did for her at the end of acosf. Feyre, Rhys, and Nyx would literally be dead if it wasn't for her. I can only imagine what she would do for Elain. Yes, she has found true friendship with Gwyn and Emerie, but Elain is her sister, her blood. I believe that Nesta would be ecstatic for Elain if being with Az is truly what she wanted. She would support it. The last time we seen Elain on paper was when she was walking basically arm in arm with her sisters on a happy stroll in Velaris. And I want to know why everyone thinks that Gwyn is ready to be in a relationship anyways. She can't even leave the library yet. And I highly doubt that the first man she will be with is the man that saved her, like that would be a constant reminder of that night for me. And what's to say that she is even interested in men? Like why does everyone assume that she just has to be with Az?

And yes, I know these are characters and not real people. Yes, I know Sarah will write whatever she wants. And yes, I know I could be completely wrong, but based on what she talks about, who she talks about, and what/how she has written things, I can only believe that she is going to make elriel endgame.

That's it for my rant this time. I kinda rambled on in this one lol.

And by the way, HAPPY ELRIEL MONTH 💜

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love, Pt. 2

I've been having a little too much fun writing this story. I will admit, not a lot happens in this chapter - but I promise the next chapter will be good. Just a reminder that this a (sort of) slow burn.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 Word Count: 2750 (average 20 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

I hated myself for leaving Altan there. But I knew that I would hate myself more if I did anything to him.

I remember when I was a child I had always been afraid of mating. It felt like without any choice from either person - you were expected to be intimate with them. I never liked that my body would do something to me that I couldn't control. My broodmothers always told me it was the gift of Gruumsh that assured the vitality and strength of the orc races. It was something that would be mutually felt between partners. I still didn't like it, and I still was afraid of my own body for much of my childhood.

I left home for many reasons: the fact that I was a constant reminder of my father's and broodmothers' shame. The fact that there was no one left my age unmated. But also because I knew that if I left, I would reduce the chance of finding a mate. Lordhovid only would happen with a female orc. The world beyond would reduce my chances of every having to experience it, should it ever happen to me.

I sometimes wondered if I never experienced the urge to mate because I simply didn't want it. But Gruumsh be damned, I found myself in a greater predicament than even experiencing lordhovid. My greatest fear turned out to be worse than I could have imagined.

My relationship with my home and my culture was complicated. I desired to be seen as valuable and needed by my family, but I only brought shame as long as I was unable to give them children. I left for not only my own sake, but for the sake of my family. But I still carried with me a pride of my people and a want to do what was right and I carried a hope that maybe someday I could earn their love back.

My life-partner, my raebukam, the one my body began to burn for was someone I couldn't possibly be with. If I were to return with Altan to my homeland - radiant Altan who remained golden in my memories - I would be dishonored. To bring a partner who could neither bear children or fight for the tribe would spell my damnation.

Altan...I wished I had never learned his name. Altan. Altan. His name was seared into me, branded in my memories. I wished I could have met him under different circumstances. I wished I could love him and not hurt him. I wished I could have known that his feelings for me would be returned without lordhovid influencing him.

I stayed in my tiny room above the forge for the next two days. Feverish and overheated, I struggled through the days. I hadn't been able to buy enough food and I knew eventually I'd have to leave. But I insisted I couldn't leave. I would live with this if I must. I wouldn't give in to this lust. It wasn't mine. I could control it.

On the the third day, however, I heard a pounding at my door.

I was curled on the mattress on the floor that served as my bed - I could never find a bed big enough for my size - and caught in a feverish daze, trying to not think about Altan.

"Drunrag?!" Someone shouted from the other side of the door.

My heart leapt up to my throat. I knew that voice. It was like music.

Altan.

I shrank into the corner of my room, panic formed in the pit of my stomach. "No," I rasped. "You can't be here." The last two days had been near hell - I didn't know if I could be strong enough to stop myself now.

"Drunrag...please open the door." His own voice sounded exhausted. Guilt and shame flooded through me. He had been experiencing his own symptoms of lordhovid, and I had left him to suffer them alone. I selfishly had only considered myself.

Damn you, Drunrag.

"I'm not above considering breaking this door down." He said. "It's taken me these last two days to find you, and it's been absolute hell. I'm not leaving until we have a chance to talk."

"You should if you wish to be safe." I yelled back. My voice cracked from disuse and panic. "I don't want this."

"Look, I'm still not entirely sure of all that's happening to us. But I trust you not to hurt me. Can we please just talk and see what solution we can come to?"

I struggled to my feet, and stumbled to the door. I hesitated, my hand at the lock. "I'm...are you certain?"

"Just. Open the damn door, please."

I hadn't considered that Altan could posses such fire in him.

Admittedly, I knew nothing about him. I fled before I could know him. I only understood one thing: that my body wanted him.

I slid the lock back and cracked the door open. My eyes alighted upon seeing those wide, golden eyes. Altan. Gods, he really was glowing. I let out a breath that I must have been holding since I left him. The pulling in my chest lessened, now that it felt the closeness of my raebukam. However, it was painful to be so close and be denied what my body screamed for. I felt the heat inside me begin to stir again.

"Ummm," He looked up and down through the crack, a weary yet sardonic smile crossing his face. "Do you expect me to converse through this crack? I think not. Gods, where is your sense of hospitality?" He pushed against the door, and I - too stunned to do anything really - was like a leaf, easily knocked back by the small, slender man before me. I crashed against my wall and watched him step into the room. My mouth was agape as I watched him barge in.

In that moment, I studied him, really took a good look at him. He didn't seem tall for a humanoid, but his head looked like it only reached my pecs. He dressed a bit differently than I typically saw in the streets. More loose, airy clothes that exposed his golden brown skin. His coppery curls were long, but appeared mussed and unkempt, like he hadn't been taking care of himself for quite a few days.

I watched as he studied my home. It was a simply layout, a kitchen and a bedroom. The outhouse was outside. His lips were open just slightly as he took in everything. He turned suddenly to gaze into my bedroom. As he turned, the smell of sunny wheat fields overwhelmed my senses. I shuddered and closed my eyes, ignoring the pulsating inside me that urged me to grab him and pull him towards me. Everything about him was tantalizing.

He sighed. "I should have expected this. There's really not much here." He peered into the room where my mattress lay and he frowned, "If you expect me to sleep with you there, I absolutely refuse." He turned to look at me. "You may be an orc, but that doesn't mean I will resort to your way of making love. I expect our first time to be better than...this." He gestured to the general space, which I wondered if I should find offensive, but my mind quickly slipped beyond that thought to the fact that I heard him discuss potentially sleeping together...

There couldn't possibly be a chance...not in any of the nine hells. Gods tell me he's joking.

"What did you say?" I said. "You're not actually considering..."

He stepped towards me, his voice was sharp and direct. "It's not like we have another solution, right? I've had two days to ponder this. It seems you and I are deemed a worthy pairing according to your mating instinct. And strangely, my own body seems to be confirming those same feelings. If you and I are to function at all in our lives - we have to do as our bodies tell us. We must mate. Correct?"

I couldn't look at him. It was too embarrassing. I could feel my face burning with shame, but also with anger. How could he possible suggest this when I didn't want this.

"I'll take that as a yes." He said, his voice softened.

I looked up to see him. He was standing in my home. My tiny, cramped little space with only a kitchen and a bedroom. He looked perfectly normal in it. But I could see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hair looked like it hadn't been washed or combed since I last saw him. His own breathing was heavy, like mine. His stance looked as if he were carrying an intense weight. A weight that we could remove....if I could just give in to lordhovid.

But I couldn't. I shook my head. "No, I'm not mating with you."

"What exactly is holding you back from this?" He asked. "I apologize if this may come across ignorant, I've only met a handful of orcs in my lifetime, all of them much older than me, but I was raised to believe that orcs found great pleasure in their mating customs. Help me to understand...is it that you find me unlikable?"

I grunted. Unlikeable? No, Altan seemed friendly enough, savvy enough and possessed a lot of spirit. It wasn't something I found in most people I encountered. He seemed honest too.

I shook my head. "No."

He took a step towards me, to which I took a panicked step back.

"Do I repulse you?"

I shook my head again and grunted. I found that he did the exact opposite, I couldn't focus because my eyes would wander to all of his various features. His large, golden eyes. His full lips that always seemed quirked into a smile. His exposed chest, bare and smooth. His ear poking through those soft-looking curls. No, I could not say I found him remotely repulsive.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked.

That, I hesitated. Yes I was afraid. Of him. Of me. But mostly of what was keeping us together: lordhovid. I was scared what it would do to me, do to Altan and of how its influence brought me here.

He cocked his head. "You're afraid of me." He said it that time as a statement, not a question.

I shook my head, "I am afraid of what you are."

"A half-elf?" He laughed. "We're not known for being terrifying."

I couldn't laugh, not at that moment. I looked at him with a dark expression. "I'm afraid of you as my life-partner. I didn't want this, nor did you ask for this."

His laughter faded and his expression softened. "You really didn't choose to do this to me, did you? You didn't choose me?"

I shook my head. "lordhovid is meant to draw together those who will bear the strongest children for the orc tribe."

"Huh...curious." He said, his voice was light, curious more than anything. I wondered how none of this seemed to be affecting him as much as it affected me. He thought for a moment. "You mentioned that you were broken."

Krandad. Broken. I had grown accustomed to be called that by my broodmothers when I remained the last one unmated from my litter.

I shifted where i stood. To speak on the most intimate, sacred part of my culture to someone who was being so kind and patient to me. Someone I should trust. I somehow felt out of place, like a child. "I am unmated. It is shameful for an orc to be unmated. At first I thought it was something wrong with me. But I believe it because it's my choice."

He studied me. I didn't like his eyes on me for so long. I could feel the burning of his stare and it made my own heated skin surge with longing and want. "You don't want to mate at all, is that what you mean?"

I gave a small nod.

"Then why are we here now?" He asked.

I shook my head, "I don't know. But you were not given a choice. Nor was I. You are a stranger...and I have damned your fate to be with me." I bowed my head, looking away from him somehow made everything in my body feel so much worse. "You have my deepest apologies."

He didn't answer, didn't speak. I worried I had upset him somehow. I glanced up, and saw him staring back at me. His gaze was like the sun on my face, warming my body through every part.

"You are an honorable man, Drunrag." He said, gently. "I see that your sense of honor and your moral standing are greater than even most men. I understand that...this," He gestured between myself and him "Isn't something you want." He closed his eyes for a moment, then laughed. "You're a more complicated person than I anticipated." His eyes were like small lines when he laughed. I liked his laugh.

"I'm sorry." I said, my voice low. I didn't mean to be complicated.

"Let me make a proposition for you, then, Drunrag." He stood tall, as tall as he could against me, it was amusing to see him puff his chest and stretch his shoulders back.

"I'm listening." I said.

"You and I will not mate." He said, he smile awkwardly. "We'll see if we can manage our lives with this symptom. I'll treat it like a cold. Just a really hot, heavy, feverish cold. Who knows, maybe it eventually goes away. Or, you could see if there's some kind of potion? Spell? A Sorcerer, perhaps, that could remove it for you. And if we find that it's too much. Well, I know where you live. Let's say we reconvene in a month and see if we need to revisit option number one."

He smiled warmly at me, and it made my insides twist. Why was he being so understanding of my situation?

"You're being too kind." I said.

He shrugged, "What else can I do? I won't force myself on you, I would hate myself for that, handsome as you are."

Handsome? He must have been trying to be polite. Nothing more. Except that I didn't know how to answer him, and I felt the silence between us build uncomfortably.

"Well," He said with a forced smile. "I suppose there's nothing more to do, right?"

I hesitated before I nodded to him. "Right?"

He looked around the space once more, and then back up to me. "I would like to think maybe we could be friends...once all of this is over?"

His smile was more genuine as he cast his attention my way. He really did have a glow to him, an aura of warmth that made him easy to like. I wondered then if maybe it would be so bad sleep with him...just once. What would it feel like to hold him? I looked down a bit and caught the slight curve of his waist. I imagined my arms...

I clenched my eyes shut, closing the thought before my body reached a new temperature.

"Thank you, Altan, for your understanding." I said, gaining my composure. "In a month's time."

His smile faltered for just a moment, a brief look of wanting and disappointment, before he nodded his head and made his way to the door. "In a month's time."

The door shut behind him and I felt his presence on the other side of it. I pondered our last interaction together. Why did he seem so disappointed?

It was frustrating to feel that tug and pull inside me that tried to pull me back to him. I shoved the urge away and locked the door after I felt some distance between us. Would I always know approximately where he was? Would I ever sense his emotions or if he was in danger?

I ran my hands through my hair, several times, to try to distract myself from the heat and pressure inside me. I was stronger than my bodily urges. I was stronger than the pull that kept me near Altan. I was stronger than all of that. I repeated the words as I looked around my now empty apartment.

Was this really to be my life from now on?

[mrs-tattletale]

Subhuman Self

Was it devotion? Or obsession? Some people can be obsessively loyal, driven by blind devotion, while others may fixate on serving others because they see themselves as having no worth beyond that service. This dynamic is present in characters like Renfield from Dracula and Pearl from Steven Universe.

Renfield's complex character in Bram Stoker's Dracula fascinates me. His role and actions remind me of Pearl from Steven Universe, a character I deeply sympathize with. While Renfield's obsession is with vitality and power, which contrasts with Pearl's personality, both characters exhibit a blind devotion to their respective masters. For Renfield, it’s Dracula; for Pearl, it's Rose Quartz. Renfield's obsession grows from his desire for power, while Pearl’s fixation stems from her belief that her entire self-worth is tied to serving Rose. Both characters become emotionally trapped, seeking validation from their masters.

Renfield is consumed by the idea of consuming life to gain strength. He starts small, from flies to spiders, and eventually progresses to birds. His desire to transcend his mortal limitations is heavily influenced by Dracula’s philosophy, who becomes a figure of worship to him. For Renfield, Dracula embodies ultimate power—someone who has mastery over life and death. Renfield’s reverence for Dracula is more than admiration; it takes on a religious zeal, a complete surrender of his will in the hope of earning favor and, possibly, a share in Dracula’s supernatural abilities. Dracula’s influence pushes Renfield into madness. His psychological dependency on Dracula shows in his complete obedience, never questioning his master's commands. Renfield’s worship consumes his personality, turning him into a servant who sacrifices his autonomy in pursuit of Dracula’s favor.

Similarly, Pearl’s character arc in Steven Universe revolves around her obsessive loyalty to Rose Quartz, later revealed to be Pink Diamond. From the start, Pearl is seen as "the neat, analytical one" among the Crystal Gems, seemingly the most traditional and restrained. Unlike Amethyst, who enjoys eating (despite their bodies being projections of light and not needing food), Pearl avoids such behaviors, reflecting her tightly controlled nature and trauma.

As the show progresses, we learn of Pearl's deep fixation on Rose Quartz. Rose made Pearl feel important, even though Pearl often said she was "nothing" compared to Rose, who was "everything." This dynamic parallels how Homeworld Pearls—essentially servants—were typically treated as ornamental, cast into roles without autonomy. Rose, however, gave Pearl validation and a space to express herself, which profoundly affected her sense of worth. This relationship represents classic abuse-victim behavior, where Pearl, despite being free, clings to the validation she once received.

Pearl’s emotional state is a constant battle between worthlessness and redemption. She is aware of Rose's status as a leader but also convinces herself that Rose never kept secrets from her—an illusion shattered later in the series. Pearl’s ongoing need for external validation shows how deeply she tied her self-worth to her role as Rose’s servant, much like Renfield’s desperate need to please Dracula. Even after Rose's disappearance, Pearl is unable to move on, her obsessive loyalty leaving her without closure.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Bastion, Blade, Last Line: The Corpse Eaters

In the Grim Darkness of the Far Future, there is only war.

Few understood war like Rogal Dorn, the Praetorian of Terra, and Primarch of the Imperial Fists, and many of the legion's successors have devoted themselves to his mastery of defensive warfare and siegecraft. Few have done so as well as the grimly named Corpse Eaters.

The Corpse Eaters are a Chapter known for their grim reputation and heroic deeds, which belie their macabre name. Founded sometime after the Horus Heresy, they trace their lineage back to the Imperial Fists, inheriting their gene-seed's stoicism and dedication to duty. Their founding was driven by the need for a specialized chapter that could hold ground under the most harrowing conditions, especially when performing combat rescue missions to retrieve vital Imperial personnel or recover relics.

Their homeworld, Kenov, is a bleak and desolate place with ash-choked skies, barren wastelands, and a deadly climate. The planet was once a thriving industrial world, but it fell into ruin due to millennia of exploitation and warp storms. Despite this, the people of Kenov are tough and resilient, surviving in underground bunkers and fortress cities. The Corpse Eaters recruit from this hardy populace, finding suitable aspirants who have proven their worth in defending their subterranean settlements from the constant threats of xenos, mutants, and the chaotic environment itself.

The name "Corpse Eaters" dates back to the Chapter's early history, when a brutal siege during the Age of Apostasy earned them infamy. In the Siege of Ormor’s Gate, the Corpse Eaters were tasked with defending a besieged hive city against an overwhelming tide of heretical forces. Despite being cut off from resupply, the Chapter held its ground, sustaining themselves by salvaging the dead for sustenance. While the Chapter never resorted to cannibalism in the conventional sense, their Apothecaries extracted vital nutrients and fluids from fallen warriors to sustain their battle-brothers. This practice, while a desperate necessity at the time, earned the Chapter the grim epithet of "Corpse Eaters."

Though the incident sparked controversy, the Corpse Eaters chose to embrace the name as a reminder of their willingness to make any sacrifice to fulfill their duty. The morbid title serves as a constant acknowledgment that in the grim darkness of the far future, survival and victory often demand unthinkable choices.

Despite the darkness associated with their name, the Corpse Eaters are one of the more compassionate and humane Space Marine Chapters, especially towards civilians and the soldiers of the Imperial Guard. Their experiences on Kenov have instilled a deep understanding of human suffering and an empathy for the plight of the common Imperial citizen. The Chapter believes that every life saved is a victory, and they regularly undertake missions to rescue endangered civilians, protect retreating forces, and evacuate Imperial Guard units who would otherwise be left to die.

The Corpse Eaters also maintain close ties with the Astra Militarum, often operating as a shield for beleaguered Guard regiments. They do not regard human soldiers as mere expendable assets but rather as fellow warriors of the Emperor, deserving of protection and respect. Their Combat Rescue squads are particularly renowned for deploying into battle zones that others would consider too dangerous, risking their own lives to extract wounded guardsmen or save isolated platoons. This reputation has earned them the gratitude and admiration of countless regiments, as well as an enduring respect within the Imperial military hierarchy.

The current Chapter Master, Eussorus, is a figure of grim nobility, embodying the Corpse Eaters’ ethos. Known as the “Grim Bastion,” he is a master of defensive warfare and siegecraft, his strategies often revolving around holding a seemingly hopeless position against insurmountable odds. Eussorus is a pragmatic and duty-bound leader who places great emphasis on the protection of the Imperium's citizens. His stern appearance and gruff demeanor conceal a deep-seated sense of compassion that drives his resolve to defend humanity at all costs.

Eussorus rose to the position of Chapter Master following a pivotal battle known as the Red Sun Standoff, where he led a small force of Corpse Eaters in defending an isolated outpost from a massive Ork Waaagh! The situation appeared dire, and evacuation was impossible. Yet, through sheer tenacity, strategic brilliance, and innovative use of fortifications, Eussorus held out for over a month until reinforcements arrived. His leadership saved thousands of lives, both Astartes and civilians, and his promotion was all but inevitable afterward.

The Chapter’s traditions are a blend of grim practicality and solemn reverence. Their battle rites often involve the collection of relics from fallen brothers, as well as the use of recovered blood from fallen Brothers to honor the Chapter’s legacy. They also maintain extensive ossuaries where the bones of fallen battle-brothers are kept and revered as sacred objects. These relics are carried into battle by veteran warriors, serving as both a symbol of inspiration and a reminder of the sacrifices made by those who came before, and a commitment that even in death, the victory and the glory belongs to the WHOLE Chapter.

The Corpse Eaters’ Librarians play an essential role in preserving the Chapter's history and guiding its spiritual path. They are known as the Bone Scribes, chronicling the deeds of each battle-brother and conducting rituals of remembrance. The Bone Scribes frequently use fragments of bone dust from honored fallen in these rites, symbolically connecting the living with the dead.

The Corpse Eaters excel in defensive warfare and siege tactics. Their strategies revolve around turning every position into a bastion of resilience, using fortifications, booby traps, and guerrilla warfare to outlast and grind down the enemy. Combat Rescue is another specialty, where the Chapter deploys with surgical precision to extract valuable personnel or key relics from the midst of chaos. This dual focus on defense and rescue has made them highly adaptable, capable of weathering sieges and launching daring recoveries behind enemy lines.

Their arsenal reflects this focus, favoring heavy weapons, siege tanks, and fortification tools. Terminator Squads and Devastator Squads are often used to anchor defensive lines, while Assault Marines and Tactical Squads act as rapid-response units. Their Dreadnoughts, many of whom are heroes from the Siege of Ormor’s Gate, serve as living legends of the Chapter, embodying its unbreakable spirit.

The Corpse Eaters' relationship with the wider Imperium is complex. The Inquisition, in particular, has scrutinized their practices, though their loyalty has never been in doubt. Their name often causes misunderstandings, especially among those unfamiliar with the Chapter’s history. However, for those who have fought alongside them, the Corpse Eaters are regarded as tireless defenders of the Imperium and champions of humanity.

Their bonds with the Astra Militarum are among the strongest, with many Guard regiments proudly displaying tokens given to them by the Corpse Eaters in gratitude for their shared struggles. This bond has also led to joint training exercises and combined operations, where the Chapter’s expertise in defensive warfare significantly enhances the effectiveness of Imperial Guard forces.

The Chapter’s motto, "We are the bastion; we are the blade; we are the last line", encapsulates their commitment to protecting the Imperium against all odds. It serves as a reminder that even in the darkest times, the Corpse Eaters will stand fast, ready to defend the innocent and the helpless from the horrors of the galaxy.

Despite their grim name and history, the Corpse Eaters stand as a paradox within the grim darkness of the far future: warriors who embrace the morbid as a means to honor sacrifice, yet wield it as a shield to protect those unable to protect themselves. They are a Chapter whose hearts, though hardened, still beat with a sense of duty and compassion rare among the Adeptus Astartes.