#regardless as someone who has lost a loved one to AIDs. i genuinely want this fag to fuck off for what he said about AIDs victims

[butchosprey]

hey y'all, realize its okay to admit when you've done wrong. if you were a fan of james somerton, and didn't realize his videos had clear microaggressions towards women and asian people, you can use this as a time to educate yourself.

do you believe something isn't racist if it's coming from the lips of another queer? is sexism okay, when "cis" and "white" are thrown in the mix? now is the best time to examine your own internal sexism and anti asian racism. it's not the time to say "woe is me". and i'm saying this with kindness, because i know you're capable of doing better. you know now, and you have a good starting point.

[wrightaboutthat]

Proposing a Duel ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~

Summary: Finally, after years of pining, years of waiting, is Phoenix prepared to propose to the love of his life. But with someone he parallels so intensely, nothing can ever be straightforward.

Tags: Marriage Proposal, Idiots in Love, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Arguing, Childhood Memories, they're so dumb, and bickering 5ever, but they're so incredibly in love your honor, and deserve intense happiness like this, also this is probably set in the aa5-6 timeline somewhere but Who's Counting

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! Finally managed to tackle and finish one of my 20+ Narumitsu drafts lol. I recognize that this is quite the common trope/plot with these two, but I'm of course shooting for a "yay, two cakes" situation! We simply cannot have enough proposal fics, and these two deserve all the happiness/sweetness in the world quite honestly. They're tired- let them REST.

Anyway, super excited to share this with you all, and I hope you enjoy!

You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]

It felt different. He felt different. There was a certain and light sweetness that seemed to be lingering in the air. There was a tender warmth that seemed to be burning between two forms. There was a magnetic tug that seemed to be pulling harder than usual.

Perhaps it was finally pulling towards the inevitable.

Phoenix’s breath caught in his throat at the very consideration. It had been so long after all. The entirety of his life had slowly led up to such a thing. But even still, he doubted his readiness, doubted his ability to proceed.

Though, looking at the man beside him easily dampened such doubts. Fear melted away into giddy nervousness, and worry softened into warm tingles.

Because it was Miles.

Miles.

A man who had evaded him for years. A man who had changed him for the better. A man who had beautifully fought for betterment all for his sake. A man who he’d do anything for.

A man he wanted to marry.

The direct utterance within his mind manifested a flushed smile, his head going woozy with adoration. Inevitable indeed; it felt so right to consider, so...perfect. He of course hoped his proposal would follow suit, that it would declare such deep admiration to the receiver. He wanted it to be just as wonderful as the very man-

“What is it?”

The murmured baritone snapped Phoenix from his honeyed thoughts, startling as he returned to the present.

“Huh?”

Though Miles’ stare remained trained ahead, Phoenix could still pick up on the tenderness that washed over his facial expression.

“You were staring quite intently, darling.”

The term of endearment, the tonality of his boyfriend’s voice, and the ginger facial expression did nothing to help his blush. The defense attorney’s cheeks were fiery, though his growing smile aided in the distribution of heat.

“Is that anything new? I always struggle to take my eyes off you.”

He watched with amusement as color struck Miles’ face to match, his expression crinkling into something of embarrassment.

“Nngh...” he quietly groaned, earning a chuckle from Phoenix before he continued, “Well, at least I’m the one driving then.”

“Thank God for that.”

They ventured back into comfortable silence, but affections were still reciprocated. Miles slipped a hand off the steering wheel and laid it palm-up on the console, an invitation that Phoenix immediately took. He gave his boyfriend’s hand a soft squeeze, contentedly sighing as his thoughts began to wander once more.

Hand holding wouldn’t feel the same for very long after all. There would be an even deeper connection with it, a deeper unity. Soft skin and sturdy fingers would be bordered with precious metal, a glistening reminder of their utmost promise to each other...

“Phoenix.”

The tanner man jerked back to the present once again, though not as harshly as before.

“Yeah?”

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”

“Are you saying I’m normally loud, baby?”

The slight rise of his boyfriend’s brow was enough to draw forth a laugh, the deeper implications plenty visible in such a mere gesture.

“More talkative than I, yes,” Miles huffed, though he quickly ventured back towards a more solemn air. “Is something on your mind?”

“Ahh...no.” A lie. And it was very dangerous to offer a lie to the man who sought nothing but the truth in every regard. So Phoenix very quickly covered with a genuine statement, a true explanation indeed. “I just...get lost in how much I love you sometimes.”

Heterochromatic eyes had averted with such a statement, and his other hand had taken purchase upon his neck. The silence that followed however, drew his gaze back towards his partner. But, following the pattern of comfort, any and all apprehension was doused by the prosecutor; the intense blush and bashful furrow on his counterpart’s face triggered giggles.

“Darling...” Miles muttered in disdain.

“It’s true!”

Silver eyes briefly flitted sideways, before the opposing man heaved a large sigh. Years ago, such a statement would likely earn some manner of reluctance or coldness. In the present though, and to Phoenix’s delight, it slowly drew forth a gentle smile once more.

“If I wasn’t speeding down a highway, I would perhaps have to kiss you,” Miles eventually murmured.

“Just perhaps?” Phoenix laughed.

“Mm...”

The prosecutor readjusted their conjoined hands, and better gripped Phoenix’s, gently bringing it to his awaiting mouth.

“Assuredly,” he said, sealing the word with a tender kiss.

It was the defense’s turn to be bashful, flushing and giggling and crumpling in on himself. It was without fail; close to proposing, and yet rendered so useless by his beloved. He doubted that would change, even well into their marriage. It hadn’t for years and years after all.

When Miles lowered their hands back to the console, Phoenix heaved a breath, easing into conversation before thoughts hoisted him away again.

“Where are we going anyway?”

There was an odd pause, coupled with what sounded like a shaky inhalation. The prosecutor did indeed answer, but through vagueness only.

“You’ll see.”

“Are we close? Because I perhaps have to kiss you too.” Just as Miles has done, he brought their hands upward, gripping the prosecutor’s just so and returning the gesture with warm lips. “Hands don’t really cut it.”

“Yes, dear. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

Phoenix grinned, and pressed a plethora of short kisses to the other man’s hand- so much so that he earned a soft whap of disdain to the face. He broke into giggles then and freed the prosecutor from his onslaught, simply opting to sit and wait for their arrival, albeit anxiously. He hoped it was a proper location. He hoped it was someplace fitting. He hoped it would be a date worth turning into something more. He wasn’t sure if he could stand the idea of having to push things back any longer; the ring had already been in his possession for one day too many.

The car finally slowing down brought him from his thoughts, and he blinked as he attempted to process where they were. It didn’t seem to be a fancy restaurant or anything typical of Miles; in fact, it seemed like they were just in some random part of the city. And yet, there seemed to exist an odd sort of...familiarity to it all, a sense of dejavu gnawing on his mind.

Regardless of the swirling thoughts, he snapped to action the moment they stopped. The second Miles parked the car, he was leaning across the center console, following through with his previous statements and tugging them both into a proper kiss. The pair sighed and melted against each other’s mouths, sucking and gliding and caressing.

When Phoenix attempted to slide his tongue betwixt his partner’s lips however, did the prosecutor lean back and break their connection.

“Not so fast, Wright,�� he tutted, though his brow was playfully cocked, “Can’t have you sullying this date.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s irresistibly gorgeous.”

Miles rolled his eyes, causing the tanner man to chuckle, before he poised himself to depart the vehicle.

“I rest my case.”

Phoenix continued with his mirth, but had no further objections; no, he didn’t need to sully their date at all. There would be plenty of time for intimacy, but only one chance to present such a momentous inquiry. So he exited after his boyfriend, and walked around the car to be by his side.

Gazes were soft once more upon meeting, and the prosecutor offered a hand for Phoenix to take. He did so happily, and allowed his partner to lead. In doing so however, perplexity joined the mix, his wavy brows furrowing as he continued to try and place...where exactly they were. It wasn’t exactly a park, or a restaurant, or any discernible destination at all. It merely seemed like Miles was leading him down a sidewalk- and was his hand...trembling?

His face scrunched with further confusion, the two of them continuing to wind through buildings. Soon however, buildings opened up to a very particular scene. Rounding a corner stopped him dead in his tracks. Gazing upon the openness before him smacked his brain with a plethora of memories. He saw many a picture, heard swaths of innocent laughter, and felt rushes of old warmth...

“Remember this spot?”

Miles’ murmur managed to reach him, but his composure still swayed. Tears almost pricked his heterochromatic eyes, his nose tickling with the threat of their manifestation. Because yes, he absolutely did. The small canal, the grassy hill, the surrounding quaint homes, the sunset...

It was a scene from their youth. It was a place they had frequented together as grade schoolers. It was a place where dreams had been discussed, and bonds had been formed.

And God, was it perfect for taking said bonds even further.

Phoenix had to keep a hand over his mouth for a few beats, attempting to keep his composure at bay. Breaking down in front of Miles wouldn’t be anything new necessarily, but it would produce suspicion.

Thankfully, the prosecutor didn’t seem to notice- at least, not yet. For he simply snickered and tugged, softly beckoning with their conjoined hands.

“I take that as a yes. Come on then.”

He led them both down the old path, strolling in the golden light of the setting sun. Phoenix could almost see flashes of their grade school selves as they happened along, laughing and shoving and playing. And, through the sparkles in his vision, could he also picture the glistens of precious metal, of gemstones shining with promise and love.

He had to bite his cheek to keep himself in check. When would be the proper time to ask anyway? It felt so close, but so very far. It felt so perfect, but so out of reach. Maybe it would just come to him. Maybe the stars would align. And if Miles’ hand was still oddly trembling, he could no longer tell; his was too.

The prosecutor slowing down pulled him from his running thoughts, but made the situation all the more real. He allowed Miles to lead him into the grass, onto one of the slopes neighboring the sidewalk. Mismatched eyes rapidly blinked to shoo away tears; it was such the perfect parallel. It was such a beautiful nod to their roots.

“Love, I didn’t think you remembered this!” he strained out, beginning to beam immensely, “It was so long ago.”

“Well of course I do. You were the better part of those years after all.”

“Miles...” Phoenix heaved a breath, his smile beginning to rival the light shining upon them. “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that? This was so thoughtful.”

He watched with delight as the opposing man flushed something terrible, his silver eyes averting and his grasp retracting.

“Ngh...” he softly groaned, before dismissively waving a hand and moving to sit, “It’s merely a trip down memory lane, that’s all.”

“Yeah but...” Phoenix couldn’t help but laugh, latching on to some teasing for a bit of emotional respite, “Esteemed Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth sitting in the grass for me?”

Miles seemed to stiffen a bit, coupled with another crawl of red across his visage.

“Is that really such an oddity?”

“A bit, yeah! It’s different than what we normally do.” Phoenix snickered a bit more, before he lowered himself to the ground as well, sitting flush against his partner. The mirth departed his voice then, his tone traveling back towards a more earnest warmth. “So it’s just...It’s really sweet. And meaningful.”

And utterly perfect for what he had planned.

He watched as Miles’ face immensely softened, though silver eyes averted once more. Phoenix took the opportunity to press a quick kiss to the offered cheek, before moving to nestle his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder. He sighed a contented breath upon doing so- particularly when he eventually felt Miles’ head snuggle against his.

Part of him was anxious, what with a brewing proposal swirling around in his depths. But another part hushed him, and told him to simply enjoy the scene for a moment. It was a lovely contrast against their usual life; just getting to take a few moments of calm hush with his beloved, in a place that meant so much to them. The sunlight was warming, his partner’s body was soothing, and the air was enticing.

Mismatched eyes half-lidded, and he hummed amidst the quiet. He wanted it to continue. He wanted to stay in the moment forever. But the other half of him began to cry out for attention. The other half drove him to speak, to drive the peace towards partnership.

“God, Miles...How did we even get here?”

“It’s been a long road, hmm?” the prosecutor murmured after a few beats.

“Yeah. Crazy to think I’m here with you like this. It was always a dream of mine.”

“I concur.”

“So proper,” Phoenix snickered, moving to press another kiss to the opposing man’s cheek.

“Hush,” he huffed. Before Phoenix could nestle back downwards however, Miles turned his head and captured their mouths for a proper kiss. And just as soon as the kiss started was he rising to stand, stoically and handsomely staring out towards the departing sun. He seemed to let out a shaky breath, before he continued in solemn tones. “As children, when I sat with you here, I...couldn’t help but look to the future, and imagine what could be. To think that it’s realized now, and far more than I ever pictured...”

He heaved again, and seemed to look downward at his feet.

“And to think that it could continue...”

Phoenix’s heart leapt into his throat; how was it that Miles was perfectly setting him up? How was it that he was meticulously laying the puzzle pieces out? It was almost like he knew, like he was aware of the ring burning brightly in his pocket.

“Phoenix...”

It was time. Oh God, it was time. It was like some divine forces yanked him upward, piloting him towards the start of a new beginning. He no longer questioned it. He no longer felt apprehensive. He only felt entirely driven to begin.

“-Miles, I adore you,” he blurted, butting in and rambling without much control, “I love you so much. I can’t imagine being with anyone else but you. You’re gorgeous, and amazing, and so important to me, and...”

He could feel his partner’s eyes on him. He could feel the burn of their bodies. He could feel the very question hanging in the air between them. His chest tightened, his eyes watered, and his extremities quivered...Yet he still managed to reach for the life changing box in his pocket, and poised himself to get down on one knee.

“And so I have to do something I’ve thought about since I met-“

“-Hold it!”

The sudden objection from his boyfriend startled him, causing him to crash down upon his knee as opposed to a gentle descent. He winced a bit at the impact, but physical pain was quickly replaced by emotional; Miles looked...appalled. Phoenix felt his chest squeeze immensely, coupled with a croaked utterance of the prosecutor’s name.

“Wh- Miles?”

He watched with further horror as his counterpart backed away, heaving and wringing his fists a plenty. Miles even went so far as to pinch the bridge of his nose with a hand, sighing and straining a cursed sentence.

“I cannot believe this...”

The defense lawyer trembled, the words piercing a crack in his heart. He had been wrong. He had been overzealous. He had pushed Miles too far. He had backed himself into an unlovable corner yet again.

He opened his mouth to speak, to question, to beg for answers, but all that escaped was a quivering breath. Oddly enough, the sound still managed to reach the prosecutor, because he looked back before...miraculously softening?

“-Wait wait, no. Apologies. I...” he said with a raised hand, before pulling it back in and freezing.

They both were silent for several beats then, the air immensely tense and thick. Though Phoenix felt slightly better that his beloved no longer appeared...disgusted, his heart still ached something terrible. He was confused, and downtrodden, watching his boyfriend closely for any further reactions.

React he did; he shifted more into the typical tense nervousness, pulling at his shirt and avoiding eye contact. Numerous deep breaths also heaved from the prosecutor, the exhalations sounding surprisingly shaky. Though it was likely only seconds, the quiet felt like hours, Phoenix clambering for any sign he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.

And it was a wonder he doubted his partner so. It was crazy that his anxiety still got to him. The traumatic scars really did run immensely deep. But regardless, Miles finally provided, looking back and turning the situation around.

“My darling,” he began, his silver eyes interlocking with heterochromatic, “I am...so sorry for startling you. I just...have no idea how we possibly managed...”

With that, the prosecutor reached into his own pocket, and presented something that connected all the glittering puzzle pieces together.

Oh.

Oh.

Every ounce of apprehension washed away. Every bit of discomfort fizzled into nothingness. Every drop of sadness evaporated into thin air. And all was replaced by the most dazzling, incredible warmth Phoenix had ever experienced.

Because it was a box, much like the one he still had in his own hand.

Suddenly, everything made sense. He had brought him out here with identical intentions. He had sweetened his tongue with the same question. He had been preparing to go down the same road, and was startled by the abrupt change in plans.

They had both tried to propose to each other. They had both tried to ask for each other’s hand.

Phoenix wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sob, and subsequently settled for a mixture of both. His free hand clapped over his mouth, and he quivered from tears and mirth alike.

“Miles? Miles?!”

Through the glaze, he could see the prosecutor shaking his head. And over his trembling vocalizations, he could hear the strained quality his boyfriend’s voice had taken.

“Always throwing me for a loop, Wright.”

“Oh my God!” Phoenix laughed, rubbing at his eyes with a hand as he attempted to compose himself. He was overwhelmed, so delightfully overwhelmed. Because two opposing rings meant they were on the exact same page. Two pieces of beautiful metal signaled each other’s answer.

His laugh choked off with more of a sob, and he peered through his fingers to get a look at his boyfriend. Miles had his head turned away, a hand grasping his face once more. Was he crying as well? Or trying not to? Whatever the case, the very consideration sent further tears down the tanner man’s cheeks.

“I...I love you,” he rasped.

“I...” Normally smooth and cool vocals were shaky and taut, the prosecutor clearing his throat before attempting again. “I love you too, dearest.”

The situation beautifully plateaued, the two men taking numerous beats to compose themselves. Neither moved. Neither said anything. Neither made any sort of advance with such a dear connection woven between them.

Phoenix continued wiping his tears and blowing out cleansing breaths. He slowly became aware of the fact that he was still on one knee, still poised to officially pop the question. Though, how was he to go about it? And with an opposing ring in the playing field? He felt inclined to inquire.

“Love?”

He watched as the prosecutor straightened, smoothing out his dress shirt and composing himself something proper. It looked very much like how he recovered in court after a sudden blow, scrambling back from an emotional edge and easing back into stoicism.

“Yes?” he answered after a few beats, though his voice was still thickened.

“What...what do we even do now?!” Phoenix laughed, his free hand traveling to rest upon his neck.

“Well,” Miles began after heaving another cleansing breath, “If we’re getting into technicalities, I’ve had this planned for months.”

The sheen in Phoenix’s eyes flashed with a new spark, the tears glistening with fire. No, not just an opposing ring- a rival ring. It seemed that old habits died hard.

“So? I’m the one on one knee right now! I beat you to it.”

“And? I don’t believe you had any sort of plan regarding this.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m trying to marry you, Phoenix,” Miles said matter-of-factly, tapping his bicep in the normal way, “Ergo, I know you better than perhaps the back of my own hand.”

The tanner man wanted to laugh at the courtroom persona his partner had suddenly adopted, argue with the points being brought to the table, and melt at the fact that Miles Edgeworth wanted to marry him. Unfortunately, he was incapable of anything of the sort; the truth was a little too on the nose.

“Ahh...” was all he sheepishly managed, his free hand grasping his neck harder.

He watched as Miles cocked a brow and gave him a knowing look, furthering the blush that gripped his cheeks.

“Out with it then.”

“Okay...Maybe I was about to start winging it...”

“Mm, as always.”

“But so what?” Phoenix exclaimed, “I’m always ready to get into how much I adore you, and why I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else, and-“

“-You are not about to advantageously segue, Phoenix Wright.”

The defense attorney burst out laughing, finally standing back up and closing the distance between them.

“Miles!” he comedically whined, giving his boyfriend’s chest a gentle shove, “Dammit, you do know me a little too well.”

“Indeed. Which is why I feel more than apt to be the first one to proceed.”

“No! I was ramping myself up towards a big speech and everything.”

“As was I. I’ve dreamed of this since I was young.”

“And you think I haven’t?!”

The prosecutor’s face devolved into more of his usual scowl, his arms lacing across his chest. It was quite the sight really, what with his eyes still containing wisps of moisture. Still, the strange contrast didn’t cease the pair’s argument.

“We seem to be at quite the impasse then.”

“A bit!” Phoenix snorted.

“Is your stubbornness really going to stop us from getting engaged?”

“Is yours?”

Miles let out a harsh sigh, his annoyance becoming more and more noticeable.

“You’re being ridiculous. Why does it matter who proposes to whom anyway?”

“If it didn’t matter so much, you would have let me go for it!” the tanner man pointed out.

“You’re incredibly obstinate.”

“Haven’t you always admired that?”

“Phoenix,” Miles hissed.

“Besides, so are you!”

“Tell me, do you have a better comeback besides mirroring what I’ve just said?”

“I could always tell you to shut up and let me get on with it.”

“Oh, so romantic and well spoken,” the prosecutor snapped, throwing his hands with exasperation, “Truly makes for the sweetest memories.”

“Says you! You’re the one who started all of this. I could have proposed already!”

It was then that Phoenix’s eyes glinted once more, this time with a spark of mischievous stubbornness. In knowing him so well, Miles appeared to pick up on it, his body twitching and his brow furrowing.

“Don’t you dare-“

The prosecutor’s snarl cut off as they both leapt for the same conclusion. Knees crashed to the ground together, and boxes were hastily grappled for, the two racing for that beautiful spot.

And then something tickled Phoenix once more.

Maybe it was the way the love of his life was kneeling and fuming before him, holding a precious box in such a seething manner. Or maybe it was the way they were both treating their rings as weapons, like they were drawing them for a duel. Or maybe, it was the way they were arguing over a damn proposal.

Regardless, the tanner man was powerless, and began laughing again without much control. The sudden mirth seemed to slap the prosecutor; out of the corner of Phoenix’s eye, he could see his partner stiffen something terrible. It was likely striking even more of a nerve, but he couldn’t help it. It was so...stupidly them, and so amusing as a result.

He bent over from the force of his giggles, instinctively placing a hand on Miles’ bent knee to steady himself. The voice of reason in the very back of his head screamed danger, as an angry prosecutor could easily shove it off. But just as the situation continued to unfold in an odd manner, as did motivations. For Phoenix felt a gentle hand come to rest upon his own, squeezing as opposed to throwing.

“What’s...so funny?” he barely heard his boyfriend ask, his hesitant voice drowned out by the seamless mirth. He had to take numerous beats to sharply inhale, to attempt to get some air, before he could even consider replying.

“...This!” he gasped, wiping building tears with his free hand, “Us!”

To both his surprise and amusement, he heard what sounded like a cheerful huff from the prosecutor. Maybe he was being pulled down into the fun as well? The thought tickled the tanner man even more, and he rode another wave of giggles before fighting for further conversation.

“Miles...Miles...What the hell are we even doing?”

Yes, the prosecutor was definitely laughing now; Phoenix could hear the chuckles blending in so well with his own. It sent him into another fit, made worse by what Miles said next.

“Being...Imbecilic I suppose.”

The pair took a few moments to laugh together then, completely replacing the annoyance in Phoenix’s system with honeyed warmth once more. How typical of them. How beautiful of them. Riding an emotional rollercoaster was something of wonderful normalcy, even in what was supposed to be a special moment. Though, perhaps it actually made the moment all the more meaningful, all the more memorable.

“God! We’re so stupid...We’re so damn stupid...” the defense eventually wheezed, continuing to wipe at his eyes.

“Speak for yourself,” Miles huffed, slowly standing back up and brushing himself off.

“We’re- hey!” Phoenix laughed, erecting to give his boyfriend’s chest yet another push, “You’re an ass.”

“Oh, will the loving talk ever cease?” the prosecutor sighed with a roll of his eyes.

The tanner man continued to giggle, before he stepped even closer, nuzzling his nose tenderly against Miles’. The pair softened immensely, and the defense attorney took advantage by offering yet another kiss.

“I love you so much,” he whispered when their mouths parted.

“I love you too.”

The pair took a few beats of tender silence then, stepping down from the nonsensical energy that had been their argument. It was Miles’ turn to take advantage then; he reached with a hand to brush black hairs back into place before gently framing a damp cheek.

“I do still intend to go through with this, you know,” he murmured, before mildly cocking a brow, “Even though the mood has been thoroughly soiled now.”

“I do too. I-“ Heterochromatic eyes widened slightly, the tanner man starting like he had reached a brilliant conclusion in court. “Hey, actually...”

“Hmm?”

“Hear me out on this, okay? Going back and forth is totally our thing, right? We kinda just proved that.”

A huff and eye roll from the prosecutor drew another shaky laugh from the defense. Still, he continued.

“So what if we...propose together? Back and forth?”

He watched as a strong swath of red spread across his boyfriend’s cheeks, coupled with a furrow of his brow. Silver eyes flitted off to the side as well, a sign he was either flustered or objecting.

“That’s...”

In fearing the latter, Phoenix quickly interjected. “-I know, I know, it’s weird. And not exactly traditional. But it’s...us, you know?”

“I suppose that would indeed solve our problem after all.”

“Okay...”

The tanner man heaved a multitude of cleansing breaths, attempting to pull his composure back to the proper place. But with the element of surprise gone, with two rings in the vicinity, and with the love of his life staring through sparkles of unshed tears...He couldn’t help but shakily laugh, intense emotions swaying all over the place.

“Whew, I...Dammit! I can’t focus now-“

“-Shh,” Miles cut in, suddenly leaning closer and nestling their foreheads together, “Come here then, dearest. I believe we need to...take a moment.”

The defense’s breath caught at the proximity, but he nodded, allowing himself to get ushered away by the man before him. Nestled so close, aggressively ricocheting emotions had no choice but to settle; for there was nothing quite as soothing as snuggling up to his beloved. His mind whited out with the gentle, floral scent of the prosecutor, and the soft warmth his being provided. Though his heart was still pounding, and his eyes were still watering, it did indeed effectively walk him back to a more composed mentality. Perhaps because it reminded him just how much he adored the opposing man, and just how much he wanted to marry him.

“Better?” Miles eventually whispered.

“Yeah...” Phoenix replied, before blowing out a few more cleansing breaths. This was it. This was really it. “Okay. Okay okay...”

He leaned back then, intertwining both stares and fingers. The two shared a look of love, of reverence, of happiness, before stepping fully into the light.

“Phoenix Wright...”

“Miles Edgeworth...”

The tanner man watched as his beloved opened his mouth, but stiffened when no words followed. The tender visage furrowed back into a scowl, but thankfully, Phoenix wasn’t left in apprehension for too long.

“Curses. I had been so ready!”

Phoenix found himself laughing once again; composure was still a beast, it seemed. But somehow, by some damn graces, were words poised on his own tongue. So he gripped his love’s hand a bit tighter, and allowed them to fall.

“Well here- I knew I wanted to marry you from the moment I met you.”

The furrow on Miles’ face didn’t ease- it only turned incredulous. Naturally, Phoenix laughed even harder, and gave the prosecutor’s hand another squeeze.

“I’m serious! Even at nine years old, I could recognize my soulmate.”

Miles seemed to consider the statement, or allow the words to blanket over him. Either way, after a few beats, did he find his stride as well, steering them both towards a more solemn air.

“From the beginning, you enraptured me,” he murmured, silver eyes trained off to the side, “I felt safe around you, happy around you. And there was a deeper sort of calling that I recognized too- something brilliant and pure that I haven’t experienced with anyone else.”

“I think it was so strong and beautiful that I didn’t know what to do with myself,” Phoenix admitted.

“Indeed. It frightened me, and you know this. I denied its call initially. Or perhaps I didn’t deem myself worthy of standing hand in hand with such an incredible, intelligent, wonderful man.”

“Miles...” Phoenix murmured, his voice and face coated with disdain.

“Especially after all I’d done. So, I of course stepped away from that gorgeous light you cast.”

“But I had no intention of losing you. Still don’t.”

The two squeezed hands, before monochrome eyes slowly crept upwards to find mismatched once more.

“Nor I you,” Miles whispered, “When your hand was presented, I could only avoid its reach for so long. There was only so much running before that warmth enveloped me. No longer could I deny the deep and complex feelings you evoked within.”

“I didn’t know how to go about it, you know. Once I had your hand, I didn’t know what to do. I stumbled a bit trying to figure it all out.” Phoenix looked downward at their connection then, a warm, tearful smile overtaking his face. “All I did know was that I was so incredibly in love with you.”

He heard Miles’ breath catch, and subsequently offered a few caresses with his thumb. The prosecutor softly cleared his throat, before he managed to tenderly continue.

“I...knew I was in love with you too. The second you found me, the second you reached me, I could feel it.”

“Yet somehow we danced circles around each other,” Phoenix shakily snickered.

“I just couldn’t comprehend it. I struggled to find mutuality. Because, I of course just wanted to see you happy. I wanted nothing but the best for you. And I wasn’t sure I fit that bill.”

“You did. You do.” Phoenix softly broke their connection for the purpose of framing his partner’s face, tenderly holding and intently staring. “God, Miles, you do. I don’t think I could love someone as much as I love you. Maybe I couldn’t even wrap my head around it either.”

“And we both experienced hardships of course.”

“Yeah. But you were there for me. You took my hand as well. You guided me and made me a stronger, better person. I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for you.”

“I of course can say the same about you. You are...” Miles heaved a shaky breath himself, before reaching to mirror the touch. “...the dearest thing in my life, Phoenix. You are my light, my guidance, my foundation, and my truth. You are so incredibly important to me, and I love you more than I ever deemed possible.”

Phoenix had heard his partner speak soft sentiments before. He had experienced the deeper, more vulnerable side of the prosecutor a handful of times. But whispered in a spot from their childhood, proclaimed as they sought to strengthen their bond...

It amplified his tears tenfold, his bottom lip wobbling as awed cascades poured forth.

“I...M-Miles...Dammit...” he croaked, leading to a playful eye roll from his partner.

“Mm, so eloquent,” Miles softly huffed.

“Shh! I...” Phoenix hesitated, overwhelmed and overflowing with adoration. He felt there wasn’t much to say to top what had just been murmured- and he also knew he dangerously close to falling apart. Consequently, he softly tugged his partner closer, and locked them in a tender kiss. He couldn’t help but whimper against the prosecutor’s lips, but he hoped to instill every bit of honeyed warmth he could manage- at least until he could properly vocalize.

“You’re my home, my warmth, my dream, my everything,” he eventually murmured, his mouth ghosting against his partner’s, “I love you more than humanely possible. You make me so so happy. There is no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with. So you’re kinda...stuck with me forever.”

“I would have it no other way. You have me, always.”

“Always. I’m yours.”

The two men stared at each other for numerous beats, glassy eyes peering deeply into each other’s souls. Tears ran down Phoenix’s cheeks, whereas Miles remained unshed and unbroken. But regardless, the intense emotion was palpable, the next step dangling right there for both to grab.

“So then...” Miles whispered.

“So then...” Phoenix quietly returned.

In mirroring each other, in being on the same plane, the two simultaneously lowered to one knee, far slower and less chaotic than the previous time. Instead, it was purposeful, devout, the pair entirely interlocked as they continued. They both presented their respective boxes once more, and shakily prepared for the final step.

“Phoenix Wright?”

“Miles Edgeworth?”

“Would...would you do me the extraordinary honor...and privilege...” Miles started.

“...of becoming my husband?” Phoenix finished.

It was then that he opened his box, with Miles following closely behind. And again, did he come incredibly close to breaking. Again, did he nearly lose hold on reality.

Because of course he and Miles continued to parallel. Of course they both ran with the same idea: The ring the prosecutor was presenting glistened with blue, just as the ring he presented glistened with red. They were gifting each other’s aesthetics. They deeply recognized each other, nodded to each other, and such an element would likely switch the next time they gifted rings.

The next time they gifted rings...

“I’ve waited so long to marry you, Miles...” Phoenix managed to gasp.

“I’ve pictured no one else...”

Phoenix was barely breathing, barely thinking. But still, did the words roll off his tongue, like they had been poised to do for eternity.

“So...yes.”

The preciousness finally broke the nigh impenetrable glass, a single tear rolling down the prosecutor’s cheek as he returned the deepest sentiment.

“Yes.”

Phoenix choked out a pitiful sob, and couldn’t help but tug them both upwards, his mouth finding Miles’ the second they were standing. And it was a wonder how their kiss almost immediately felt different, tasted different. It was sweeter, purer, and more profound. It was like their lips connected in a way they hadn’t before. It was something gorgeous, something new.

Perhaps it was because they were engaged. They were engaged.

Miles Edgeworth was his fiancé.

Another heaving sob from the defense attorney forced the kiss apart, and he opted to simply bury himself against Miles’ neck, beaming and crying all the while. He snuggled as close as he could possibly manage, and relished in the feeling of hands embracing him tightly. There, he attempted to compose himself, but naturally, the opposing man didn’t make things easy.

“Pull yourself together, Wright,” Miles softly jested, his voice thick with moisture, “You’re yanking me down with you.”

“I c-can’t,” he half-laughed half-sobbed.

“Mm...Perhaps I should take advantage and christen your finger with a ring first then...”

Sobs leant more towards laughter then, the defense attorney tightly hugging the prosecutor before leaning back in the embrace.

“N-nice try! We’re still doing this together.”

“We need both hands, silly,” Miles huffed before cocking an amused brow at his partner, “Though, judging by our differing composure, I relinquish my previous statement and deem it appropriate that you go first. Before you collapse on me, that is.”

“God, I love you...” Phoenix laughed, “And yeah, no promises...”

They both snickered, before turning their attention downward. Eyeing the two rings almost choked Phoenix up something terrible, but he managed to hang on by a mere thread. He focused on the band he intended to gift, the essence of his partner, fixating on completing the beautiful tradition. With a hand, he removed the precious ring from its box. And then shakily, softly, reverently, did he grab Miles’ hand with one of his own, and slip the band onto his finger with the other.

He shivered at the sight, at the ring finally resting in its proper place. But he barely had time to process before Miles began to mirror, slipping the opposing ring onto his tanner finger in return.

And then red truly danced with blue. Blue completely intertwined with red. Two colors dazzled and sparkled beside each other- just as they had for years, and would continue to do so for the rest of their days.

Phoenix could do nothing but stare for what seemed like an eternity, his trance only broken by Miles bringing their hands upward. Once more did he press soft kisses to Phoenix’s fingers, the weight of which was far greater now. The defense had no choice but to articulate.

“I’m...I’m going to marry you.”

Phoenix let out another round of gasping breaths, and was sure his smile was going to split his cheeks as he uttered the dreamlike phrase once more.

“Oh my God...I’m going to...marry you, Miles...We’re engaged.”

“We are...” the prosecutor quietly reaffirmed.

Shivering laughs trembled both bodies, before Phoenix gently pried his hands free. He immediately reached to frame Miles’ face, and the new glisten to his finger forced further cascades down his cheeks.

“We did it...” he laughed.

And the expression that had washed over his fiancé’s face was like nothing he had ever seen. It seemed to carry a level of adoration he didn’t even know existed. It seemed to be comprised of more warmth than that of the sun on the horizon. It seemed to be an expression entirely reserved for him.

All of which told Phoenix that he had, in fact, made the best decision of his life. Though, the following murmured word from his beloved hammered it in, cemented them fully on the unified plane.

“Finally...”

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.3

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (3k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, depictions of graphic violence

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, January 5 

Your feet pace back and forth. 

It must have been two, three‒maybe four days? You can’t recall anymore. All that remains in your memory is hours of roaming the long hallways of the house, nearly close to memorizing the amount of lights from the ceiling, or the multiple portraits set aside in one particular hall, lining together every head that came after Namjung. 

You know every room colour, every room door, every speck of dust that lingers behind, but you’re nowhere close to transparently knowing the shareholder’s inside out. 

Not having their favour means no communication. No communication means no reports are sent back, the static box still stored and hidden away. 

Your bottom lip has become battered from your constant chewing, losing track of how many circles you’ve paced at this point. 

And yet, it isn’t very difficult for you to decipher the exact reason for your distress. 

The shareholders don’t want you around. The moment you stayed during their meeting was off putting enough for them and Namjoon's sudden interest for you to be vocal about your father’s intentions had piercing glares thrown in your direction. 

But you’ve been assigned a task and you have to accomplish it, regardless of their desires. 

Sucking in a deep breath, the sound of the doors to your bedroom wrenching open completely fails your attempt to calm down. 

Swiveling around, Namjoon stands in front of you, eyes wide with delight. 

“Oh, you’re here!” He quickly enters, striding over to you in an instant. “Is everything alright?” 

Realizing that you’re simply gawking at his abrupt presence, you hastily shake your head. 

“I-I was just surprised to see you.” 

He smiles warmly and for some reason, you immediately flush at the gesture. You wonder if there will ever be a day where you can get used to the constant tenderness his eyes hold. 

He raises his hand and you simply stare, until he leans closer to signal you. 

“Come with me.” 

Blinking, you cautiously take his hand, and he tugs you away, far from the confines of your room and into a place that makes it easier to breathe. 

***

A gust of a wind immediately hits you, the brisk breeze feeling cold yet exhilarating at the same time. It’s strength blows and ruffles your clothes, the flowers at the bottom of your feet delicately brushing up against your skin. 

You spin around with knitted brows, facing Namjoon who stands a distance away from you. He’s still clad in the suit he was wearing from work, but his eyes are closed, as if he was trying to absorb and completely immerse himself with the wind. 

A question sits on the tip of your tongue. 

“Why did you bring me here?” You nearly have to yell, the sound of the wind and the distance not aiding with your voice projection. Namjoon dreamily opens his eyes, walking over to you. 

“It’s my mother's garden.” He points to the flowers, a cascade beginning with white, down to lilac purple and petal pink, “They have a calming effect, don’t you think?” 

A strained smile remains on your lips, “I guess…” 

Namjoon takes a step closer to you, “I’m sorry.” 

You turn to him, eyebrows raised, “For the way the shareholders acted with you during our meeting, for putting you on the spot like that, and then leaving you alone for so many days even though we just got married‒” 

He abruptly pauses, a pondering finger left on his lips. 

“Wait, I don’t think this is enough of an apology, just give me a moment.” 

Spinning around as if to leave, your arm involuntarily reaches out and latches onto his suit’s jacket. 

He glances at you with surprise and you let go right away, awkwardly stifling back a cough. 

“I-Its‒...it’s okay.” 

Namjoon is frozen, teeter tottering between remaining by your side and leaving at once. After a moment however, he makes up his mind and leaves, before hurrying back with what would be adjacent to a small tree in his hands. 

There’s a frown on your lips when he presents it to you. 

“It’s a bonsai tree.” He quickly clarifies, “I got it a while ago and have been maintaining it since.” 

You hum, leaning closer to observe it. It’s best description would be a miniature tree, although now you notice the string of ethereal pink that wraps around the branches. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

A warm, knowing smile crosses Namjoon’s lips. He gestures for you to sit down, still holding onto the small tree. 

“So you mentioned you were raised in the outskirts of the country? And then went to the imperial academy?” 

You nod right away, “What was it like?” 

“Um…” You attempt to wrack through your mind for an answer, “My family didn’t have much but tried their best to raise me. I ended up going to the academy because they assumed I would be the next L/N head.” 

“Did you want to be the next head?” 

“Not really…” You fiddle around with the hem of your shirt, “I just went because my parents wanted me to.” 

“So you didn’t want to be involved with the business and you didn’t want to go to the academy?” Namjoon repeats, like he was trying to memorize the facts, “What did you want to do then?” 

You blink, staring at him wide eyed, “I don’t know….” There’s a cloud brewing above your head, fog spreading, “I guess...I never figured out what that was.” 

“Come on, there must be something.” He raises the tree in his hands, “No bonsai trees to look after?” 

A wide grin spreads across his features, yet your expression remains stoic and confused. His smile begins to deflate, and he lowers his arms, but an unexpected smile cracks across your lips, morphing into a lop-sided one. 

“There was one bonsai tree, but it wasn’t a plant, or a mini tree for that matter.” 

Namjoon eyes you in intrigue, as if you were telling a story that he was enraptured in. A genuine smile surfaces on your lips, fond memories emerging from the depths of your mind. 

“I used to love reading....with my father, every Saturday morning.” There’s a spark within your eyes, recalling the day you first peered into his library much to his own joy, “It was something he initially picked up on as a hobby and then later introduced to me. I still remember days where I used to be buried beneath books and my mother would scold my father for the habit.” 

A snicker leaves your lips, “I got into so much trouble once, I didn’t attend my classes at the academy to keep reading and I’d never seen my mother so furious.” 

There’s a ray of euphoria splashing over your features, eyes brimming with excitement and bliss. You can’t believe you can still remember these memories, memories that are years old and only consist of absolutely innocent times. 

Times in which you were allowed to indulge your natural curiosity instead of exploiting it. 

At that, your smile falls and you turn to Namjoon to apologize for your abrupt rambling, but your breath hitches in your throat. He’s extremely close to you, only a mere inches away, and although there’s a small tree sitting in his arms, the look in his eyes is enough to draw your attention. 

You awkwardly cough, looking away with a flush spreading over your skin. 

“W-Why are you asking me all these questions?” 

Namjoon blinks, as if broken from a trance. 

He meekly smiles, “We’re married now, but there’s still so much I don’t know about you…” 

You swivel around, eyes completely wide. The loose dots clumsily connect, but it’s enough for you to understand his intention behind bringing you out here. 

He’s shared a piece of himself with you, in hopes that you’ll share a piece of yourself with him. 

Namjoon gets up holding the tree, offering you his hand. You stare at it for a mere moment, a thousand thoughts swimming through your mind. 

Cautiously taking his hand, you have to remind yourself that this is all a simple mission ‒ nothing more, nothing less. 

***

Namjoon takes you across the garden, pointing out the various flowers that he’s aware of, while you trail behind him and listen in. At one point his bonsai tree nearly falls from his hands when he trips over a sharp ledge, and you’re quick to offer your help in holding it. 

This results in your carrying of the small plant, and Namjoon’s deciding to let you know what he named it. 

“Cherry?” You repeat, knitting your brows together. 

Namjoon hums, “Like cherry blossom.” Pointing towards the string of pink you noticed before, you realize that the faint dust was indeed the emergence of new blossoms along the branch. “I have other ones too, and they all have names.” 

You perk your eyes up at that, continuing to slowly trail behind him. There’s something that uncomfortably itches at the back of your throat, the apprehensive feeling in your stomach increasing. 

The longer you’re here, following along with Namjoon and listening to his thoughtful words, the longer the mayhem increases. Red flares are exploding in your mind, and heaving ringing pounds through your skull, dragging you back before it’s too late. 

“Y/N?” 

You suddenly jolt from the proximity, realizing you’ve stopped in your tracks and that Namjoon is gazing at you with troubled eyes. You’re about to shake it off, mutter that you were just lost in thought, when a loud blare rings through the air. 

“Sorry.” Namjoon winces, hurriedly taking out his phone and swiping away the piercing sound. “Hello?” 

You peer down at the tree in your hands, curiously holding a branch between your fingers. “The deal’s been finalized? Already, Yoongi?” 

At the sound of the shareholder’s name, your head snaps up. Namjoon goes silent for a moment, before his voice dips into a lower tone. 

“I-I understand...I’ll be there soon.” The line is cut off, and he looks up at you, an apologetic smile forming on his lips. 

“I have to leave, it’s for an urgent matter.” He takes the plant from your hands, “I’m sorry.” 

You instinctively shift as he moves, grabbing onto his suit jacket like before. “I‒…” 

He pauses, eyes rounding. The naive look he holds makes you grimace, the lie easily slipping from your lips. “I-I really don’t want to be alone here….” 

Confusion dawns on him and you gaze down at the ground, attempting your best to mimic a somber expression. 

Namjoon tilts his head to the side and places a finger on his lips, as if he were deeply pondering. 

“I-I understand…” Although his words suggest it, he struggles with the implication. Relief floods through you, hoping that your professing is enough to sway him. 

However, the last thing you expect emerges from Namjoon. 

His tone drops a register and his piercing eyes flicker at you, holding onto an alluring yet ominous ambience to them. It sends shivers down your spine and you instinctively want to back away from him, caught off guard. 

“It won’t be pretty.” He sharply enunciates. Swallowing hard, you can only nod in response.

Without another look, he gestures for you to follow him. 

***

It would be a lie to say that you’re not knowledgeable about the Kim’s. 

However, to say that you’re too knowledgeable about them, would be most accurate and a fact that you’ve always been careful to conceal. 

The Kim’s manufacture weapons. They have far more connections that an octopus would have limbs, and they spread out everywhere, making deals left and right. 

However, these are simple facts. Easy to memorize and remember. 

And hurdles away from reality. 

The building is far from Namjoon’s office, and exhibits a strange bluish grey hue, almost as if it were abandoned for decades. Yet when Namjoon hurriedly paces ahead and the steel door creaks open, your jaw drops. 

It’s massive ‒ assembly lines running parallel and forklifts moving along to put up the heavy bundles of steel. It becomes clear to you in that one exact moment, of how much wealth the Kim family truly reigns over your heads. 

Your dilated pupils glance in Namjoon’s direction again and he’s occupied with opening a separate door, far from the catastrophic noise raising in the room. Following him inside into an expansive hall, you’re again confronted with the four individuals that seem to despise your very existence. 

Hoseok is the first one to scorn, stepping forward immediately. 

“You brought her with you?” He spits, eyes throwing daggers at your form from across the room. Namjoon intervenes in an instant, raising his hand. 

“She’s staying.” 

Hoseok appears to want to protest more, but instead remains silent with only a twitch of his nose and another glare in your direction. You’re taken aback from how he’s rendered mute, but Taehyung crosses his arms and focuses on you. 

“You better keep your mouth shut.” Brushing past you, he turns to Namjoon, his demeanor shifting. “We’ve just received the samples today.” 

Yoongi takes out a large briefcase and places it on the table before sliding it in Namoon. As he works his way through the codes on it, Jungkook begins handing Yoongi more of them, and he slides them along. 

The moment the first one is open, your heart rate spikes up. 

A colossal gun is encased within the soft black styrofoam, nearly double the size of your arm. It’s distressing structure includes a handful of large bullets, one of which Namjoon picks up and inspects. 

Tapping the side of the copper metal, his gaze narrows in intriguement, as if the bullet in his hand were a mere lightbulb. “What is it made of?” 

“Lead and antimony.” Yoongi clarifies, “It has long distance range.” 

Namjoon hums and your fists tighten, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. You had never imagined the Kim’s would be exploring these kinds of weapons, a weapon so fatal when their business has only ever focused on producing simple handguns. 

Apart from the severity of the new knowledge you’ve just obtained though, for some reason the glint in Namjoon’s eyes as he views them seems to frighten you more. 

His next question drains colour away from your skin. 

“Do they work?” 

Yoongi smirks like it’s a question that shouldn’t even be asked. Taehyung reaches over, swiftly grabbing onto the abundant gun and lining it with his shoulder. 

“Would you like to see?” He ponders, and Namjoon nods, backing away from him. Taehyung cranks back the hammer and closes one eye, directing his aim for the wall. 

You patiently wait for him to release it, expecting to hear a sudden spike in the breeze accompanied by a loud boom. But that’s when Taehyung shifts his feet, changing his angle with a small smirk dancing on his lips. 

Aiming straight for you. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage and before you say anything in opposition, he releases the bullet. 

“….if you ever are found out, Y/N….. 

....at the split second in discovering your true nature….

....the Kim’s will not hesitate….

...they will never hesitate at the opportunity to dispose of you….” 

The sound of your palpitating heartbeat blares through your eardrums, breath completely halting. Save for the frozen state your body has entered, the sight of having all eyes glued to your form barely draws your attention. 

The bullet has whizzed right by you, landing on the wall you are standing in front of. 

Taehyung snickers. 

“It’s hard not to show off these precious babies when you have a L/N in the room.” He remarks and from afar, Hoseok shares his knowing look. 

“That’s enough.” Namjoon stomps over in Taehyung’s direction, grabbing the gun from his hands with a scowl. 

“What?” Taehyung innocently questions, cocking his head to the side. “It’s not everyday that you get to see a L/N in here.” 

He gyrates, facing you, “I was hoping a demonstration would have helped you understand how the Kim’s operate.” 

“Taehyung.” Namjoon warns again, but he saunters over to you, not fazed in the slightest. 

“How was your father planning to save the company again? By letting it drown first or by setting all his assets on fire?” 

His sharp eyes twinkle with amusement, brows narrowed as if he were observing you. There’s a handful of words prepared to spew from you, ranging from how he was completely wrong and downright conceited, but you bite your tongue back, recalling why you’ve persuaded Namjoon to bring you along in the first place. 

You clear your throat instead. 

“Well you know what they say,” A small smirk curls on your lips as you meet his gaze, “The L/N’s never did understand true power.” 

There’s no naivety leftover in your expression, no hint of hesitation remaining anymore. The card you’ve pulled out is one you’ve been taught rather than naturally embodied, and it’s one you’ve been persistent to never use. 

But you’re running of time and the only one to carry out your mission, is to wholeheartedly agree. 

Taehyung appears taken aback, prepared for a giant fire to be thrown his way that ends up only drowsed in complete water. Your response has rendered him speechless, but it’s not long before a smile begins to tug on his lips, the dark look in his eyes commending you for the statement. 

When he steps back, you notice the look of intriguement surfacing on every individual present ‒ save for the man you’ve been married to. 

Although you’re content that you’ve captured their attention, it’s hard to ignore the stunned eyes Namjoon sends your way.

[saber-of-dreams]

Lamentis - An Analysis

If we’re being honest here, there’s probably enough material to look at the entire episode in extensive detail, but that would take forever and I’ve got work tomorrow.  Funny story - I had originally put “A Brief Analysis” in the title...then I realized it wasn’t actually brief anymore.  😀

So for now, I wanted to do a quick analysis of the scenes between Loki and Sylvie once they make it onto the train, because this is where the whole dynamic between them shifts.

It’s interesting that we start out talking about Frigga - about family.  Loki’s biggest soft spot.  Especially now that he’s seen what happens to him in his original timeline, and now that he understands that his family did in fact love him.  

And we see how having them - Frigga, in particular, has affected Loki’s development.  Not just his skill in magic, but his true nature.  He becomes noticeably softer, gentler, when he talks about his adopted mother.  Whatever the circumstances, he truly loved her.  And although this Loki never made it to that point where he sent her to her death, he still knows that he would have done it.  And he still feels that regret.  This is also echoed in the first episode when he reads about the destruction of Asgard.  Family is family, regardless of your blood.

We also figure out Sylvie pretty quickly here too.  We see that she is abysmally lonely.  Jumpy.  Untrusting.  And then we find out that she never really knew her family, but that they had the decency to tell her she was adopted and allow her to process that information positively as a child.  It’s an interesting parallel for them both - Loki who grew up with the family, but didn’t know he was adopted, and Sylve who grew up knowing she was adopted, but lost her family so early.  Equal but opposite.

This is all perfectly encapsulated in that moment where Loki does the mini fireworks for her.  It’s a genuine gesture meant to do nothing but make her smile, and pull her out of the dark place she seems to have gone.  And it works.  

And then he follows it up with a genuine question about her own powers.  And you can hear the amazement, the respect, in his voice when she explains that she taught herself.  

We then move almost directly into the subject of love.  And again, we see the juxtaposition of their two lives.  Loki having relationships/lovers but no real depth and Sylvie having no real relationships at all, possibly only physical experience - the non-attached variety (in case that wasn’t obvious from the dialogue).  

The key piece of dialogue here?  Loki saying “Nothing ever...” and Sylvie supplying the word to finish the thought - “real.”

Love is kind of like a recipe.  You need a few key ingredients, in just the right measure added just the right way to create something truly spectacular.

See here’s the thing - it is so much harder to see someone as an enemy, when you know them.  Maybe you don’t know everything.  But you know enough.  You understand.  Ingredient one - compassion/understanding.  Again, we see that here.  You have to know someone.  And that requires honest engagement.  No masks.  No lies.  Just blatant, heart-wrenching truth.  Family.  Love.  

You also need respect.  Genuine, un-assuming, respect for another person.  For their abilities/skills/personality traits - doesn’t matter.  But if you don’t respect them - you don’t love them.  Now obviously it takes a while to develop true respect for someone, but again, this scene is the start of that for them.  

Loki is impressed by Sylvie’s ability to teach herself magic, and Sylvie is impressed by Loki’s obvious skill with illusion.  And given the multiple fights the two have had, I would imagine they see each other as competent fighters.  Not to mention their various plans to get them to this stage working out/working together.

Okay.  I’m going to step away from the recipe we’re crafting here for a moment so I can talk about The Song - part deux (I did a brief analysis on that yesterday).  But instead of analyzing the content of the song this time, I want to analyze the moments around it.

Now, Sylvie wakes up in the middle of it, so I sincerely doubt that Loki started singing it with any deliberate attempt to serenade her - but - when she wakes up?  And he notices?  He immediately turns to her - and sings the true centerpiece of the song (the adventurer/warrior trying to find his way back to the maiden who waits for him) directly at her.  Literally.  He turns his body to face her directly.  He sings to her.  And you know, literally dedicates the song to her when he’s done.

You know that bubbly, excited feeling you get, when you start crushing on someone?  That joy that just kinda...makes everything a little brighter?  That’s Loki here - aided by quite a bit of alcohol.  He has dropped his walls, and is trying to let Sylvie in.  He has been nothing but honest with her since they got on the train, and he’s starting to develop real feelings for her.  I think their conversation really made him see that - not that he actually consciously understands that (that doesn’t happen until next episode when Mobius has to actually spell it out for him).

Sylvie?  She thinks he’s an idiot.  Being the center of attention like that?  Actively seeking out that attention?  Completely foreign to her.  And, as she points out, someone noticed him and goes to tip off the real guards.  But the other thing here is - this dynamic also foreshadows episode 6 - Loki is focused on Sylvie, and on helping others (i.e. when he finds out the TVA agents are all varients too).  Sylvie is focused on her mission to the exclusion of all else - regardless of the feelings that she too may be developing for him.  Interestingly, I noticed a super tiny smile on Sylvie’s face when Loki said “To Sylvie, everybody!” 

Now, Loki’s lines about love being a dagger are very interesting.  Not only is it a great way to see how he perceives the emotion, but it’s also a really nice metaphor for the two of them.  

Love is a dagger.

It’s a weapon.  

To be wielded.

Far away - or up close

You can see yourself in it.

It’s beautiful.

Until it makes you bleed.

Okay.  Back to our recipe.

You need an intersection point - where two opposing people with two opposing ideals meet in the middle.  But.  That intersection?  It has to be mutual and it has to be consensual.  You have to be willing to meet someone else half way - to attempt to see things from their perspective, before you step forward.

You cannot force someone to see past their own blindness.

Loki and Sylvie take that next step in a few parts - and sorry folks, but I’m going to pick this up in a future post.  I just realized how late it is and I do need to be semi-functional for work tomorrow.  

Until next time.  😉

[esotericakit]

Fancy ranting about why you love kit snicket?👀 tbh I never found her character that compelling but I’m extreme open to changes of opinion hhh? pls feel free to ignore this hhgkkgkg

oh my god i’m so sorry i’ve been super busy I only just saw this but ahhh I love this question ((also sorry if some of thisk doesn’t make sense, i just got off a 7 hour bus ride and I am sleep deprived)). also a tw here for some discussions of painful stuff like death, loss, grief, implications of suicidal thoughts (nothing graphic)

okay so that’s valid bc she doesn’t get a lot to work with in tpp BUUUUUT what you do get is very rich. so basically it’s all tied in with vfd and what they’ve done to the sugarbowl gen. every member of the sugarbowl gen has been ripped from their family extremely young and recruited into this organisation, forced into life threatening situations, kept from loved ones for long periods of time (like kit and lemony in atwq) and have sort of convinced themselves, to varying degrees, that it’s important because the organisation is important. with lemony, he’s disillusioned and disappears after heartbreak. with beatrice and bertrand, they decide to pull away and leave. with jacques, he buries himself so deeply into his work with vfd so that he doesn’t have to reckon with what they did to him. and then you have kit.

with kit, I think she isn’t as sold to vfd as jacques and can still be somewhat critical of it, but also recognises that she’s trapped and always will be at their beck and call, and it’s not easy to break out from this illusion of the mighty organisation she’s a part of. she’s a quick thinker, she’s a mechanic, she’s resilient, she’s quick-witted, she’s as good a volunteer as they come, and so they exploit that and use her gifts (like building the queequeg and having her make the poison darts). for the most part, she buys into vfd’s bullshit, but i think it’s a sort of defence mechanism where she knows that resistance is going to be harder than compliance, so she puts her head down and does the work.

and this leads her to do things that she maybe wouldn’t have done of her own free will, like aiding in the murder of olaf’s parents. we don’t know exactly what kit and olaf’s relationship was like, but from what’s given in their interaction in te, i think they were young sweethearts, i think kit did genuinely care for him, and i think that it was vfd that ordered the murder, and not beatrice and bertrand, as many people have implied. so, by giving beatrice and bertrand the darts, she chooses the organisation over her relationship, and it can’t have been an easy choice. this then re-ignites the schism, olaf becomes a firestarter and kit has to watch as her brother is framed by olaf for crimes he didn’t commit.

and then lemony dies, or so she thinks. i’m of the mind that kit never learns that her brother is actually alive, and dies thinking she lost him. and we know that family is one of the most important things to the snickets; “we snickets look out for their own”, and I imagine kit going beside herself trying to find ways to protect lemony from all the attacks, the frame jobs, the rumours, only to have it be too late, and she’s lost her brother forever.

and so she’s left there, mourning lemony, and all she has left of her family is jacques. and she loves jacques but his first priority is vfd, it’ll always be vfd. she has beatrice and bertrand, but they’ll leave to the island soon, and they’ll leave vfd after that, and be largely out of her life for good.

she starts building the queequeg and at last, her vfd work seems to be doing some good. she meets ink, monty’s latest discovery, and at last, it seems that other members of vfd are doing some good. and then she hears about the medusoid mycelium, and the illusion of vfd cracks a little bit more. she desperately tries to stop gregor from creating the mycelium, only for that to fail. another loss.

then, we don’t know the nature of kit and dewey’s relationship so again, going off what we have with the fact that she is pregnant when we meet her and that dewey’s last word is “kit”, not to mention the way that she explicitly asked about dewey’s wellbeing when she meets the baudelaires on the island, the implication is heavily that she and dewey are romantically involved. and I think she found a lot of solace in dewey. dewey, in his own way, had lost a lot, from his parents to his brother (joining the firestartera), to his own identity, all to vfd, and he understood where she was coming from in terms of being disillusioned but also being trapped.

and then the baudelaire fire happens, and it’s very clear to everyone that olaf was involved (whether he actually was or not is a different debate). so this is now 3 people who kit has loved that olaf has had a hand in their deaths. someone she loved killing other people she loved, and it’s the most painful thing.

we don’t know where kit is for the events of asoue, but regardless, she has to hear how other associates and friends have died or been killed at the hands of olaf, and each one hurts more than the last, because she can’t stop or slow down how many people she’s losing, and I think there’s an element of not being able to help but blame herself for his actions, because if she hadn’t helped kill his parents, maybe he wouldn’t be doing this.

and then jacques dies, and it’s the biggest blow yet. she just lost the last member of her family she had left, and she can’t cope, she stays in bed and decides that, despite dewey, despite her child, she’ll never leave her bed again.

what does make her leave, however, is vfd business; the message from quigley. she knows that she can’t even take the time to mourn her brother, she has to keep moving, and the pressure to carry the whole “good” side of vfd, to continue what her brother started, is on her shoulders, and that’s immense.

and so that’s when we meet her in tpp, and she is a broken person. she has lost so many people, been put through so much, had her entire worldview and foundation turned upside down, and she’s still doing all of this work, putting her life on the line over and over again, for an organisation that has done nothing but take things from her and hurt her, but there’s absolutely nothing else she can do. she’s pregnant and she can’t allow herself to be happy or excited about that because she just doesn’t have it in her. all she knows is that she has to get through this as quickly as she can, losing as few people as she can. her conversation with the baudelaires is interesting too, and is so exemplary of how she’s mourning; she remembers little details about beatrice and bertrand (like the feathers on bea’s shawl) and reminisces about how much the children look like them, and you can tell that it’s extremely painful to go through

she then leaves the baudelaires and risks her life again trying to rescue the quagmires, and it’s unclear whether it was a success or not but regardless, when she finally pulls herself up onto that stupid book raft she insists on making, she’s so so so so tired. she’s in labour, she doesn’t know what’s happened at the hotel denouement, she doesn’t know whether she’ll return to the city and find more destruction or not. i think the only thing stopping her from giving up while on that raft is the thought of her child and dewey, so she holds on.

she washes up on the island and the baudelaires are there, which means they’re alive, so that’s something. but then she hears that dewey’s dead. that the hotel went up in flames. that all that’s waiting for her in the city is more pain and more loss. and that’s the final blow, that’s the moment that she knows that there is nothing can happen that can repair the damage created by what’s been taken from her. she refuses the apple, citing fear that it would harm the baby, but I think the truth is that she couldn’t bear to consider continuing her life after all that’s happened, even if it means sacrificing a life with her child.

and then olaf shows up and he rescues her from the raft and she’s suddenly face to face with the reason for so much of the loss she’s faced. it was him who killed so many of her associates, her friends, her brothers. and she doesn’t forgive him, because she knows she isn’t big enough to do that. we can also hypothesise about whether or not olaf could be the baby’s father (i like to headcanon that she doesn’t know either way but it’s either dewey’s or olaf’s, and the stress of that makes this moment even harder). but she also doesn’t have the energy to be angry at him. she knows these are her last moments, and she knows that olaf was a victim of vfd, just like she was. so she touches his tattoo and chooses instead to recite poetry, because it’s easier than being angry, it’s easier than hating him. he recites poetry back, and then dies. and despite the fact that he’s hurt her so much, she did care for him once, it’s one more person she’s lost, when she didn’t think she had anyone else to lose.

and then she gives birth to her daughter, using the last ounces of strength she has left. it’s a horrendously sad thing, because i think she could have had the capacity to love her daughter, to be a good mother, but the pain won out and she stopped being able to want to help herself, if that makes sense. so she gives her daughter life, the only thing she has left to give her, and then dies.

I think it’s so staggering to think about this person, who could have lived a life full of colour and fire, and see her completely beaten down to what she ended up as in tpp. she’s a prime example of what vfd does, she’s the last one standing of her generation, and the toll that takes on her is immense. i think the juxtaposition of her recklessness and her grief against the fact that she’s pregnant and about to become a mother is even more heartbreaking. she’s such a compelling character and so gorgeously written, even though what we see of her is so brief. she’s a person who so desperately wants autonomy and control over her situation, things she’ll never truly have, so she does reckless things that endanger her life, to get that control back and because she truly stops caring about her well-being.

and it’s a little comforting i guess? i tend to project onto kit a lot because of some of my own life experiences and losses and i understand where she comes from a lot of time time and it’s such a difficult place and my heart just hurts for her a lot

i’m sorry that this was so long, i got carried away lol thanks for the question though!!

[awkwardshortboy]

One thing I really don’t understand about Snape haters is that they often see his defection because Lily was threatened as a bad thing. I genuinely don’t see that’s wrong with someone changing sides to protect someone they love?

Snape’s earlier life (pre-defection) seems to involve him making his choices based on what he considers to be his own interest, which makes sense after being neglected and (probably) abused at home, then bullied at school with his teachers doing nothing to stop it. Joining the Death Eaters wasn’t a very wise choice, but it might have been the choice which made the most sense to 18 year-old Snape, after one of the main men opposing Voldemort (Dumbledore) turned a blind eye to his suffering at school, which was brought about by the Marauders, who the books suggest were fairly open about their anti-Voldemort opinions; at the same time, it’s also highly likely Snape’s fellow Slytherins were singing the praises of the Death Eaters and grooming people for joining in the common room. This doesn’t excuse his choice to join (he could’ve stayed neutral), but Snape was ambitious and he was probably promised the chance to rise high working for Voldemort. On top of this, the only interactions Snape is shown to have with muggles are negative (his father and Petunia), so it was probably very easy to persuade him to be anti-muggle.

The only reason Snape might have had, which mattered to him personally at the time, not to go over to Voldemort was his friendship with Lily, due to his hatred of muggleborns. This doesn’t appear to have produced an obvious conflict for Snape, however, as he was already giving off the impression he wanted to join before before their friendship ended, and once that was over there would be little to pull him back to the light.  By the time he left Hogwarts, Snape had had seven years of future Death Eaters probably signing the praises of Voldemort and telling him how well he’d do serving him, while those opposing him had alienated him through directly attacking him (Marauders) or clearly caring very little for his welfare (Dumbledore), and on top of this he’d lost his muggle born friend, potentially his only good muggle-related experience.

Once again, this does not justify the decision Snape made, but he was an abused and impoverished teenager who very few people seemed to have genuinely care for, whose experiences with muggles had nearly all been bad, and whose only canon extant friendships by the end of seventh year were Death Eaters.  In this context, joining them probably made the most sense to Snape at the time, as his early life had given him very little reason to join the side defending the muggles.

In contrast to this, his defection is a relatively selfless act. Relaying the prophecy is likely to have won him favour with Voldemort, perhaps putting Snape on the way to realising his ambitions - defecting doesn’t just put that is jeapordy, it puts an end to it entirely. Instead of continuing to advance in Voldemort’s favours, which (at the time) may have seemed like it was likely to result in a comfortable life, Snape went to Dumbledore, a man who everything we know about his school days suggests he had no reason to trust. I’d say this makes his defection in hope of saving Lily’s life an incredibly selfless act, sacrificing any small success he’s had to put his life in the hands of a man who seems to have previously cared little for it.

Of course, many see it as ‘Snape just wanted to fuck Lily’ (which has no basis in either the books or the films, except that’s what Voldemort thought, the man who doesn’t understand love). By this time Lily was married, and there’s no evidence Snape aimed at trying to get in the way of that (a reconciliation after his defection would be likely to have appeared in the Prince’s Tale), and when Snape goes to Dumbledore he asks him to hide all Lily’s family; from this perspective Snape would get very little personally from defecting for Lily’s sake, if she lived it would be for and with her family. It also must be considered that if his aim in aiding the order was to return to Lily’s good books, why did it take 1-2 years for him to go over to them? And if all he wanted was a relationship with Lily, why would he continue to fight against Voldemort 16.5 years after she died, with his life fairly constantly under threat throughout that time with no evidence of personal gain, except perhaps a feeling of redemption. 

It makes more sense to see that Snape made a very selfless choice (after a lifetime of having to put himself first to survive), defecting to protect someone he loved. He continued to put the cause she died for before himself for nearly 17 years after her death, showing he moved on from any views he shared with Voldemort as a teenager (even shouting at Phineas Nigellus for using the word ‘mudblood’ in DH, showing a rejection of Death Eater bigotry).

Snape’s defection for Lily’s sake shows a strong ability for him to be incredible selfless, and that he was able to see through the darkness that had surrounded his early life and devote himself for years to fighting against evil. Far from making him unworthy of his redemption (as many snaters argue), I’d say it’s a central element to it, as his love for Lily led him to change from someone making morally dubious decisions in his own interest, to someone prepared to do the right thing regardless of what may happen to him.

[greatqueenanna]

Why Kristoff is a great partner and character.

There are many great male characters in the Disney canon. The Valiant, Pungent, Reindeer King Kristoff Bjogrman, stands among them as one of the best. Kristoff has something special about him that I feel goes unnoticed by many people, simply because Kristoff is a tri-tagonist in the Frozen Franchise. However, I’m here to tell you that there are things about Kristoff that truly make him shine regardless of his smaller role in the overall story. The franchise was never focused on romantic love, but within Kristoff we see a character that exemplifies what a good romantic partner should be like.

Another long one guys, so under the read more we go!

I’ve seen a few posts try and say that Kristoff’s relationship with Anna is unhealthy. However, I want to offer some viewpoints on why I feel this in not the case. According to the Hall Health Center, A healthy relationship is when two people develop a connection based on:

Mutual Respect/Honesty

Playfulness/Fondness

Trust/Support

Separate Identities

Good Communication

Kristoff is able to show all of this to Anna; while not all at once and at the very moment they meet, he does develop these skills and qualities as his and Anna’s relationship flourishes. It is also stated that all of these things take work, and is not something that just happens immediately, and that is ok. Most of these qualities Kristoff is able to show when we first meet him as adult, while others he develops over time with trial and error. As with Anna and Elsa, Kristoff is not perfect, and needed to learn certain lessons to become a better version of himself.

Mutual Respect/Honesty

It is no secret that Kristoff respects Anna’s boundaries and decisions. While he may not agree with some of them, and is vocal about it, he still doesn’t try to force his views or needs. It is always good to be honest with someone, but to not force their hand or treat them like a child. For example -

During Frozen, Kristoff is very vocal about Anna’s decision to marry Hans. He tells her that, honestly, it is a reckless decision. However, he never tries to force her to break up with or change her mind. He just very clearly states his opinion, but never steps over that boundary to try and make decisions for her. This behavior is shown throughout the film, as Kristoff is able to be honest with her on her decisions, but never tries to stop her or force her hand. The only time he directly tries to stop her, is when Anna is getting ready to throw a snowball at Marshmallow, because it directly affects her safety.

Also during Frozen, Kristoff respects Anna’s boundaries by asking Anna for her consent before kissing. He doesn’t force her into a surprise kiss, he asks her first if they could. This shows how Kristoff respects her bodily autonomy, and recognizes her possible trauma from Hans.

In Frozen 2, Kristoff again shows how he respects her decisions.

“You had to go, and of course its always fine.”

In Lost in the Woods, while Kristoff is having a harder time in this film being honest about his feelings (at first) Kristoff reiterates that he always respects Anna’s choices, never trying to force her to think one way or guilt her.

Playfulness/Fondness

Kristoff adores Anna. That, is obvious. He’s playful with her all throughout Frozen, teasing her without out right insulting her. We also know exactly how he feels about Anna as he expresses his love for her in Frozen 2. He finds Anna -

“Incredible”

“Feisty”

“Brave”

He also mentions how she’s his ‘ginger sweetheart’, suggesting that he likes her hair color (in other words, he finds her beautiful).

Also in Frozen 2, we can clearly see that Kristoff and Anna have a loving,  physical relationship. This is a bit of a wacky point to mention considering that this is a children’s film, but the implications are there so I will talk about it. Anna and Kristoff kiss multiple times with both parties being comfortable, and Anna is ready to have a make out session when Elsa and Olaf fall asleep in the sled. This shows how the two of them have enough fondness of one another to be able to be physical.

Trust/Support 

This is a big one, and one of Kristoff’s best qualities. Not only does he support her, as mentioned in the respect section, he shows how he is able to trust her decisions, openly asking her what she needs to do when he rescues her from the rock giants.

“I’m here, what do you need?”

“To get the the dam.”

“You got it!”

Kristoff doesn’t ask her why, he just trusts her judgment. This is clear development from the first film, when he didn’t trust her judgment based on her choice to marry Hans. Then, he gladly helps her up the cliff without a fuss or undermining her strength.

“Help me up.”

“We’ll meet you on the other side.”

His trust for her also grows when he is finally able to come to terms with how he feels. In fact, the scene above demonstrates how when Kristoff finally reflects on his emotions, he is able to be more confident with their relationship and have more trust that Anna knows what she’s doing. 

Kristoff also spends both films and short films giving Anna support. In Frozen, while he at first only cares about Anna’s promise to give him a new sled, he starts to show genuine concern for her. He offers to help her down when she (barely) climbs the mountain, runs to her side when she collapses from Elsa’s blast, and tries to keep her warm when carrying her down to Arendelle. Even in Frozen 2, when he’s unsure about the status of their relationship, he still comes to her aide and helps her during the fire attack, and of course comes rushing to help her with the rock giants. In Olaf’s Frozen Adventure, he sees Anna down and wants to cheer her up, and helps Elsa in Frozen Fever throw a party for her, using every inch of his strength to make sure it doesn't get ruined.

Separate Identities 

Kristoff is not dependent on Anna. While he loves her and wants to be there for her, he has a separate identity and is able to support himself.  He has a life outside of Anna, including his friendship with Sven, his troll family, and his ice business. He is able to leave Anna’s side, for example in Frozen Fever to drop off the Snowgies, and in Forest of Shadows he leaves to talk to the Trolls.

His self esteem is also not dependent on Anna. He openly wears what he wants, proclaiming that he only dress nice for Anna for as long as he’s comfortable, does strange things like talking to Sven, licking a strange sculpture in Olaf’s Frozen Adventure, compliments his stew in the same film even though Elsa and Anna are visibly disgusted, and never takes Anna’s insults in Frozen to heart.

“Nobody wants to be alone. Except maybe you.”

“(Laughs) I’m not alone.”

He states the last comment without any indication that he is being defensive or is offended by the statement. In fact, it doesn't faze him at all. His worries in Frozen 2 about Anna’s feelings are not about his self-esteem, but rather losing her as a partner. Let me better explain this. Kristoff mentality is not this -

“Anna is the only one who will consider me and if I lose her, I will have no one else. I am nothing without her. ”

It is this -

“Anna has become an important part of my life because of how amazing she is, and I don’t want to lose her.”

Yes, he does claim in Lost in the Woods how -

“Who am I, if I’m not your guy?

Where am I, if we’re not together forever?”

But I firmly believe that this has to do with him letting his fear take over, not so much how he actually feels, which I’ll explain more in a bit. Thus, Kristoff is not scared of losing his relationship with Anna because she makes him feel good about himself, he’s afraid of losing her because he genuinely loves having her around in his life. He loves her as a separate person, not as a crutch.

Good Communication 

This is the tricky one, because Kristoff has to develop this skill from trial and error. He doesn't have it already set, however it mostly affects his romantic life. He can pretty much say whatever he wants and what is on his mind to everyone else, and even to Anna before he realizes he loves her.

However, we clearly see that in Frozen 2, Kristoff is having a hard time expressing his desires to Anna. He wants to marry her, he wants to start a family. But what if Anna doesn’t want that? What if they are actually growing apart?

I care about her, but does she care about me?

Because of this fear, he is over explaining and fumbling over his words. Even so much as letting it affect his self-esteem, which he didn’t have a problem with before. As I mentioned many times in other posts, fear is a reoccurring villain in the Frozen Franchise, and it has reared its ugly face in Kristoff’s development as well.

His fear is making him hesitant, clumsy and question his self worth. Even though this really has nothing to do with any sort of dependence on Anna, he is letting his fear make him believe that he needs her to a desperate degree. In fact, he showed in the beginning of the film that he was much more calm about their relationship and had no doubts. It wasn’t until Anna started to focus more on Elsa that he started to grow this irrational fear. It didn’t happen in full blast until he thought Anna left him permanently.

However, after expressing these negative feelings out loud, and not letting them bottle up inside, he was able to see the flaw in his thinking as evident later on. After assisting Anna, he explains that he understands how she felt, and that it didn’t have anything to do with him. As Anna was strong enough to push forward even after losing everything, Kristoff was strong enough to able to put his feelings of self-doubt aside and find the confidence he lost.

“I know, I know, it’s ok. My love is not fragile.”

In just a few words, Kristoff expresses how his love was stronger than his fear, realizing what he already knew: that he is good enough, that him and Anna were fine, and that he was over reacting based on a fragile fear. Then, of course, he is able to tell Anna how he feels without doubt, finally asking her to marry him.

Thus, we know that Kristoff follows the traits of what makes a healthy relationship to a tee. Even though he didn’t have every quality at first, he developed them over time. As every character is flawed in Frozen, and need to make the bad choices first in order to learn, Kristoff needed to experience the same thing to be the best version of himself that he was always capable of. 

[allthebooksandcrannies]

I know a lot of older people think it's a problem that so many young people don't want to have children, but I think it shows an increased understanding for how much of a responsibility parenting is and how much damage you can do to a child of you're not ready to raise someone.

I think that everyone is capable of being a good parent and I think that some people should never be parents. These may sound mutually exclusive but they aren't because there's a big if involved in the first half. That if, is that everyone is capable of being a good parent someday if they put in the work to take care of their own shit first.

When you become a parent or guardian, you are officially signing on to prioritize another person's physical and emotional needs before your own for the rest of their life. That means loving them no matter what they do or who they become. That means putting aside your own exhaustion and frustration at your day when they walk through the door so that you can be their champion and their confidant and their companion. That means teaching them how to process their emotions and think critically and empathetically and it means letting them find their own path, even if it's different than the one you wanted or imagined for them, but making it clear that if they need or want your comfort, your help, or just your ear that they will have it. You don't have to be perfect. No parent ever is, and it's important anyway for kids to learn in nontraumatic ways that adults make mistakes too and that's okay as long as you take responsibility for that and strive to learn and grow because of your mistakes. Kids learn by watching and listening to the adults around them and the things they conclude from those early years of observation will stick with them the rest of their lives.

I know that that sounds scary. It probably should because deciding to raise a child should be the biggest decision you can make, and if it's not, you may not be taking it seriously enough.

I also know that this is hard. And I have the greatest respect for people who truly understand this and decide to raise a tiny person anyway.

I'm also not trying to discourage you from becoming a parent. You may not be ready now, but that doesn't mean you can't be later. I personally would love to be a mom some day not I know that I have a lot of personal growth and healing I need to take care of first, to say nothing of the stabilization of my financial and career status.

The real question is what can you do to be a better parent, guardian, or even trusted adult to someone else's child (a really important and valid role and choice in itself!) later?

First off, you need to do some hard core introspection to figure out what traits and behaviors you have that might exhibit that would interfere in your ability to be a good parent. Maybe you're still emotionally immature. Maybe you're struggling with uncontrolled mental illness, chronic illness, or addiction. Maybe you've internalized some toxic ideas. Maybe you're still recovering from trauma or just now realizing that what you have even is trauma. None of these things makes you a bad person and none of them stops you from being capable to becoming a good parent. But, all of them can interfere with your ability to model healthy behaviors and coping skills to your child. Children learn through observation and, because their brains need the world to make sense and be predictable, they're going to interpret everytime you seem upset or lose your cool as being their fault. Young children aren't capable of going "mom is upset and snapped over something relatively trivial, she must be having a bad day/be tired/etc" because that's an interpretation of the world that is outside their control. Instead, they're going to go "I did x and mom got mad at me, it's my fault so I better not do x again" and that's a really harmful mindset that can contribute to self-worth issues and other mental illnesses like anxiety, especially if this happens long-term (for the record, you're going to make mistakes and you're going to snap over stupid things because being a grown-up is hard, so when you inevitably make this mistake it's important to be honest and upfront with your child about what happened, why, how it's not their fault, and you have to genuinely apologize for it, turning your mistake into a chance to model good adult behavior).

It's important to take care of yourself and let yourself grow and heal before bringing a kid into the mix because 1. you'll be a better parent if you start out in a better place emotionally and mentally, and 2. because you deserve the chance to be healthy and happy and it's much harder to address the things that are interfering with that when your also trying to juggle the additional emotional/mental demands of raising a child.

Additionally, I definitely recommend making sure you and anyone else taking a primary caretaker role in your child's life is in a stable financial and that the relationship between you and any other caretakers is stable and amicable regardless of what kind of relationship it is. The financial aspect is important because kids are expensive as hell (both the having/acquiring and the raising) and you want to be able to provide then with the best possible shot at life.

This isn't about me but I feel like the example will be helpful. We weren't poverty level growing up, but even as a child it was clear to me that we could be. My parents were 20 year old newlyweds when they got pregnant. My dad had been set up to inherit a position in his father and grandfather's construction company and did not go to college because they thought he was guaranteed a steady job. My mom was paying for a college education she couldn't afford because no one had ever explained how to get financial aid and scholarships to her and her parents were too caught up in their own shit to be anything but relieved about getting to make her future my dad's problem. Then they got pregnant. They started building a house that took much longer to build then expected because that construction business dad was expecting to inherit went out of business because it turned out that a cousin had been embezzling and my great-grandmother wouldn't let them sue or press charges against family. Mom had to drop out of college to raise me because daycare costs as much as she makes at work and she no longer has the time or funds. They had a baby they weren't prepared to raise and my dad's new job had him working in the Texas heat all day before going and working on our house at night so that we could move out of my maternal grandfather's house now that he was getting divorced and couldn't afford it. My parents society never saw each other and they were constantly worried about money. Less than two years after I was born they accidentally got pregnant with my brother. He ended up with failure to thrive and (although he did eventually recover) it raked up a serious amount of debt in addition to my mom's student loans and the mortgage. Flash forward four more years and my dad falls through a roof at a construction site and permanently cripples his ankle. Cue a year of the only breadwinner in the household being unable to work, several surgeries and massive medical bills we can't pay. A year after that my mom has to have a historectomy because her fibroids are causing immense pain and then they find pre-cancerous cells. Another year after that she starts having unexplained siezures and signs of organ failure that will take years to diagnose as a rare autoimmune disorder that will leave her disabled and, again, rake up serious medical debt. I found out in college that it came to the point that we almost lost the house but as a kid I still always knew we were struggling. And that fucks with a kid's head. There were reasons I didn't tell my parents that something was wrong for a week after I sprained my wrist when I was 10 and it wasn't just because I didn't want to sound like I was asking for attention (a phobia that also comes from having emotionally immature parents). I pushed myself ridiculously hard in school because I knew I couldn't expect any help paying for college from my parents. I still feel incredibly guilty anytime I spend more than 20 dollars even though it's my money and I need groceries or textbooks or gas or whatever. A lot of these issues would have been financially difficult and unpredictable, but had my parents been in a more stable position when they got married and started having kids, it would have been much easier to weather the storms.

Additionally, money is the main thing couples fight about, so if you can take that off the table as a significant concern before bringing kids into the mix, please do. Maslow's hierarchy of needs states that you can't address higher order concerns like personal growth of your worried about where your next meal is coming from and that goes for your children as well.

Again, I'm not trying to shame people for their financial difficulties. Most of us are playing at a game we were never intended to win and I get that not all children are planned. But, your good intentions unfortunately will not put food on the table or pay the rent and your children will have a lot less stress in their lives if you are able to make sure that things are as stable as possible before you bring them into it.

The same goes for your relationship with fellow caretakers. Don't try to have kids to save your relationship. Don't ever make your children feel like your relationship is in anyway their responsibility. Again, they need their world to make sense and if you're fighting they're probably going to assume it's somehow their fault. Don't do that to them.

Anyway, this rant turned out a lot longer than I intended but I think I needed to say it. In summary, raising children is not about you but your going to make it about you unless you take care of your own shit first. Children don't ask to be born. If you're not ready for that responsibility, either don't have kids or put in the work so that you will be. If you already have kids, and don't have your shit together, there's still time but it's going to be harder and you might have to do some damage control from any traumas you may have already inflicted on your child, regardless of your intentions. If that's the case, you have a responsibility to get your kid the help they need and do everything in your power to avoid further harm. You're the adult in this situation, and if you're going to be a parent, you need to act like it.

[thewatsonbeekeepers]

Chapter 13 – Out of My Dreams [TFP 3/3]

 We’re finally here. I can’t actually believe it. This meta series has exploded over lockdown but we’re finally at the close. The title of this chapter comes from a song in the musical Oklahoma! that you can find here, which has a fantastic dream ballet sequence – weirdly, during lockdown the fantastic film I’m Thinking of Ending Things was released which draws heavily on dreams in Oklahoma!, so maybe that’s my next project. Now, however, onto the end of TFP.

Before jumping into this meta, I really suggest reading this meta by @sagestreet (X) – it breaks down exactly why Redbeard represents homosexuality, and the probability that Sherlock’s repression draw’s on his father’s own repression, which is in turn a metaphor for ACD himself. This is really important in the light of the metatextuality I’ve been plugging through this series, and ties together the 1980s and 1890s themes really nicely – these are the periods of growth for Sherlock and canon!Holmes respectively and their homophobia has to be dealt with.

We left off with about 20 minutes to go, as Sherlock is sinking into the black depths of his mind – the deepest we’re ever going to get as well as the darkest in colour, chiming with the rest of the series. And then – flashes of Eurus, Redbeard and young Sherlock bleeding in through his memory. @sagestreet’s meta argues that Victor Trevor could genuinely have been Sherlock’s first love even at that age, and I don’t dispute the possibility, but I do have an alternate reading for slightly later in age, based on one image alone. Jump back in your mind to TAB, when Mycroft tells Sherlock he was there for him the last time – we get a shot of a teenager in a drug den which is never repeated again, but which has a sense of absolute past trauma attached to it.

I plump for this to be our key trauma personally, but currently I don’t think we have enough information to go on. However, regardless of which age you read Victor, the outcome is pretty much the same. So – Sherlock plunges into dark and we get memories flash before him, and it’s almost like he’s drowned in his EMP, his life has flashed before his eyes – but there is one thing stopping him from dying still. Eurus, trauma!Eurus, is ever a paradox, as repressed sexuality inherently is. On the one hand it’s constantly pushing down and on the other it’s constantly pushing up – and the sheer mania we see in Eurus is only really explicable as a set of mental contradictory impulses in this way. At the end of TFP, we spend so much time thinking that she is trying to kill Sherlock, but she’s trying to save herself and him. His gay trauma has completely regressed to a child’s fear here in the form of the little girl asking why she has been abandoned. The plane in the girl’s hands, going back to the height metaphor, is symbolic of the final struggle for life – as long as it’s in the air, Sherlock is in danger of death (see Chapter 2 ), but he is still under the impression that keeping going by crashing it, and crushing the queer side of him, is the way to go. We see him walk past images of him and Victor as children on the walls and ignoring them, after all.

It’s pretty important that these images are shown just as Sherlock connects to his heart for the first time, who is still drowning of course. The connection is closer and closer to being made! Under that water are the bones, which is symbolic of them being hidden in the recesses of his mind. We get the fantastically awful lines from John, if read superficially, that the bones are ‘small’ – others have been very good at pointing out John’s sudden inability to be a doctor as evidence for the EMP, and so it’s important for us to recognise here that John is not John, but heart!John.

There are other obvious indicators of the EMP here, most notably in the location. Even being out for a couple of hours, it is not possible that Eurus could have done this to Sherlock and John. Who aided her in getting John down the well, and how did they get out? How did they come to shore and not get stopped? How did nobody notice the construction of the giant cell in the garden of Musgrave Hall, and how does it spontaneously open after Sherlock pushes one wall? This switching from location to location – island, cell, home – is a shifting of perspective common in dreams. Moffat has used the idea of there being no time between location shifts before as a dream indicator in the Doctor Who episode Forest of the Dead, so it’s clearly something he has thought about. The pushing down of the wall is a huge symbolic moment – it couldn’t have just been a secret door! Instead, it ties in with the image of the breaking busts from TST as the idea of breaking down walls in his mind – and the drama of it suggests that we seem to have arrived at our final destination.

Everything unites rather wonderfully as trauma!Eurus threatens to drown heart!John, as though this is the culmination of ‘burning the heart’ – because ‘the heart’, both literally and metaphorically, is John! And so the destruction of Sherlock’s heart is happening inside his mind because of John’s suicidal suffering outside. We see the same kind of projection as is implied at the end of TST in the aquarium scene – this pulls in ideas of artificiality, which are important, but it’s also an important visual link. In the death of Mary, Sherlock tries to rerun his own assassination but imagines that John is devastated by the loss of Mary rather than Sherlock because he cannot cope with the queerness – it’s a way of processing John’s suicidal impulses without fully recognising them. This link of someone dying surrounded by water with the projection light shows that this is the revised (and correct) projection of what is happening to John in the real world – it is connected to Sherlock’s heart.

Sherlock, with the help of his heart, finally works out that Redbeard is not a dog. @sagestreet’s meta is useful in pointing out that Daddy being allergic to dogs doesn’t mean that Daddy didn’t want one, just that he couldn’t – and that’s a pretty good way of thinking about ACD’s inability to represent queerness as he might have wanted to, and so stamping on the character of Sherlock Holmes. The fact that he explicitly cracks one of the symbols in his mind is fantastic, because it calls back to the TLD scene suggesting that tea and coffee is some kind of code – there is a code in his brain, and he’s starting to break it down. Victor Trevor, whether child or teenager in reality, here is a child and is chosen I think to look like I imagine a child Martin Freeman would look like, but that’s bye the bye. What’s more important is that together, they played pirates. Given that Sherlock has been drowning in the repressed queerness of his brain, we’ve talked about piracy before as being symbolic of fielding that (see TST meta) and instead riding the wave, controlling it and refusing to drown. This hints at the love that Sherlock and Victor were able to enact, if only in youthful play, mastery of the high seas as opposed to adult Sherlock drowning in them. And then, gay trauma!Eurus traps Victor down a well – forces Sherlock to drown his love in that repression, and we know it’s love because it’s the same well that heart!John is in – Victor is equated with him.

“You couldn’t face it, so you told yourself a better story.” Ah yes – how convenient that it’s all tied up in ideas of fictionalising. I’m just going to leave that one there.

“Deep waters, Sherlock, in all your life, in all your dreams” – linking the Carl Powers pool, the TAB waterfall with TFP, and the light on his face reflecting TST – all of these links tying up 1890s repression (TAB) with 1980s repression (TGG, TST). And what is trauma!Eurus’s motive for destroying Sherlock’s love? ‘I had no one.’ The most striking thing about this is that before Sherlock meets John in the real world, and even during the beginning of their friendship, this is the recurring theme in how he chooses to portray himself. It’s not something that applies specifically to Eurus – it’s what we all associate with Sherlock, more than anything, pointing to this motive being about him. ‘Alone is what I have; alone protects me.’ Remember that? Trauma has forced that specific characterising of Sherlock onto him – his queer trauma necessitates solitude.

We already have a clue that Eurus is the girl on the plane by looking at the plane in her hands as a child, but it also suggests that even in her undeveloped form, the capacity to destroy him has always been there. It suggests a suicidal impulse in Sherlock that goes a long way back, specifically connected to his queerness – which ties in with the teenage addict in TAB as well as the cut scene from ASiP in which Greg implies that Sherlock has been suicidal.

Solving the code is a lovely moment – we have all of these hallowed graves of the past Holmes ancestry, which we can read as the hallowed adaptations over the years – and it’s nothing. It’s completely empty. We are disregarding the Holmeses of the past except to use them as tools to get to our trauma – which is what metatextual references have been doing throughout this series. However, there’s something else tricky that I want to throw up here.

I found this problem on an Australian site here, and haven’t seen it on tumblr although I may be wrong! The problem is the cipher. When cracked, it’s not what Sherlock says it is. It might just be a mistake, as the linked website theorises. The words missing are:

Lost Without Your Love Save

Although they appear in the song, their numbers aren’t in the cipher. It could fully be a mistake, or something cinematographical in not making the full cipher clear on the screen – it passes in a blur, after all. But I want to postulate something a tiny bit tenuous here. Sherlock’s subconscious has clearly been grappling with his repressed love for a long time, and it’s something he hasn’t been able to deal with, stemming right back to childhood. Up until now, he has never been able to crack the case, so to speak. But let’s jump back to the (slightly flippant) moment in TSoT when Sholto is dying, and John tells Sherlock that he’s a drama queen, there’s a time limit, the game is on, this is when he works best. And it’s true! We see Sherlock work under very specific time pressure a lot – look at the bomb scene in TEH and the bonfire scene, literally everything about TGG – the show is littered with these moments, and now they come to fruition. He could keep going living a half-life, in constant trauma, because it was not a matter of life and death, and it was too painful to try to confront it. But now in the real world, John is dying – as we can see by the heart down the well (note that brain!Mycroft is abandoned here, cementing the importance of the heart to this deduction sequence) and so he has no choice. And that is the missing bit of the code! ‘Lost without your love/Save’ is exactly what has propelled him to finally face his gay trauma – the fact that John Watson loves him, and will kill himself if Sherlock does not wake up. !!!

The girl on the plane is Eurus. This should not be altogether surprising for those of us who have seen HLV, because EMP theory seems to be repeating the same motifs again and again. HLV – it’s the Mind Palace. TAB? It’s also the Mind Palace. Now here. We also notice that Sherlock’s brain is reusing the plane from ASiB and the initial phone tactic used by Jim Moriarty – another link to John being in danger. But when Sherlock finally breaks in to his trauma, the most important thing is that it’s not threatening. She’s frightened. She has a constant urge towards death, represented by the plane, that ties into Sherlock’s suicidal urges. They will always be there, every time she closes her eyes – but Sherlock gets her to open them. I don’t have an answer to eye hell (yet), but my current theory is that this is the key – sightlessness is a link to suicidal urges through Eurus.

To jump past the police scene then, which we’ll get to in a minute, Sherlock’s reconciliation with Eurus rather than treating her as an enemy is perfect. Just like trauma!Eurus can never end her suicidal ideation, Sherlock can never put an end to the trauma inside him. Framing this as a battle was always wrong. He resurfaces by learning to live with her and to treat himself with kindness. Forgive me whilst I get soppy, but that’s beautiful. In that light, Eurus remaining in a kinder, friendlier version of Sherrinford is fantastic – she’s still inside him, not particularly desirable, and will never go away, but Sherlock has made peace with her and is friends with her. The violin was a symbol of desire in ASiB and again in TSoT, a way of Sherlock articulating what he could not say, and early in TFP that articulation was destroyed by Eurus’s discordance – here they have learned to play together. A difficult relationship – awkward, dangerous, unsure of boundaries – but a relationship nevertheless.

Rewinding to the police moment – despite the chains around John’s ankles, he miraculously climbs out of the well. More important in this scene, however, is that Sherlock gets Greg’s name right. This is, for me, one of the most significant sections of the entire show. Sherlock has never got Greg’s name right before – it’s a running joke on the show – and the reason Mofftiss have made such a joke of it is that it ties into ACD’s complete inability to remember names. Much like having Mrs. Turner live next door is a nod to canon inconsistency, as is the John/James parallel which, although a mistake in the initial work, they have exploited remarkably well, ACD famously never named Lestrade, only giving him the initial G. This is why Sherlock comes up with every possible G name for him. This is tied into Sherlock’s inability to move beyond the mistakes of canon – we see this weird inability to stick in modern Sherlock’s universe in other ways too, like the slightly old-fashioned nature of his costume (passed off as ‘timeless’, but clearly belonging to old as much as modern times), the deerstalker situation, thinking England has a king, not knowing the earth goes around the sun, not knowing Madonna, seeming to forget who Thatcher is – the list goes on, but Greg is the most constant one. Calling him Greg is a symbol that Sherlock has broken out of the confines of all of the past Sherlocks and has completely slipped into the modern version – which is exactly where he needs to be. Greg saying that Sherlock might be good as well as great – because the persona doesn’t matter anymore.

We should note in passing, in accordance with @sagestreet’s reading of Daddy Holmes as ACD, his disappointment and clear distress at brain!Mycroft hiding trauma!Eurus for so long because it was ‘for the best’. I’m not certain where Mummy Holmes stands in this, though I’m inclined to equate her with Daddy as ACD here, but I’m open to other suggestions for that.

And then we have the final sequence – who you really are. And I admit, I am thrown by Mary’s words – which is a terrible way to end the meta series! She says: ‘who you really are doesn’t matter’ – which is an awful thing to say, although coming from a still present comphet is inevitable. She also says that it’s all about the legend. But regardless of what comphet!Mary says, she’s not there anymore. The life that is being rebuilt is one of two men in Baker Street. Baker Street is the symbolic home of the heart within the EMP, so the rebuilding of that and the replacing of heart!John inside is lovely. Furthermore, if Daddy Holmes is ACD to Sherlock, the idea of Sherlock and John parenting Rosie feels like the start of a new, freer, queerer chapter in Sherlock Holmes history – authorship has changed, and it’s been handed over to a new generation. The final shot, however, hammers home for me the validity of the metatextual interpretation – Sherlock and John running out of Rathbone Place.

I mention the significance of this in an earlier chapter – Basil Rathbone is arguably the definitive Holmes interpretation who has defined the character for many years, and so could feasibly represent Holmes’s film/tv status as the most portrayed character of all time. They’re not running into Rathbone Place – they’re leaving it. They’re on their way up and out of all those previous adaptations, as Sherlock builds a new heart with no comphet.

He’s still got to get out to save real!John though – let’s not get too carried away – although we seem to have broken through the bulk of internalised queerphobia at the end of this series. I’ve previously explained on my blog why I don’t think there will ever be a series 5, and sad as that is, it is just life, so this behemoth of a meta series has actually just been an academic exercise more than anything else! Nevertheless, I hope if you’ve made it to the end that you’ve enjoyed it, and if you have any thoughts on tjlc that spring from this I would love to hear them!

[kshitij1997]

Hello again!

Let’s continue, shall we?

This chapter is strictly based in Arendelle, unlike the last few chapters.

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to Disney.

 

Chapter 11: If it takes forever, then I’ll walk forever

 

Iduna had noticed a change in herself; she had never been so weary as she felt now. Worry had become a staple state of existence for her. The trio, as her three daughters called, had been shattered. There was a time when they were inseparable; Anna, Olva and Elsa walking hand in hand, a bunch of peas in the same pod.

That was when life was easy, but what a difference a single incident makes.

Her mind raced back to when she saw the carnage; the ballroom floor solidified into an ugly amalgamation of snow and ice. Elsa’s ice had always been beautiful but then, in that ill moment, it flashed the white light of doom and destruction. As for her children, they were there, two of them unconscious, a massive cracked debris of ice, a snowman reduced to fine powder. And there Elsa was, holding her fainted sisters wailing to the sky and constricted by terror. With Anna having a streak of white across her hair, and Olva’s right side marred by scars from the sharp ice.

She remembered feeling grotesque by the spoils; how Agnarr had to hatchet through the door held firm by the ice. The fragments of her family fallen prey to a probable moment of panic; a moment of ill moment. This was a cold worse than winter.

She remembered how she and Agnarr had to gallop on their royal steeds as they never had, in that moment she felt as if she was on a death wish, trying to rein in her horse and holding fast her two injured children. She had known this would happen, and she let it happen.

Grand Pabbie warned her, she should have been more careful.

Elsa shouldn’t have panicked.

And yet, there they were, about to reach the lair of the stonepeople.

She remembered how Grand Pabbie was not pleased ‘Every time Your Majesties choose to grace us with your presence, it always disrupts our winter meditation. Sometimes, I am forced to believe that you are wishing for a polar event.’

‘Forgive us please Grand Pabbie, we seriously need your help and guidance, there’s been an accident.’ Agnarr pleaded as he’d never done before.

‘An accident with your firstborn’s powers? For why my aid would be needed otherwise?’

‘Grand Pabbie, my children’s lives are at stake, you must help us, we have nowhere else to go.’ The king ignored the irreverence.

Grand Pabbie relented ‘Apologies for my annoyance, Your Majesties. Tell me everything.’

 Iduna remembered telling Grand Pabbie everything, or at least what she could understand from what Elsa had managed to tell her between sobs.

The hermit of half rock-moss and half flesh answered quickly and definitively; it was imperative to reverse the effects of Elsa’s powers; else the victims could freeze into solid ice. Grand Pabbie reassured them; they were lucky it was the head, not the heart. One could fool the head, but the heart was another matter entirely; the heart required a genuine act of love and sacrifice, those were hard to come by. As for Olva, it was more towards shock and blunt force trauma, they had done a disservice to her by bringing her there, while she should have been resting. Iduna felt personally responsible for that; she had insisted the whole family to go.

‘Grand Pabbie, what about the powers themselves? Is there any hope?’

Grand Pabbie turned to directly face Elsa; the great golem like hermit moved slowly but with purpose towards the little platinum blonde girl. The girl couldn’t help but stare at his presence; someone who didn’t emote much, but his feelings were remarkably easy to understand and notice regardless. In that moment she saw sympathy and pity; It was something she’d never seen before. She realized that didn’t like that feeling at all.

‘Your poor child of destiny, how one must step up to face the world regardless of age and be brought to reality. I’m sorry it was so sudden and such an unfortunate circumstance for you. Your powers would only grow from here on, to command the forces of nature akin to the ancient giants. Bringing joy and relief to those who need it.’, Grand Pabbie stated as he manipulated a few wisps in his hand to show an eight-headed star glowing blue and bright.

‘However, the power would also bring terror and fear and loss of control as they assert themselves, which would lead to your doom and destruction.’ Grand Pabbie continued as the star collapsed upon itself, crumbling into a red mass of death, smothered by red fire and smoke and a bright, shining sword coming straight for her. Elsa had to hide into her father’s arms from the horror.

‘The only thing you must fear is fear itself. It is your greatest enemy.’ The hermit finished as the wisps trailed off into nothingness. 

‘What now, Grand Pabbie? Is she done for?’ Iduna asked worriedly.

‘I have just told you how she may combat the challenges she faces; she can’t succumb to fear. I would advise to help her build trust with a few close people and help her naturally experience and embrace her powers. She cannot be made to feel like a monster. She must be dealt with empathy and compassion. As for the other two of your daughters, for Anna I would need to induce some slight amnesia, because her mind is a little too fragile to understand it. However, Anna must be made to understand soon, this is a temporary measure, she can’t be kept in the dark forever. For Olva, as she wasn’t directly struck with Elsa’s powers, she doesn’t need any procedure, but she does need to be cared for very carefully, we don’t know how she may react to certain things yet. It may manifest as anything, she may experience pain, fainting, lash out in anger, or worse turn unfeeling towards everyone. Or maybe she wakes up unscathed. Regardless, I hope you can help her meaningfully. Please don’t treat this lightly, it is imperative.’

Iduna was at a loss for words; how would she and Agnarr manage it all? As for Agnarr, he was lost in thought, putting his intuition to practice. At length Agnarr spoke, ‘What if Olva has amnesia induced as well?’. Grand Pabbie was taken aback, he almost looked offended, ‘Your Majesty, that is a very irresponsible thing to ask. How can you even consider it? If I try inducing amnesia upon her mind, it may induce unprecedented effects, it may even worsen her recovery. Please don’t ask me to do it.’

‘I order you to do it.’ Agnarr put his foot down.

Grand Pabbie could not resist now, it was an order, even if it was from a monarch acting out of character.

‘Alright, Your Majesty, I’ll do as you say. Little dark-haired one, forgive this poor servant of nature, for he has to do something terrible.’ With that, Grand Pabbie put a heavy hand upon Olva’s forehead. The unconscious girl woke up at once, as if in a trance and screamed into the pale moonlight, a sharp contrast to how Anna took it. But then magic to counter magic was usual, magic to answer for something blunt, not so much.

Iduna remembered how Elsa stood there in shock, how she wanted to shut her eyes but couldn’t; how she herself had to close her eyes and grab on to her family, she couldn’t bear to watch it.

The procedure was over at long last, when Olva fell unconscious again, drained from the ordeal and turning pale, as if a certain glow had been taken from her body.

Elsa only asked one question ‘They won’t remember that I have powers?’

‘It is for the best.’ Agnarr said.

Looking back at that moment, Iduna felt that she should have raised her voice and tried Agnarr to see sense. Alas, that moment was past.

Now, Agnarr had been gone almost a month, shoring up alliances to help despite the blockade. She had to face them all alone. She had to take charge, she couldn’t abandon the kingdom, or her family. Even so, sitting through the meetings was tedious, especially when she had to explain and defend every move in front of the council, who didn’t consider the blockade popular at all.

To say nothing of facing her daughters, how many times must she lie to them? The mere thought exhausted her-

‘Ma!’ Anna’s voice could be heard from across the hall as it broke Iduna’s chain of thought.

‘Yes dear?’

‘Why won’t Elsie come out? Is she not feeling well?’ Anna asked.

‘No, she’s fine, why do you say that?’

‘It’s that she’s avoiding me. When I asked her to come out and play, she flat out said no. Did I do something wrong?’

Bless her innocence.

‘She’s worried about something; I am helping her with it. I promise she’ll be better soon.’ Shit, that was a mistake.

‘I know she’ll be better Ma, but she hasn’t come out to play in so long! Winter’s about to end soon, I don’t want to miss the last snow of the season.’ Anna said with a frown.

‘She has to take her studies seriously, you know, one day she must lead. You want her to do well, don’t you?’ It felt icky tricking her child like that, but it was for the greater good. Moreover, there was some truth in it.

‘Yes, I do, but it’s like she’s gone away. I don’t know if she’d come out again.’ Anna said with a choked tone.

‘What about Olva? Didn’t she play with you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know what’s happened to her. I mean, we still had quite some fun, but we did miss Elsa. Then suddenly, Olva started screaming, shouting ‘my head, my head!’ then fainted, I had to call the help. Didn’t you hear, Ma?’ Anna said

Now, that was news to her. What kind of a mother was she? The kind who half-heartedly juggles everything and fails, Iduna reflected bitterly. Oh, I wish Agnarr was here.

‘I heard, she’s in the infirmary, I thought she had a bruise, I didn’t know she fainted.’ Another half lie, great.

‘Also, she’s grown, I don’t know, more angry? She always has a frown on her face. She wasn’t like that earlier, she used to crack jokes, dance around, Ma. Now she just sits blank for a long time. I had to shake her to get her attention. Is she alright?’, the little princess was obviously bewildered.

‘I’ll sit with her, don’t worry. She’ll be fine, I promise.’ Making promises was becoming a bad habit.

‘Now, it’s getting late Anna. Come, I’ll take you to your room’

‘I don’t want to sleep in there, it feels so empty since Elsa and Olva moved out.’ Anna moaned.

‘Come on, don’t do this.’

‘Ma, can I sleep in your room tonight? I don’t want to be alone.’ Anna asked, with a sad expression.

‘Alright, come with me.’ Iduna sighed.

One mother and daughter had settled in their room, Anna asked ‘Tell me a story.’

‘Anna, please go to sleep.’

‘Ma I remember you promising us when we were ready, that you’ll tell each one of us a story. I want to listen to mine, I think I’m ready.’  

Iduna looked at Anna, knowing exactly what she could do. The least I can do is prepare here for the worst.

Iduna began her story:

It was the story of Isabel, who wanted to go to France. She’d spent virtually her entire childhood dreaming about it. As the daughter of a wealthy colonial governor, she grew up with every luxury available to 1700s Ecuador, but in her young mind, it was nothing compared to the magic of France. In her teens, her dream began to come into focus. A dashing young Frenchman, Jean Godin des Odonais, came to town on an expedition. Isabel took to him immediately, and by all accounts, Jean was equally in love with her. They married within the year.

A few years later, with Jean’s work wrapped up, they made plans to move to France. Jean went ahead to arrange passports and travel across the Atlantic. He was to return for Isabel and their unborn child—the only one of four who’d live past childhood. He thought he’d be gone two years. He was gone for twenty. Because Spain and Portugal ran South America (and neither were allies with France), they wouldn’t let Jean make the return trip. He couldn’t even get letters to Isabel; he could barely get them to Europe. And when his letters begging for passage did make it to Spain and Portugal, they were mired in red tape, not moving anywhere. He tried everything he could think of to reunite with Isabel, getting so desperate that he tried instigating war between France and Portugal.

His efforts were unsuccessful; he spent two long decades almost going crazy trying to get to her, and she had no idea. Still, Isabel waited. Even as neighbours said Jean wasn’t coming back. Even as her daughter grew into a woman. Even as her family fell on hard times. She waited and waited and waited, until her daughter died of smallpox.

She had been nineteen and never got to meet her father.

So, Isabel stopped waiting, and based on the hearsay that Jean was still alive, left to find him. Joining together a group of 42 people, she set off to reunite with her husband on an incredibly dangerous journey. The group included her two brothers, her nephew, her servant, Joaquim, some maids, a doctor, and several native porters.

The 3,000-mile route, which wound around an active volcano, across ramshackle wooden bridges, and through the heart of the Amazon jungle, had only been done by a handful of groups before. They estimated it would take six months. The group started dwindling when they found an abandoned village. It had been ravaged by smallpox and burned to the ground. The porters fled immediately. The group continued in a canoe down a flooding river, although none of them knew how to canoe or swim. Isabel nearly drowned, and they lost many of their supplies. They soon ended up at a sandbar, where they split up. The doctor’s small group took the boat and continued, promising to send back help. But after two weeks with no rescue in sight, Isabel, her brothers, and her nephew built a raft and set off downriver. The raft sank almost immediately, taking their supplies with it.

They continued on foot, with Isabel finally switching from frilly dresses to her brother’s spare trousers. They walked into thick jungle without food, direction, or sunlight. There they became a playground for wasps, scorpions, fire ants, and many things worse. The carpets of flies refused them sleep. The jungle refused them food.

Four weeks, they walked. And they began to die.

First her nephew.

Then her brother.

Then her other brother.

Until Isabel was the only one left.

Isabel had lost everything. Her children, her home, her family. Twenty long years of heartbreak, weighing her down. And so, she lay down on the jungle floor, curled up next to her brother, and waited to die.

Anna was in tears at this point and asked, ‘Please tell me she’s going to be fine.’ Then proceeded to come closer to Iduna, her face buried into Iduna’s arms.

‘Let’s find out, little one’ Iduna said and continued:

But try as she might, she could not die. Even as she began to slip away, a voice called out to her, a voice that would not let her go to sleep, that talked of tasks unfinished and duties undone.

It was the voice of her dear Jean. He said, “Get up, Isabel.” And slowly, she began to crawl forward.

After eight days alone, she stumbled across some native hunters, and immediately collapsed. Over the next month, they nursed her back to health, ridding her of botflies and other parasites. Her hair had turned permanently grey. Her hand was crippled. But she was alive. She gave them two gold necklaces, and set about freeing her servant, Joaquim, from jail, as he’d been suspected of murdering her.

Six months later, for the first time in 21 years, on a boat on the Oyapock River, Isabel Godin saw her husband.

They sailed to Europe three years later, and in her beloved French countryside, she lived a quiet, long, happy life.         

Anna breathed a sigh of relief ‘Oh thank goodness! Poor Isabel, she went through a lot!’

‘Yes, she did, baby mine.’

‘Why did her daughter have to die? It’s not fair. She was completely alone near the end.’

‘Life’s not very fair, as you’ll find out soon. Moreover, she did it all for love. She held faith that she would meet her trapped love someday.’

‘Hmm, I guess. But why did she suffer so much, Ma?’

‘As you know, not a lot of people are as well off as we are, they would struggle in their lives if trapped in this manner. But Isabel rose to the occasion, made a big sacrifice and found peace and happiness in the end.’

‘Ma, if Elsa or Olva are in such trouble, would I be able to do the same?’

‘That’s a question you’ll have to answer yourself. I can’t answer it for you, I’m sorry.’

‘I think I’d do the same. If they’re in any such event, I’d follow beyond doubt to help or rescue them. And, if it takes forever, then I’d walk forever.’ Anna declared as she caressed her white streak of hair.

God bless you, poor child, Iduna thought as she tucked Anna in for the night and bid her good night.

With that done, she made a beeline for the infirmary where she found Dr Klaus keeping Olva under observation.

‘Your Majesty, please come in.’ said the weary doctor as he straightened his coat and rose from his seat.

‘Oh, don’t mind me. How’s Olva doing?’

‘She’s better now. However, earlier she was in a state of intermittent consciousness. When she was awake, she was describing a most terrible headache. I believe she used the phrase “A knife of ice carving inside her head.” The doctor told as he checked his notes on the dark-haired princess.

‘Furthermore, she also mentioned seeing a pale blue light, atop a high mountain in her vision. At that point she had begun to grow agitated and almost had a fit. I had to give her brandy to sedate her. She should be fine and wake up in the morning. Still, it would be wise to be alert. ’ The doctor finished.

‘Oh no, doctor. What’ll happen now?’ Iduna asked with fear.

‘It’s still early stages. From what I understand so far, the trauma from the accident may have triggered something dormant into activity. We must not treat this callously; she must be treated with utmost care. She needs to feel safe.’

‘I understand Dr. Klaus, but these headaches have persisted for more than a month now, and they only grow worse. What shall we do?’

‘I would suggest help her find a distraction, a hobby, something she can engage with, something that soothes her.’

‘I understand, thank you Dr. Klaus.’ Iduna said as she planted a small kiss on Olva’s forehead and turned to leave.

‘Your Majesty, what about princess Elsa? How’s she coping? This must be hard on her.’

‘She’s grown quiet and withdrawn, I’m trying my hardest to get her connected back to us.’

‘Try harder, your majesty.’, with that, the doctor made his leave and went back to observe princess Olva. 

As the queen made her way back to her chambers, she found Elsa’s room to be slightly open. Taking advantage of the ajar door, she went silently inside Elsa’s room. What she saw, she would remember for a long time.     

Her daughter was fast asleep, but her room was a mess. There was snow and ice on edge of every cupboard, windowsill or even the ceiling. It was clear that she had clearly tried to hold it in and failed. There may have been a struggle, she had tried to dig in the floor, but her efforts ended in vain, and she had deflected a blast of ice at the wall, the same bluish-white stain as usual. It had been ages since Iduna could remember Elsa making anything beautiful from her ice. This was fear, completely driving her powers.

Iduna suddenly noticed her daughter’s hands; there were bruises in her palms, clearly from her attempt to dig in her hands to prevent her powers from leaking. On Elsa’s face were the dry marks of tears shed a while ago; the poor princess had cried herself to sleep.

Iduna realized tearfully, Elsa needs more help.

 

Yeah, we’re getting to Do you want to build a snowman?, that weapon of mass emotional destruction. But as always, the world is happening around them, and they must keep up!

And yes, Isabel’s story is absolutely true, and Anna’s mantra “If it takes forever, then I’ll walk forever” is on brand. More power to Anna, I say.

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome!

[thestralwarfare]

A ramble of sorts.

So if y'all know me, y'all be knowing my mental climate, its not the best, at least not right now it isnt.

I'm at an impasse caught between crossroads that extend, beyond the regular 3d visual and clichè "crossroad".

It's more of reaching the dendrites of a neuron and having to choose which specific synapse to travel across.

Basically, I'm a dumbass, now I know what you're gonna a say, no you aren't blah blah blah. But consider this.

I am.

In the world of humans and social interaction and its evolution to shrinking the world in terms of connectivity and accessibility, we tend to get caught up in the endless spiel or drivel that you have to be readily accessible at all times regardless of who you are and what you do.

I agree with that to an extent, some instances it really is the difference in life or death, so say from the view of medical professionals, asking for help, giving the location of a patient that needs urgent or emergency aid, it's basically paramount now to have it integrated right? Right.

But consider this,

I'm tired, I'm exhausted, I'm in no where emotionally or mentally able to extend myself more than my mind and after basically running that damned event I lost more of my sanity than I thought, I'm finally starting to put the pieces of my mind together and it's like I'm being bombarded with colossal meteors.

As to who or what is rolling out these mental near death blows doesn't negate the fact that I'm not able to deal with it well.

I've gone softer than I was.

I was more resilient than this, I had a heart of glazed glass but now it seems as though life wants to reenter this seemingly inanimate organ.

Why must my heart bleed? The only things that come from my empathy and feelings end up being painful. No one truly knows how to deal with someone with empathy well at least none that I've truly met.

But I try to understand how people won't be able to tell who you are or how your mental state is or how you actually on social media look doesn't reflect the mental load that's on your plate.

We are across screens communicating (mostly) via written words. It's obvious you dont see the panic ridden near corpse of a body that reels out those abysmal hysterical jokes, or the Voldemort under the bench at kings cross station appearance of my heart.

You dont know the human you are dealing with. You dont know how deeply they feel. You dont know who they really are and how they are fighting tooth and nail to stand up for themselves and be strong when all it feels like is a façade to them.

Standing up for myself?- selfishness

Wanting to heal myself (a task that I do all the time because I'm not gonna waste anyone's time)- selfish

Building confidence in myself when I dont know what it feels like- an impossible attempt at grasping the void caught betwixt stars

Loving myself- okay I'm failing at this because I am disgusting etc etc body dysmorphia periodt.

The other things I'm working on deal with anxiety, PTSD etc etc etc thanks for coming to the Ted talk periodt take 2.

No one or maybe very few in this modern age, would truly understand what it is liketo be raised to be a people pleaser, to sacrifice who you are, burn your very essence, your core, lose your path in life to help someone then when it's time for you to finally try to heal yourself. It's as if you are going to a kingdom you called home to find ruins, no familiarity no way or know how of what to fix or where to start from. You just stand there paralyzed with warm piss running down your legs cause you are afraid of what you see or rather, dont see anymore.

On top of thatttt

The people that say they care, developing attachment to them.

"Having to deal with such strong emotions that the smallest feeling of care from someone feels as though they are the only one rooting for you, you begin to idolize them, to need them, to crave them to become dependent on them."- as per the draft of this here post.

One day out of the goddamn blue,

Its night, no twilight, no stars, no moon, no foothold nothing.

It hits. No warning, no flag in the distance heralding its return.

It's a guest I've entertained for decades. Depression.

This time she bought gifts,

- lack of feeling joy in what would normally bring joy to my life such as art or music or anything creative tbh

-apathy, self explanatory but when it hits no one is truly able to understand how deep it cuts the ties that you hold, it takes away more than just the superficial and deep emotions, it takes away your reasoning as to why those emotions were there or if those emotions were even real.

-sui ideation. Self explanatory again but it's never been this strong and I've never had to hold myself back as much as I've had to do these past weeks.

-low mood, if y'all thought my final finals and that thing that happened then had me at my lowest, you would be right, but getting significantly close to that again....it was exhausting having to deal with it.

-low energy and moving slower than before

-change in appetite, from binging to starving myself

Then imagine while having these wonderful events occurring having to take a look at yourself from an outside perspective and seeing what it's doing to them, the people that say they care or have feelings for you.

To feel like you are wasting their life, too feel that whatever you shared is nothing but a farce because no one can truly care for a disaster. Hurricane skinned and magma filled veins.

You see, it doesn't matter what anyone says over the Internet it's hard to ascertain how much someone really means what they intend to say. Communication extends beyond words and people often times tend to forget that.

You can say that you care or that you had feelings, but there was no way to show it.

There is no real reassurance.

What could be better than sinking without dragging others down with you.

My closest friends have suspected something is up, the feel the change in the air as well.

It's like we are all prepping for it.

Will I or won't I?

The urge is there, the pros of it far outweighs the cons.

It's better if everyone that says they care leave.

It's easier that way.

Its always easy to lose the memory of the shape of smoke.

Tl;dr this human has pretty much tied up most if not all loose ends.

Those that care will move on to others, it's the way of life and I harbor no I'll will. I only want the best for everyone always.

Those that dont care, I also want the best for you maybe even more so, because I know your feelings are genuine and never had to second guess it.

To the fam, twas lit, like an atomic bomb.

Let's all be real here no one will miss me.

My fight isnt over, I'm still struggling to survive, as to why I'm even bothering idek anymore.

[generalelectionmusings]

“A long thread about my personal experiences during this election dealing with my Labour voting family deciding to out themselves as casual racists by voting Tory / Brexit Party in traditional Labour "Red Wall" heartlands

I come from a genuine working class family .

Grandparents were miners and domestic cleaning staff

Dad was butcher , mum was a cleaner and when she remarried after their divorce she married a miner .

I grew up in a two up two down terrace house that my parents rented from the local Co-op society and then moved into a council house in Kendray (Barnsley) when my mum remarried .

One grandad was a NUM union rep ( at Woolley Colliery alongside Scargill )

Other grandad was a NUPE union rep .

Mum and her sister were both UNISON union reps .

I guess what I'm trying to get across is that we were a proper Labour supporting family , cut us in half and we would have Labour running through us like a stick of Blackpool rock .

And yet in this election I was the only one still voting Labour, in traditional "Red Wall" Lab areas.

I'm in Sheffield but my family is split across the Barnsley area, some in Dan Jarvis' constituency, some in Steph Peacocks and some in the Penistone area that's just turned Tory.

How the hell did this happen ?

Why did my mum and step-dad and my Dad and step-mum all vote Brexit Party ?

Why did my brother and his wife and my aunt and uncle both vote Tory ?

They're not stupid people , my step-mum is a nurse and educated to degree level , my brother an accountant and educated to degree level and my sister-in-law a teacher educated to degree level .

We all lived through Thatchers annihilation of our communities when she went after the unions and destroyed Barnsley after and during the Miners strike .

My step-dad lost his job when Woolley Colliery was closed and never worked again .

So how the hell did they all come to abandon Labour and vote for parties whose policies are the complete antithesis of their own needs and aspirations ??

To answer that you've got to look further back than just this last few weeks or months or the last couple of years .

You've got to look a lot further back .

Before the Miners strike everyone I knew lived and worked in Barnsley , my grandparents jobs were in Barnsley , my parents jobs were in Barnsley , my aunt's and uncle's all worked in Barnsley as it seemed did all my friends families.

The aftermath of the strike changed that .

Most people were employed at the Pits or in industry connected to the Pits or in the service industries like retail , pubs etc where the Miners spent their wages.

When those wages went then so did the local economy.

New Labour in 1997 gave people hope of a change but all they brought to the area were low paid minimum wage jobs to replace high paid skilled industrial jobs .

People thought that New Labour when they got in would regenerate and revitalize these traditional working class Lab heartlands.

They didn't.

Yes we got a far better funded NHS and Sure Start etc.

But areas like Barnsley just got left behind , their Labour votes taken for granted.

Life had changed .

Only my mum still worked in Barnsley .

I moved to Sheffield because of work . My dad ended up in Stoke were he met my step-mum before they returned to Barnsley .

My brother , his wife and most other family members worked in other nearby towns and cities , even though they still lived in Barnsley .

Some like my Step-dad and aunt and uncle relied on the benefits system to see them through to retirement age .

Then along came the banking crisis , followed by the high street crisis that saw the likes of Woolworths bite the dust .

Quickly followed by a Tory & Lib Dem government pushing their disastrous Austerity policies.

Areas like Barnsley took another hammering .

Jobs lost in the local economy which had never recovered from Thatcher thanks to New Labours indifference.

Cuts to essential council services and cuts to the NHS locally meaning longer waiting lists and crowded doctors waiting rooms .

And in amongst all this comes Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson .

The poisonous bastards gave everyone in areas like Barnsley exactly what the needed , exactly what they wanted .......

Someone to blame.

Immigrants .

Immigrants let into this country by the EU.

Immigrants taking our jobs .

Immigrants using our NHS

Immigrants taking our council houses

Immigrants filling up our doctors waiting rooms

You see it couldn't just be the Tory's fault that things were rough because it hadn't gotten any better whilst Labour was in power.

So it has to be someone else's fault .

So Farage and Johnson must be correct when they blame immigrants and tells us all politicians are the same

Both narratives that have been pushed relentlessly by Farage , Vote Leave and Johnson

Farage and Johnson must be correct if the news on the telly says the same thing and asks them to come on all the time to talk about it .

Farage and Johnson must be correct if the newspapers all print the same stories blaming immigrants for taking our jobs and our houses and clogging up our NHS .

And Farage and Johnson must be correct if everyone on Facebook is posting the same Memes especially if greasy Brenda from the local chippy is posting it cos she obviously knows here stuff !!!!

Under Thatcher we knew who to blame , the Tory's.

But under Blair who did you blame for life getting no better because of New Labours indifference ??

The politicians , both sides because they are all the same , none of them give a stuff about us .

Under austerity who do we blame ?

Not the Tory's cos they've told us that we are all in this together and there is no other way , we have to all make sacrifices .

So we blame the immigrants , the ones that the EU are forcing us to take .

And by default because we tend to class anyone who's different to us as a potential immigrant then we blame any and all ethnic minorities

All of this whipped up to a frenzy since 2016 by the likes of Farage , Vote Leave , Tommy Robinson , Katie Hopkins , Hartley-Brewer , Rod Liddle and Boris Johnson and his Tory cohorts.

Aided and abetted by the usual cast of idiots at the BBC , ITV and Sky .

Sadly I watched this unfold with my own family over the last 3-4 years and didn't do anything like enough to try and counter it

I ignored the initial flurry of anti EU comments and social media posts partly because I was voting leave too, albeit for completely different reasons

I spent far too long just telling them to stop spouting racist bollocks when they moaned about immigrants instead of actually sitting down and explaining why the stuff they were reading , watching and sharing was wrong and factually false .

I ignored the anti Corbyn comments because I just assumed that when it came around to election time they would just hold their noses and vote Labour as we had all done for years before regardless of the leaders popularity , just as they all had in 2017

I finally realised I hadn't done enough when the election campaign kicked in .

I only work part time now and that's from home so I'd decided to get fully involved in the campaign both on the ground locally and on social media .

Boy did I get the shock of my life when I started posting stuff about Labours plans and manifesto on Facebook .

I got absolutely frigging mullered ...........

by my own family members and friends.

My posts were full of comments from them with arguments and rhetoric that had been drummed into them by Farage and Johnson over the last few years .

My timeline was full of anti Labour Memes .

It got that bad that I ended up deleting my Facebook account .

Most of the family aren't speaking to me and Boxing day this year when we traditionally all meet up at my mum's is going to be an absolute nightmare .

Then you realise it's not just yourself and your own family thats experiencing this .

You speak to a friend in Rotherham and find they've had the exact same experiences.

You get a call from your oldest son in the armed forces to tell you that he's up on a charge after getting into a scuffle with some of his colleagues after being called a muslim loving terrorist supporting traitor just for sharing some Labour stuff on social media

Living in Sheffield possibly led to me being a little insulated from Labours problems .

It's a multi cultural city and apart from the usual quota of nobheads and Tommy Robinson types we all live side by side with few serious problems.

Brexit didn't seem to be as big an issue inside the city as it did in the out-laying towns .

But in fairness things never got as desperate or demoralizing in the cities as they did in the town's and old industrial area's

We weren't looking quite as hard for someone to blame

Corbyn had a definite image problem on the doorsteps .

He had a massive target on his back and there's no denying that the media were able to hit it's bullseye with alarming regularity

But this hadn't been insurmountable during the 2017 election even in areas like Barnsley and Rotherham.

And I genuinely believe that had Jeremy Corbyn been just as intolerant towards immigrants and ethnic minorities as the Tory's were we would have had a very different result.

After all the country happily elected an absolute racist bigot instead of Corbyn

That's an absolutely disgraceful situation to find ourselves in especially when you also come to the realisation that members of your own family voted this way .

How do Labour get voters like my family back ???

More to the point do we actually want them back ???

I'm not sure I want to be related to my own family members at the moment because of their willingness to blame immigration and ethnic minorities for all our ills .

And yes we may have had the policies that would have addressed the problems that led to them voting for the Tory's / Brexit Party but you can't enact those policies if you don't get into government in the first place .

Would a different leader have made a difference to these voters ??

Yes to some of them .

Would a different Brexit policy have made a difference .

Definitely , to most of them

Did they vote this way because they're racist ???

Who genuinely can say ???

I hope that for the ones related to myself that it isn't a deep seated racism , rather just a reaction to a constant and unrelenting malign influence of the mainstream media , targeted Facebook memes and snake oil salesmen like Farage , Johnson and Cummings .

But I guess we won't know that until 2024 when we go to the polls once more , with a different leader , with Brexit no longer an issue and with the realisation that even outside of the EU nothing has changed in Barnsley and similar towns under this bastard of a Tory government”

Link below:

[margridarnauds]

for the otp meme: number 6 for d'aramis, peyronan and any character you wish richard to be with please~ 💕

So.........guess who just discovered this in my drafts, uncompleted. Also I’m tagging you @odachans just in case Tumblr is predictable and bungles the notification process. 

1. Who cuddles up to the other when they are cold?

D’Artagnan is a natural cuddler. This sent Aramis into multiple Gay Panics (or, rather, bi/pan panics) before they actually got together. 2. What do they depend on each other for?

2. What do they depend on each other for?   

I feel like Aramis depends on D’Artagnan for motivation and inspiration. Aramis is a brilliant Musketeer in his own right, he’s obviously successful as a priest, but the second D’Artagnan comes, he gets onboard. Why? Because even if D’Artagnan isn’t his lover (yet), he’s a genuinely good, charismatic leader, and THAT is enough to get Aramis back in the game. I feel like he might become a little....complacent, over time, but D’Artagnan would make it very hard for someone to be complacent while also not going TOO hard down their throats. 

D’Artagnan relies on Aramis for loyalty. Not necessarily blind loyalty; he doesn’t WANT anyone to, say, risk their lives for him. He doesn’t leverage loyalty like, say, Artois would. But he knows that, if he shows up to Aramis, Aramis would be the first one to hear him out, and he WANTS his right hand man back anyway, because it probably doesn’t feel RIGHT without him there anyway. 

3. Who forgets everything so the other leaves notes all around the house?

D’Artagnan forgets, Aramis leaves notes, as the Confirmed Moronsexual™ in their relationship.

4. Who tells the other they look beautiful everyday?

D’Artagnan. Aramis thought that it wouldn’t matter, given how often he’s been complimented on his looks, but with D’Artagnan it’s….different. It means more. 

5. Who gets stressed out and the other has to calm them down?

I feel like D’Artagnan, even though in general he’s very easy going, might get a little too caught up in his Gascon pride and wanting to do right, which subsequently makes any failure CRUSHING. (Though I also think that Aramis might not be quite as cool as he projects, which means that by the time he cracks, he CRACKS.)

6. What makes them a good couple?

They mutually respect and admire one another; they would be fine either as friends or as lovers, and, tbh, even if they were to split up, I don’t see a huge DRAMA over it. It would just be like….okay. Yeah, it would hurt them and there might be a tiny bit of tension for a little while, but I think that, in the end, they would still be friends who had one another’s backs. 

7. Who takes pictures of random dogs and sends them to the other person?

GENERALLY D’Artagnan, but Aramis has, at least on one occasion, seen a golden retriever, taken a picture of it, and put in a caption that just said, “This reminded me of you.” And then D’Artagnan responded with a heart emoji and he nearly felt himself die from how much he loved him. 

8. Who laughs at the lamest of jokes?

D’Artagnan. Aramis thinks that he’s faking at first, but no, D’Artagnan considers them genuinely hilarious. 

9. Who likes to drive at night?

D’Artagnan, particularly if it’s along old country roads. (Aramis would never say that he’s mildly freaked out by the deers’ eyes glinting along the sides of the road, in the woods.)

10. What does their bedroom look like?

Aramis is used to slightly more lavish arrangements, but he can settle for a golden cross above the bed and a few nice pillows. After all, he was a musketeer before he became a wildly successful priest/love expert, so like. He has to have roughed it at least a LITTLE. D’Artagnan isn’t quite at “hurricane” levels of organization, but you do have the occasional bit of training equipment scattered around the floor, with the notable exception of the sword, which he treats like his actual CHILD. There isn’t all that much in the way of furniture, you have a bed, you have two night tables, Aramis’ tends to be stocked with a copy of the Bible, which D’Artagnan routinely tries to distract him from reading from, usually causing Aramis to actually FREEZE out of sheer bi panic. (Yes, they’re basically married. No, that doesn’t mean that he still doesn’t occasionally just freeze at something D’Artagnan does because HOW is he so attractive? HOW?) 

Peyronan

1. Who cuddles up to the other when they are cold?

Ronan. He’s used to living in a situation where he shares a bed with Solène and his father anyway, and, since he moved away, he’s really missed having that added warmth. I think that it was actually one of the harder adjustments he had to make when he abandoned Solène went to Paris. So, actually SHARING a bed with someone again, he’s going to want that connection, he’s going to want that warmth, and it’s kind of instinctual to him. Lazare isn’t used to having contact AT ALL, he’s never really had to share a bed to the same degree (he might have when he was still a young officer/possibly aide de campe to one of The Big Boys because space was limited, especially if we accept that he MIGHT have been the right age to fight in the American Revolution, but, now, as at LEAST a colonel of a regiment? He isn’t going to go for it.) So….it just isn’t INSTINCTUAL for him. He isn’t really used to being touched or having any degree of warmth, and he’s genuinely shocked when he finds himself leaning into Ronan when he cuddles with him. 

2. What do they depend on each other for?  

They both depend on one another for stability as the tension in the streets escalates. Had Ronan survived, they would have relied on one another increasingly for that. (Especially if both had survived past 1794 and the downfall of Danton, Desmoulins, and Robespierre. Ronan would have needed SOMEONE to cling to, and Lazare would have been mourning the Ancien Régime.

Lazare relies on Ronan for affection and emotional intelligence, Ronan relies on Lazare for having someone to pull him back when he threatens to go overboard. 

3. Who forgets everything so the other leaves notes all around the house?

Ronan forgets, Lazare leaves notes, though they don’t really do any good. 

4. Who tells the other they look beautiful everyday?

Both of them routinely go “…whoa,” at times when they see each other. Neither one of them has really LOST that novelty, and there’s very much this sense of “This is my person, I am with them, HOW?” That being said, Lazare tends to keep his admiration for Ronan to quiet moments, generally when he wakes up before Ronan or Ronan falls asleep before him (which is often), and he gets to stroke Ronan’s hair and back while he sleeps, or when he catches Ronan in another rare quiet moment (he would think, years later, how stunning he had been on the Bastille, that last day, sun-glinting off his rifle). He doesn’t outwardly EXPRESS it, not in words or really in any way that is tangible, though Ronan still knows. Ronan’s stupid, yes, but emotionally, of the two of them, he’s smarter, and in some ways, I think he knows Lazare’s emotions better than Lazare does. (And in other ways, he doesn’t, especially relating to Lazare’s complex relationship with the Army/Royal Family.) 

Ronan, though….he KNOWS he married up. Not just in terms of a peasant being with a count (that…doesn’t really compute to Ronan in terms of their relationship. Not that it doesn’t IMPACT them, but in the sense that Ronan doesn’t feel unequal or like he should necessarily be grateful to The Count de Peyrol for “choosing” him. Other people would be flattering, fawning over Lazare and doing everything to stay in his good graces. Ronan doesn’t. Which is exactly why Laz chose him in the first place), but in terms of “Holy *Hell* he’s hot. And smart. And capable. HOW?” It’s like…he thinks of everyone that he could have been with, had he stayed in the Beauce or if he’d gone for someone Camille in Paris, and Lazare is just…several steps above, even if he’s stuffy and formal and emotionally constipated and anal about everything being in order. And he has no restraint telling Lazare what a handsome officer he nabbed for a lover. (Lazare is kind of ???? because…it isn’t necessarily that he has low self esteem, re: his looks, just that they’ve literally never mattered to him before. His main concern has always been “How intimidating can I be?”)

5. Who get stressed out and the other has to calm them down?

Lazare doesn’t SHOW his stress, in the sense that he doesn’t have a paper bag that he huffs into, but he gets much more disturbed when things move outside of what he considers normal. He gets very irritable and stressed if things don’t fit into his special place for them, and he has the tendency to become absorbed in his job. Ronan tends to be the one to bring him down. Generally via what he considers “subtle” seduction. (It is not subtle. At all.) Though a lot of the time, really, that seduction is just wandering over to Lazare’s desk, putting his arms around his midsection, burying his face in his neck, and groaning “Come to bed” like a recently re-animated zombie. After which, barring a national emergency, Lazare will eventually put down his pen and dutifully cuddle with Ronan until he goes to sleep. Ronan’s actually picked up the habit of playing with Lazare’s hair/scratching his head when he’s stressed, which generally does wonders for relaxing him. 

6. What makes them a good couple?

In some core areas, they actually are very compatible. Both of them are in a relationship for the long run. The initial execution might be brief, but when it comes to “Do we actually want a relationship? Or are we going to change our minds a month in?” the answer is yes for both of them (and a “no” to the last question). They’re both committed, like that. Regardless of their arguments, at the end of the day, they are each other’s significant other. Ronan gets into a fight with Lazare, yeah, he might scowl, get drunk, and sleep in a drain somewhere, but he isn’t going to cheat on him out of revenge, and Lazare, at an absolute low, might bluster about how it was a mistake to go for a peasant who couldn’t understand, but he isn’t going to bring someone new in, either. After they’ve both slept on it, they’ll be back in the same room, patch things up, and they’ll be fine. (And Lazare will spend some time making up for the mistake comment.) 

Lazare is high intelligence, in terms of things like common sense and caution, along with more conventional markers like math, geometry, history, etc. (though he isn’t as well education as people, especially Ronan, tend to assume). That being said, he’s stunted in terms of his socialization and has never really LIVED outside of his career. He’s numbed emotionally, and sometimes, I think he doesn’t really know what he’s feeling. I think he knew he felt SOMETHING for Ronan from the beginning, but I’m not sure that he was really, concretely aware that it was attraction and then love until Ronan more or less jumped on him. Ronan is….well, low intelligence in just about…everything, he’s impulsive, but he gets Lazare out of his shell, and he is, generally speaking, more emotionally intelligent than most people give him credit for, and he’s quick at making connections. (Remember how he was able to guess that Olympe worked for the Queen and that the guy he dueled was Fersen, even after about a week of torture? Yeah, he’s not smart, but he’s QUICK.) And Ronan is very, very affectionate, which…for someone as touch starved as Lazare…on one hand, it can definitely be overwhelming and Ronan doesn’t always know his boundaries, but on the other hand…it can be exactly what he needs. He has, basically, a lifetime of touch to make up for. 

Ronan livens Lazare up and can make him act when he would have otherwise been cautious (for better or worse), while Lazare can hold Ronan back; they balance one another out. 

7. Who takes pictures of random dogs and sends them to the other person?

Ronan sends them to Lazare, probably in a not-so subtle attempt to get Laz to adopt one for the two of them. (In the end, he does, and despite claiming that it’s “Your dog,” guess who the dog insists on sleeping with every night? And who can be found stroking it in his lap as he does his morning coffee + newspaper reading. It ain’t Ronan.)  

8. Who laughs at the lamest of jokes?

Ronan. RonanRonanRonanRonan. He both tells the bad jokes and laughs at them. Sometimes, he gets Lazare to quirk a smile, and every single time, it feels like his heart’s going to explode. (It’s an ongoing quest of his: Make Lazare smile.) 

9. Who likes to drive at night?

Lazare. It’s calm at night, less traffic, less noise. It’s easier to concentrate, and it’s easy to simply exist when it’s just him and his meticulously chosen driving playlist. (Depending on whether or not Ronan’s collapsed in his seat yet. Ronan has two modes: “Off” and “On.”)

10. What does their bedroom look like?

Lazare’s own style is naturally very austere and dark. He can survive with a bed, endtable, writing desk, and some place to store his (very limited, for an aristocrat) clothes, and his color scheme tends towards dark blues and silvers, very cold colors. But, once Ronan moves in, things start changing, since Ronan’s style starts coming into play. So, you get that odd mix of those austere colors and then BOOM a vibrant orange chair by the fireplace. Lazare actually had to buy a new bed when he moved Ronan in, since before that, he’d been perfectly content to sleep in a single bed, so they ended up with a four poster, canopy style bed (Laz does like the canopy, because it gives him some privacy). 

Ronan, of course, wanted one like this:

He was, tragically, vetoed, though the lining to the bed IS a vibrant yellow, and the blue is much, much brighter than you’d generally expect from Laz, even if it still looks like something you’d find in Elsa’s ice castle. 

Also, even though they’re very little used, they do both have their own beds. Lazare’s experience of domesticity, as much as he’s ever known it, has been that aristocratic model of the married couple having their own rooms, and it isn’t something he’s REALLY given up for Ronan. Lazare loves Ronan very, very much, but sometimes, he needs his own space.

Ronan doesn’t really understand it, himself, since…again, he’s used to being with his family CONSTANTLY in their old home, but…there is Something in knowing that his relationship with Lazare doesn’t just depend on him being ready and available every night. Like, I think that his worst nightmare, relationship wise, would be turning out to be an expendable toy that Lazare only spends time and money on for a little while after everything Ronan’s kind of put in and sacrificed to be with him (namely, his ongoing guilt at being with the man who killed his father + betraying the revolution by being with him), and this is very clear evidence that, regardless of whether Ronan wants to sleep with him on a given night, they’re together. It isn’t Lazare playing with him, he isn’t a momentary distraction that’s only good for a few nights, they’re living together, and he has this space that’s His that’s totally separate from his relationship with Laz. It’s also where, had Ronan lived, he would have gone every July 24th, when he felt the anniversary of his father’s death hit him head on. For a week or two leading up to that…he loves Lazare, he DOES, he’s utterly devoted to him, but he can’t be around him constantly when his father’s so heavily on his mind, when there will always be those thoughts of “If it hadn’t happened, he would have been 45-50-55-60, he would have been happy” and the loss hits him square in the chest. When he has to reconcile the man he adores with the man he left for Paris to take his revenge on.

Richard/Emma

Because motherfucking Tango Korrupti

1. Who cuddles up to the other when they are cold?

My mind says Emma, because it seems like it’s been ages since her last relationship and she’s probably starved for any real, genuine touch she can get, but my heart says Richard, even if he’d deny it. He just....moves towards her while he’s sleeping until his head is tucked into her neck. 

2. What do they depend on each other for?  

Emma does need Richard to make the cut throat career decisions that she normally wouldn’t make but that are necessary to survive in Hollywood. Also, you can bet that when she’s sick, when she’s on her period, when she’s just in one of those moods that are less than glamorous, less than Star-Like™, Richard’s right there to cover up any tiny smudges and make it seem like everything’s normal. And Richard, for better or worse, is FIERCELY protective of her. And yes, this often goes to extremes, but he does protect her from some of her more adrenaline seeker tendencies, and in an ideal world, that would be toned down to him making her rethink it without necessarily trying to control her. And if a director ever tried to use the casting couch on her or, for example, DO a Quentin Tarantino and force her into an unsafe working condition, I do think Richard would go down their throats. Yes, he wants the money and the prestige, but he can’t get that if Emma’s hurt or traumatized. (Or, at least, that might be what he tells himself at first.) 

In short, Richard can use his innate Karen powers for the cause of good. 

I discuss it a little below, but, Richard can naturally get carried away and become....well, a miniature, American Napoleon. And when he does, Emma’s there to bring him down. He needs her for her star power and her glamor, yes, but he does need her to keep him in line as well. And, it’s odd, but I do feel like Richard himself might need a little bit of a break from Hollywood himself. And he wouldn’t REALIZE it like Emma would, because he’s normalized it. I don’t necessarily want Emma saving him, and I’m not sure that there IS a way to “save” Richard without utterly destroying him as a character, or whether I would be interested in Fully Normal Richard. I do suspect that he could do with some loosening up, if he was willing to take it, and if, while Emma’s trying to find that compromise between Emma Carter™ and Adele Waldvogel, she drags Richard into eating pizza on the living room floor cross-legged, that’s fine with me. 

3. Who forgets everything so the other leaves notes all around the house?

They both leave notes. When they’re having an argument, they can get VERY passive aggressive. 

4. Who tells the other they look beautiful everyday?

Richard. At first, Emma thinks it’s professional (Hell, RICHARD thinks it’s professional, because Richard is an utter MASTER at self deception, see: Macho Macho’s entire existence.) But then as time goes on, it’s like “....Oh, he actually. Does.” Rochard gets PERSONALLY offended if anyone suggests that Emma’s lost it as a star or that there’s anyone else that can take a role. Emma has actually gotten him to change his mind a few times by saying “Yeah, and they said that if they couldn’t get me, they would go for Florence Pugh or Charlize Theron” and Richard just goes into “How DARE they?” mode. 

5. Who gets stressed out and the other has to calm them down?

They both have various ways of getting stressed out, but Richard is canonically always around one step away from an outright panic attack. She keeps a stock of paper bags on hand. 

If they ever have a child....Richard outside the waiting room would be...

6. What makes them a good couple?

This is actually I struggled with, because in canon, as they’re presented, they distinctly WOULDN’T be. Or, rather, at least, not necessarily a healthy one, which doesn’t mean they can’t be entertaining to watch. Richard’s too controlling, while Emma is feeling increasingly disconnected from HER, which Richard has every interest in destroying in favor of her embracing a superficial life, even to the extent of hurting her to do it. 

Now, I’m not saying this in order to ravage it, because I chose this ship for this ask BECAUSE I love it. Simply laying out why it’s difficult to pinpoint why I think that they could actually work, if you rearrange a few things. 

In a world where Emma accepted the Tango Korrupti, where she didn’t get warm and fuzzy feelings awakened by the promise of brown bread and an alps skiing trip, it would be the kind of relationship where they both WORK with one another and what they want. 

Maybe Emma would still fall in love with Josi in this timeline, but they would simply be incompatible, because Emma likes Hollywood, the glitz and the glam, and she can’t manage a long distance relationship with Josi at the same time. So, it comes to her career or him. And she loves him, yeah, but she doesn’t love Adele Waldvogel, or the situation that she left behind, and even though her relationship with Hollywood is complicated, that doesn’t mean she inherently wants to leave it ALL behind. 

Richard’s controlling, and that’s something that would need to be discussed as far as “If I take you back on, I do my own thing. I’ll listen to your advice, but I’m my own person. Take it or leave it.” And there would be quarrels over it, when Emma wants to do something risky (Disneyland nearly gives Richard a HEART ATTACK), but they could reach an agreement. And, in that scenario, it would work, because Richard is cut-throat, he can be ruthless, and he would look out for Emma’s best interests. It would be a case of “us against the world” or, at least “us against Hollywood.” Sure, Emma could become engaged to Pablo, maybe even have a few more relationships on page after the inevitable divorce (though they remain good friends), but in the end, the one who she could really trust would be Richard. Emma herself has a sardonic edge to her, as shown in “Bussi, bussi,” where she freely takes the piss out of LA society, so I can see her and Richard standing on the sidelines to some party, making catty comments. 

And Richard....I actually don’t see that he would necessarily WANT to fall in love with Emma, because she’s a client. That’s bad for business, especially when he needs to advise her on the best relationships to bring in the cash. And Richard’s top priority has always been his money. (Also, I feel like before this, Richard 100% believed he was gay and then it was like “......Bisexuality is an OPTION?”) But Emma’s smart, she’s funny, she’s stunning, and she puts up with no bullshit, and on some level, he HAS to know her better than anyone else does. (He was obviously there for her first breakup, and even though I’m not going to sanctify Richard, because he’s, canonically, a prick...I do like to think that at least a PART of his concern over her being with someone new wasn’t just jealousy or a concern over his money, but him genuinely seeing how much she was hurt.) And Richard probably has seen Emma at some of her least glamorous as well, because his job is really to invent the glamor when it’s not naturally there. 

7. Who takes pictures of random dogs and sends them to the other person?

Emma sends them to Richard, who at first is concerned because what if she’s allergic? What if she wants to get one now? Where would they GET one? What about the mess? And who will let the dog out? After all, if she goes out walking with it, that gives the paparazzi a chance to swarm. Emma points out that dogs are EXCELLENT publicity. 

It’s an Austrian Pinscher, though Richard would SWEAR it bore an uncanny resemblance to Josi. Emma’s thrilled because it’s just like one she used to have as a child. 

8. Who laughs at the lamest of jokes?

I started off leaning towards Richard and ended up on Emma. I feel that when Emma is more relaxed, she has a much, much dorkier sense of humor, it’s just that Emma Carter™ the brand can’t really be seen laughing at lame jokes, she has to laugh at the right ones, usually said by powerful people, and not too long or too hard. I think that the sound of her own, genuine laugh actually surprises her because it’s been so long since she’s heard it. 

9. Who likes to drive at night?

Richard gets very antsy when Emma drives at the best of times, though Emma will point out that people have gotten into car crashes with chauffeurs just as easily as if they’d been driving themselves. LA is hypnotic at night, lit up by all the billboards and late night places still open, palm trees dotting the roads, and it’s easy to think about how far she’s come. When SOMEONE isn’t being a backseat driver.

10. What does their bedroom look like?

For some reason, judging from what I’ve seen of Emma’s design choices as far as her clothing in the musical, I kind of like the thought of her going for black and white designs, with the black serving as a lining to the white. A FEW geometric designs, but nothing over the top. 

Basically, like this, but I do see Emma having a few pink accents in there, possibly swapping out those white pillows for something in hot pink. (The poster would, obviously, be a Quentin Tarantino one.) 

[unlockthelore]

Regardless

It wasn’t the first time that Hiei had been left alone in the presence of Minamino Shiori and he doubted that it would be the last. At his own request, he wanted to learn how to use most of the appliances in the kitchen and Shiori was the only one that could aid him in his task. Under the guise of staying home for the day and with Shiori’s day off, the two retired to the kitchen where she instructed him on everything from the rice cooker to the toaster. If she was put off by his lack of knowledge on what might’ve been commonplace for someone his “age”, she didn’t say, happily speaking to him in that teacherly tone that Kurama took when he was instructing someone.

There were a few things that Hiei could infer on but he listened to the gentle lull of Shiori’s voice as she explained it to him. Over the last few weeks, she seemed tired and had been sleeping more than usual. He wasn’t sure what to make of it but the change in her routine and lack of energy worried Kurama endlessly. He fussed over chores and maintaining the household to keep his mother as stress-free as possible. However, from an outsider’s point of view, both were fraying at the edges.

Kurama ran himself ragged with maintaining his human guise and Shiori worked hard enough to support herself and her son, despite Kurama’s insistence that he could help her. Hiei wondered just how much of his persona as Minamino Shuuichi was an act when he flitted to his mother’s side, careful to help her up from the couch when she was dazed, or making her breakfast before he set off for school so that she wouldn’t have the added task to her already hectic mornings.

Shiori insisted that he didn’t have to. That all she wanted was for him to have a good day and despite her low energy, she made the effort to see him off every morning. The weekends were the hardest as Kurama’s energy grew restless the longer he kept himself indoors and Shiori woke well past noon, missing most meals and dismissing offers for food citing a lack of hunger. Hiei felt trapped at Kurama’s wide-eyed look, helpless and confused, unsure of what to do.

The nights spent waiting for the youko to come to bed as he poured over his books and the remedies available to him, trying to find one that wouldn’t be poisonous to humans, and could cure his mother of her ailment. Hiei willed himself not to fall asleep before Kurama after a few nights left to his own devices became mornings where the fox would have a crick in his neck and an irritable mood.

The lack of a way forward was taking its toll on Kurama and Hiei wasn’t sure whether it was him or Shiori that would collapse first.

“I’m guessing that you didn’t want to learn just so you didn’t have to wait for dinner,” Shiori voices, rousing Hiei from his thoughts, a teasing smile and a glimmer of amusement in her eyes betraying the weariness as she leant against the counter for support. “Is this about Shuuichi?”

Hiei huffed, mildly impressed with her perception. “He’s terrible at remembering to eat,” he said, picking up the wok left on the counter and turning it over in his hands. “And irritable when he’s hungry.”

In the reflection of the wok, he caught Shiori eyeing him.

“… Did I say something?”

Shiori shook her head, resting her chin on her fist. “I’m happy,” she murmured softly, casting her eyes to the sink. “It’s good that Shuuichi has someone that he can depend on.”

Hiei wasn’t sure what to say to that and from the lingering silence, he doubted that it was the only thought on her mind. Despite not being human, the similarities between her and Kurama were startling. They both had wealths of thoughts to share but chose to hold them back. Whether for their own comfort or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure.

But the idea of either of them crumbling beneath the weight of their own selflessness made his chest ache. Setting the wok down, he set to work with pulling out everything they would need.

“Garden Curry,” Hiei said offhandedly, remembering the name of the dish as Shiori told it to him. “Isn’t that just regular curry?”

Shiori chuckled warmly, her shuffling footsteps approaching from behind him and off to the side as she opened one of the cupboards to pull out the sauce mix. “With a few added things,” she says with a nod. “I used to call it Garden Curry because most of the vegetables in it came from our garden.”

Hiei tilts his head, glancing up at her.

“Shuuichi loved gardening more than anything, he always seemed to prefer the company of his plants and the outdoors over anyone or anything else.”  Shiori set the sauce mix beside the potatoes, beginning to wash the peppers and onions in the sink. The wistful tone to her voice makes Hiei want to frown but he suppresses it when she glances his way. “He was always a shy boy, a bit ahead of everyone else his age. I always wondered if it was lonely for him…”

Hiei set the washed vegetables aside, going to find the cutting board. He could imagine how it must have been for Kurama after watching him during their trek to Maya’s. With their speed, they could’ve been there in a matter of minutes but the youko seemed intent on dragging it out.

Whether it was to avoid suspicion or to cling to this fleeting sense of normalcy, Hiei was sure that it was a bit of both. He didn’t understand it at the time but seeing Kurama look after his classmates as they interacted, turning down invitations, dismissing gossiping comments ad putting on a smile — it became apparent to him what was happening.

And Shiori was no fool either.

“I was glad when he introduced you to me,” Shiori says, startling Hiei into almost dropping the knife he picked up. “I was worried about him making friends but you both were so good to one another, and you had such kind eyes.”

Hiei felt his face warming from the compliment. He still didn’t understand what she meant by that. The memory of those words haunted him that night and he spent a considerable amount of time staring at his reflection, tryin to see what she saw in him.

“Hiei, do you mind cutting up the potatoes and chicken while I start boiling the water?”

Not trusting himself enough to speak, he let the light thwack of the knife connecting to the cutting board as he cut the chicken into chunks, be his answer. Shiori set to boiling the water in the wok, waiting patiently with her eyes focused on the liquid’s surface. Stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye, Hiei’s curiosity was overwhelmingly potent.

“What did you mean by that?” He asks, looking away when Shiori looked at him with a questioning hum. “My eyes…”

For a moment, she said nothing and he worried that he might have asked a dull question. It was possible that she meant nothing by it and he was simply worrying over something that wasn’t there. Or she might have meant it at face value. Cautiously, Hiei dragged the knife over a towel to clean it once the meat was finished then started on the potatoes.

“Mm, you have the eyes of a person who has been in pain,” she says quietly, sounding thoughtful and wistful. A brief hesitation following that left Hiei on edge before she continued. “Yet despite that, your eyes are kind.”

Hiei wanted to say that it didn’t make any sense but he didn’t want to prove her right either. Pain. Dismally or perhaps bitterly, he wondered what she would know about pain. Though as she supported herself with a hand on the counter and the other braced on the wok’s handle, he dismissed the thought.

“Are you alright?” He asked, nearly nicking his finger with the knife.

Shiori’s energy was lessening as the days passed, like an ember flickering in and out, it was as if she was withering away slowly. Her gaze lifted and for a second the tiredness showed in her eyes but it was replaced with a reassuring warmth that might have fooled him if he hadn’t seen what lied beyond it.

“I am,” she says, too quickly to be genuine. “I was just thinking…”

Hiei hands the bowl of potatoes to her as she breaks up the bar of curry, turning the heat beneath the wok down to a simmer as she put the curry chunks in.

“It’s not fair of me to ask this but…” Shiori’s voice trails off, softer than before, barely above a whisper. “Would you continue to look after Shuuichi for as long as you can?”

While he couldn’t tell her the nature of how his arrangement with Kurama began, there was something about her voice that told him that it wasn’t what she meant. The exhaustion sept through her serene tone, a somber edge to her words lost in the boiling water and the subtle movements as she prepared the meal.

“Shuuichi is everything that a mother would want in a son; capable, reliable, intelligent, well-mannered, kind-hearted,” she breathes in deeply then sighs shakily, and the smell of salt hits Hiei’s nose. “There was a time where I wished he would be selfish, behave as a child would, and I forget who is the parent and who is the child.”

Though he smelt the tears before he saw them, the translucent trail running down Shiori’s cheek steals Hiei’s breath and he clutches the knife tighter.

“Over the last few weeks, he’s been more of a child than he has in the last fifteen years. Worrying, fretting, I worry what will happen to him if he keeps it all inside.” Her voice cracked and wavered as she spoke, hand trembling as she held the wok’s handle.

“It doesn’t matter to me if he has excellent grades, I just want him well and happy…” A bitter laugh parted her lips and she lifted her free hand, wiping away the tears. “Sorry, I must sound selfish.”

Hiei wasn’t sure what to say when she looked at him, dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears and a worn smile too practiced to be genuine on her lips.

“All I ask is that you stay by my son’s side, for as long as you can… please.”

It wasn’t the first time that Hiei had been left alone in the presence of Minamino Shiori and he doubted that it would be the last. He hoped and he prayed to whichever deity was listening that it wouldn’t be the last.

[morelike-bi-light]

AU Where Victoria and Bree Join the Olympic Coven

And Also Vampires Can Cry Now Because Fuck Smeyer

Starting with Twilight

So in this AU Laurent tells the Cullens that Victoria and James are mates while he's info-dumping, because James isn't a total moron on top of a dick and tries to utilize Victoria's power of self-preservation to aid in his hunt by having her guard the studio instead of... whatever he asked her to do in canon. Unfortunately those powers only work when her adversary's goal is to kill her, and in this version Bella asks Jasper to stay and guard her dad so he can use his powers to provide comfort to Charlie while Bella's away. So Esme takes his place at the studio and she proposes that instead of destroying her, they use Victoria as a bargaining chip to trade for Bella.

But when they confront him, he just laughs and tells them to kill her. That she was just a toy and a tool for him to get what he wants. Tells them how pathetic she was before he started hunting her down, too afraid to interact with even the weakest of vampires. He tells them how she was so grateful to be left alive when he hunted her down, how she’d do whatever he said, how useful her ability to evade was, how amusing it was to see her scramble to appease him. He tells them that if she's so weak that they could overpower her, then she's outlived her use to him anyways. Victoria’s humiliation grows as she listens, and eventually she restrains him herself, gleefully helping Edward and Emmett destroy him. However, Bella’s wounds distract them soon after, and they fail to make sure his body burns with the ballet studio.

When they return to Forks, Carlisle and Esme offer her a place to stay, seeing as Laurent has already left for Alaska. While she refuses at first, unwilling to take the vegetarian lifestyle, after a month or so of living alone, she makes her way back. She shows up at the school prom, confessing that she just doesn’t know what to do anymore. Victoria needs a purpose, and James may have been abusive and cruel and heartless but he had offered her that. Bella convinces Edward to take her back to the house and the Cullens take a vote on whether to accept her. Edward and Rosalie are the only ones who vote against, so in she’s brought. They spend the rest of the school year and then the whole summer teaching her how to control the bloodlust, and how to be a part of the family.

She stays very close to Esme whenever she can. Esme is the first one that Victoria really tells her story to: her sister and her getting beaten as servants, working as prostitutes to stay off the streets, finally finding happiness in her coven of sisters, only to have the Volturi steal Heidi and slaughter them all. Getting hunted and then recruited by James. Esme cries (fuck smeyer) when Victoria can’t, and she asks for permission to touch her until Victoria tells her she doesn’t need to. And even when Victoria is itching to scream or cry or tear the walls of their perfect house done, she’s patient and gentle. She sees Esme reading a book one day and mentions ofhandedly that she only barely knows how to read, despite being alive so long, and that’s when they start reading together, starting with Anne of Green Gables, who also had fiery hair, freckles, and a found family. Esme is home.

Of course, the whole coven comes to mean something to her. Carlisle fills her with a feeling of safety and hope. He doesn’t let anything happen to his family, and she’s part of it now. Emmett makes her feel a different kind of safe - the kind that comes with knowing that there’s someone who doesn’t care if she screws up, who will invite her out for a run through the woods regardless of what she’s done and who she’s been. Jasper, she feels a kinship to. He comes from bad blood too - no pun intended. They’ve both down awful things to innocent people to appease those who controlled them. And she can always count on him to bring her calm when everything else is driving her crazy. Alice’s optimism, while irritating at first, has often been her only source of hope for the future, and Bella, though she smells delicious, is even more valuable for how normal she can make Victoria feel. Edward is still cold, but Victoria trusts him, and he seems to have accepted that her intentions are genuine. Rosalie is distant, and when they’re alone together, they’re quiet, but she walks with her at school, and sits with her around the house.

Then Onto New Moon

At Bella’s party, it’s not just Jasper who can’t control himself when Bella bleeds - Victoria loses control, too. After all, Jasper can’t calm her when he can’t calm himself. She feels bad about the whole thing, but secretly she thinks that Edward pushing her into the glass made everything a lot worse than it had to be. Edward argues that this is exactly why they should never have taken her in in the first place, which hurts more than she wants to admit, but to her surprise, Rosalie comes to her defense, pointing out that Jasper lost control too, and they’d never use that as an excuse to throw him out.

When the clan decides to leave, she’s scared that they’ll figure out a way to leave her behind. That when they move, they’ll bring her, but something will change. That they’ll figure out that she’s a lost cause and just be rid of her. But nothing happens. They move, for Bella’s safety, and her absence is the only thing that changes. Esme still cuddles with her on the couch and reads with her. They’re working through Anne of Avonlea now. Emmett and she still go racing through the forest, and despite his talk, he still never wins. Rosalie and she still sit at the table. Alice still does her hair in the mornings. She catches Esme drafting letters, then throwing them out while shaking her head and trembling. They’re crumbled and scribbled on and addressed to Bella. Victoria wonders if they’ve all made a mistake but bites her tongue. She doesn’t have the right to question their decisions, not when she is still one of the most recent ones.

When Edward decides to commit suicide, and Bella and Alice go to bring him back, the Volturi mention concern over the adoption of Victoria into the Cullen clan. Edward sees the memories of Aro and the rest hunting down Victoria’s coven, and feels a pang of guilt over his dismissal of her as unfeeling, untrustworthy and a threat to Bella. Among their other complaints and suspicions, they demand that the Cullens ensure her control if they plan on keeping her in the same area for as long as they usually do, and warn that if they fail to turn Bella and control Victoria, the Volturi will be forced to take drastic measures to protect their kind.

When they return, Victoria refuses to talk to Edward for a while. Her head pulses with memories of her sister’s cries cutting off abruptly, with just the echoes left to listen to. Of the sound of her coven members’ footsteps fading, until hers are the only ones still crunching through the snow. Of screaming and collapsing and being utterly alone once more. She wants to yell at Edward, demand he tell her how he could do that to Carlisle and Esme, who love him more than should be possible. How could he do that to his siblings? I mean, maybe he doesn’t care about her, and she knows that, she’s accepted it, but to do it to Emmett? To Alice?

It’s weeks before they reconcile. He approaches softly as she sits alone, in the house, and he sits next to her. She glares at him, and he flinches. She tells him he was stupid. She tells him exactly what he knows she’s been thinking - that he is lucky to have found a family that loves him so much, and he has proved how unworthy he is of that love, to throw it in their face. She tells him that she is older and has been lonelier. That he must be a fool to not recognize the gift he’s been given in Carlisle and Esme. He stares at the floor as she hurls her abuse at him. When she’s done, he looks up, pausing, and tells her that he’s sorry that he left, and that she lost her sister. She freezes, scowls at him, and disappears. 

A few days later, Esme talks with her about it. She thanks her for caring so much about her and Carlisle, and for valuing them so much. She asks her to consider what Edward must’ve been feeling, to consider what he did. to commit. She starts thinking about it more and more. In the end, she approaches him, and gives him a reluctant, awkward hug. She doesn’t say anything - he can read her mind. No point in being redundant.

And Some Major Changes to Eclipse

By the time that summer rolls around, Victoria is just starting to relax. She knows better than to expect it to last, but she takes a cue from Esme and Alice, and determines to take comfort where she can. At least, she does until she slips up and bites an injured human while running in the woods a few miles from Seattle. He’s a young man, wearing a U of O shirt that’s splattered with blood and mud from the wound on his shoulder. In the midst of drinking his blood, she thinks about the reactions of her new family, and wrenches herself away from the body. She’s so overwhelmed by her own self-loathing and fear, that she doesn’t process the padding of paws or the rustling of branches that linger in the brush. 

Sprinting all the way back to the house, she admits her deed to Esme in the dead of night, and then Carlisle the next morning. After some debate, they decide to wait before they tell the others. Unfortunately, it’s only a week or so before they get wind of a string of murders and disappearances cropping up in Seattle. Edward immediately learns of Victoria’s guilt when they bring it up and is furious that she has put both the clan and Bella in danger. Rosalie, too, is frustrated, but the rest of the clan does their best to keep things from escalating.  Edward and Victoria’s relationship worsens further when in a moment of discomfort and disgust, Victoria points out that James would also prevent her from seeing other men without his permission.

While Bella and Edward deal with drama concerning their relationship and her connections with the pack, Carlisle helps Victoria work on her control using first animal blood, and then whatever human blood is about to expire from the local bank. Eventually, Jasper and Alice join in on the sessions as well. While the sessions are a struggle, and increase in difficulty with each success, Victoria finally starts to feel like her future may remain in her control. But everything feels like it’s crumbling when Alice gets a vision of James surviving to seek revenge on the Cullens, but even more than them, Victoria. On top of the lessons on self control, Jasper starts giving her lessons in self defense, should James catch her unawares and the rest of them aren’t there to help. 

After some time, Jacob, on behalf of the wolf pack, informs Bella that the injured man that Victoria fed on has been helping James to build an army of newborns, who are responsible for the corpses scattered all over Seattle. The coven begins to prepare for an attack, though the Denali Coven refuses to come to their aid. Apparently, Laurent thought that supporting James was wiser than defending her and the Cullens, a choice that had resulted in his death at the hands - or teeth - of Bella’s pack of shapeshifters. She doesn’t feel anything but a vague irritation at the news. The La Push pack offers to replace the Denalis in battle, although her presence in the coven certainly doesn’t make them more enthused about it. Edward, Bella, Jacob, and Seth go up the mountain to wait out the fight.

While Victoria had fervently hoped that James would be too angry at her to bother chasing after the squishiest member of her new family, he decides that going after Bella is the only way to get his revenge - as well as finally complete his hunt. However, his beating at the ballet studio has weakened him, and Edward manages to kill him before he can do any damage. Seth kills his right hand man Riley, who himself had sworn to kill her, as she was responsible for his transformation and had abandoned him in the woods. Meanwhile, the Olympic coven and the pack work together to destroy the newborn army, and during the battle, Victoria and Jake’s combined efforts protect Leah from a newborn. (It’s lucky she was there, too, or she suspects Jacob would’ve broken something.)

On the other side of the battlefield, Carlisle and Esme offer Bree a new home in exchange for her surrender, and she immediately agrees. Victoria and Jasper are initially suspicious, and have Carlisle and Esme leave her with them. When Edward and Bella arrive, Victoria asks him to read the girl’s mind and they discern that she has genuine intentions. Bree is obviously terrified, and Edward tells Victoria that the newborns were fed horrible stories of what would happen to them should they be captured - especially by the red-haired target herself. Victoria feels a pang of regret and empathy, knowing exactly what it’s like to have James slip inside your mind, draw out your greatest fears, and paint them onto the world around you, until everywhere you look, you see a threat. When Victoria looks at Bree, she sees her previous self - except wiser, clearly, as the Victoria of the past would never have been able to discern foe from friend under the influence of James.

That’s when she looks across the field and sees the Volturi have started to arrive. It’s been over half a millennium since she turned, but at the prospect of experiencing a repeat of the events that claimed her original coven, she’s never felt more damned. Things only get worse when Victoria recognizes her former coven member, Heidi, emerging from their ranks, and surveying the scene with disinterest, until their eyes meet, and her brow quirks. If Victoria was human, her stomach would be rolling. Jasper tries to ground her with a feeling of calm and peace as she starts to tremble, and Esme and Carlisle slowly drift over, placing supportive hands on her back as the two groups come to stand before one another.

When the Volturi demand that Bree be handed over, for interrogation, Victoria nearly collapses on the spot. “No,” she whispers, even as Bree slowly stands, resignation etched into her young features. “No, they can’t.” She grips Esme, leaning into her embrace, staring up into her kind, horrified eyes and pleading as she never has before. “Esme, please. Esme. Please.” She’ll offer herself in the girl’s place - she’s had aeons to become something worthy of existing, and this girl has surpassed her with hardly a childhood. Carlisle implores the Volturi to entrust the girl with the Olympic Coven, and Aro makes a show of pretending to consider it. Victoria remembers, looking through his curtains of dark hair and into his mercilessly red eyes, exactly why she spent so many centuries hiding from her own kind. Heidi whispers something in Caius’s ear, and a murmur breaks out among the coven’s core members. 

When the whispers stop, Aro turns to the family with a hard glare, looking them over one by one before his eyes land on the fifteen-year-old on trial. He pins up a saccharine smile to tell them that the Volturi will bequeath her to the Cullens, but only after a short and painful interrogation, the screams from which are muffled by Jasper’s kind smothering, and a vow to to uphold the laws of the Volturi. Bree doesn’t really feel alive until Carlisle steps forward and grasps her by the elbow, leading her back until she’s pressed between him and his wife, with Victoria and Rosalie maneuvering forward to flank their sides, crouching defensively in case they should change their minds. Esme curls one hand into Bree’s hair, and places her other in Victoria’s hand, chin lifted defiantly in the direction of the Volturi.

Aro isn’t done, however. He asks the Cullen how the newborn army’s leader was turned. He says, looking at Victoria, that whoever is responsible for the spawning of the first newborn must face the consequences of their failure to clean up after themselves. Even as Esme’s grip tightens, the redhead doesn’t blink, meeting his eyes. She knows what her lack of control has cost her family - and isn’t it funny, that it’s the first time she doesn’t hesitate to think of them as that - and she won’t cost them anything else. Carlisle, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye as he tells the Volturi that they don’t know who is responsible, that he imagines it must be James. That Alice has only ever seen him in her visions. Aro smiles and points out that wrongdoing is not always a matter of choice, but before he can continue, Edward interrupts, claiming that one of the shapeshifters has something to add. One of the wolves begins to change form, and when the process is done, the wolf is now one of the most beautiful women that Victoria has ever seen, with cropped black hair, and merciless eyes that simmer with disgust.

Leah steps forward from the pack and testifies that she was present during the initial changing of Riley. Aro beckons her forward, and she complies, though her pack rumbles with discontent. Carlisle joins her side as she walks forward, explaining softly how Aro’s powers work, and hesitating before informing her that she does have the option to refuse to comply. Leah nods, glancing away, before silently presenting her arm to the red-eyed coven leader. Aro ghosts his fingers along her forearm before wrapping his icy fingers around her warm wrist. Edward whispers to Bella and his clan about what he’s seeing in the shapeshifter’s mind. She was taking a familiar run that summer night a ways outside of Seattle, when Riley was first bit. She’d caught a whiff of blood in the distance as well as a hint of something nauseatingly sweet, and decided to investigate. Riley’s initial injury had been inflicted by a weakened James from behind, who upon recognizing Victoria’s scent, had abandoned his victim in her path. The temptation to drink was too much for the new vegetarian, but when she realized what she was doing, she’d wrenched herself away and sprinted back to her home as quickly as possible, leaving the injured boy behind. James then emerged from where he’d been watching and soon after dragged him away.

Leah had warned the pack of what she’d seen, and soon thereafter Jacob had informed Bella of the pack’s interactions with James. Victoria’s eyes are glued to the shapeshifter as Edward relays her memories. When the account has been given, Leah firmly removes her arm from Aro’s slackened clasp and takes a step back. The Volturi leader gives the shapeshifter an odd look, as though he’s both fascinated and disgusted, before reluctantly announcing that Victoria is not technically at fault for the newborns, but she will be watched carefully by the Volturi - and should she make even a minor mistake again, it will be her last. She doesn’t flinch under his gaze as he says this, but Esme loops her arm around the redhead’s shoulders, providing support without releasing her hand.

Finally, the Volturi leader inquires about Bella’s humanity, noting with distaste their failure to honor their word. The Cullens assure them that the date for transformation has been set, and that as soon as Bella graduates from high school, her disappearance will warrant much less panic. Carlisle notes that this is actually in better keeping with the Volturi’s philosophy than if they were to change her and disappear without a trace. At long last, the Volturi admit satisfaction, and reluctantly depart with only warnings and threats in their wake. Victoria watches Heidi’s back as she follows the clan leader away from the battlefield, and tries not to feel a pang of rejection. They haven’t seen one another in centuries - and even if that wasn’t the case, there would be none of Heidi’s former sentiment surviving under the influence of Chelsea.

After they depart, the battlefield slowly starts to clear, first with bodies piled and burning, then with the coven and the wolf pack’s diplomatic exchanges. Victoria hesitates to leave Esme’s side, but she glances down at Bree, still glued to the matriarch’s side, and determines to learn to stand on her own feet more often, so that she could support Esme - who would surely be doing the brunt of the work of acclimating the newest Cullen, just as she did with Victoria - as well as Bree in her own right. She glances across the field, at Leah, and thinks there is no better time to start than then. 

She pulls away from Esme and slowly pads up to Leah, still in human form. She thanks her for testifying on her behalf, and Leah thanks her for her part in protecting her from the newborns. She makes her laugh at some point, and Victoria makes her smile and blush. The vampire pretends not to notice. After all, she imagines that if she were human, Leah would’ve turned her red more than once already. Eventually the two groups part ways, returning to their respective homes, and as Victoria returns to the coven, Esme and Alice are watching her with strange looks on their faces - strange, mischievous looks. She pretends not to notice that either.

That summer, Bree slowly begins to acclimate to the clan. Victoria feels a pang, watching her go through the motions. After all, she’s only barely gotten used to being in the family herself, and there are still so many days where she wakes up wondering when they are going to abandon her, or destroy her, or worse. Rosalie is almost as protective of and attentive to the teenager as Esme and Carlisle. In fact, the entire clan seems to have decided to involve themselves with her healing. 

Victoria swallows the bitterness, trying to remind herself of the sensibility in the clan’s initial reaction to her, but it scares her how little reason soothes her anxiety. Emmett, Bella, and Carlisle seem to understand her worries, though, and with their help - distracting games with Emmett, indulgent hangouts with Bella, and long talks with Carlisle - she learns how to manage and erode any lingering envy or fear. (She never worries about Esme though. They finish Anne of Avonlea, and complete Matilda before the summer ends. She’s gotten better at reading on her own, but she has a feeling it will always be easier with Esme.)

Besides, she adores Bree. Bree is kind, and quiet, and goofy. She is a kid the likes of which Victoria never got to be, and, according to Edward and Carlisle, the likes of which Bree never really got to be before she was bitten either. Of course, Rosalie loves her too, to everyone except Emmett’s surprise. She pulls Victoria aside one day, with newspaper clippings and social services records, a month or so after Bree moves in. They disappear the following weekend, leaving just a note claiming the need to go hunting and a desire to bond. Carlisle frowns and furrows his brows, but Emmett is a good boy and stays tight-lipped about the whole thing. When anyone asks, he just shrugs. “They left a note, you know.”

Esme is the only one home when they return two weeks later in the dead of night, with black eyes, and human blood crusting under their nails. She’s wiping down the kitchen counter after one of Alice’s wedding planning sessions. “What’d they do?” she asks, without looking up. The blonde and the redhead glance at each other, before answering. “He killed her mom,” Victoria murmurs, thinking of her sister. “And tortured her,” Rosalie continues, remembering her death. Esme pauses, using her rag to wipe any glue or glitter stuck to her own hands. She pays special attention to her wedding ring. “I’m glad you’re home.”

While Alice is obviously involved with the wedding as soon as it’s announced, Bella asks Rosalie, Esme, Victoria, and Bree to be bridesmaids as well. Bree is shocked and starts to tear up immediately, but Victoria turns to stone at the proposal. She nods her acceptance, but she can’t find her voice. Later when she’s sitting alone on the balcony, pondering the situation she’s in, Bella approaches and asks her what’s wrong. Victoria asks why Bella asked her to be a bridesmaid, and Bella tells her she doesn’t have to be one if she doesn’t want to. Victoria asks her again why Bella asked her to be one. Bella thinks for a moment, then slowly comes over and sits next to her. She asks Victoria why she is asking.

Victoria lists everything she’s ever done to endanger Bella, every time her decisions made it harder for Edward and Bella to stay together. It seems liek she’ll never run out of reasons for Bella not to have asked her, until Bella interrupts and tells her that first of all, none of what she’s said was Victoria’s fault. She tells Victoria that she has never blamed Victoria - for James, for Laurent, for Edward, for Riley. She suggests that Victoria’s should consider therapy - obviously she couldn’t tell a therapist everything, but she could start to work on some of the trauma and self-doubt she has at the very least. “But that’s not the point,” she continues. “The point is that you guys, all of you, are my family. All of you. And I love all of you. You’re my sister, Victoria, just as much as Alice, and Bree, and even Rosalie. I love you, and how you came to be a part of this family doesn’t change that. We’re in this together, right?”

Bella still hangs out with members of the wolf pack from time to time, and during their trips to theaters, game stores, and bowling alleys, Victoria gets in the habit of asking after Leah. Apparently, Leah asks after her, too. Eventually, Bella gets sick of being the messenger and just sets them up to hang out without her. At Alice’s suggestion, they go to the movies and see an animated film about a garbage robot who falls in love with a space robot and accidentally-on-purpose helps humanity return to Earth. It’s nice, and afterwards they go to a cafe where they both order dinner so that Leah doesn’t have to deal with rude looks for ordering so much food. They talk about silly things, like music, and art, and eventually books get brought up and Victoria mutters that she likes Anne of Green Gables before clamming up. Leah gets the hint and changes the subject.

Spending time with Leah becomes a thing. It’s not habitual enough to be casual, but it’s just often enough to be a thing. Having plans with her feels like an event, and the first few times Victoria spends way too many hours fighting with herself over what to wear and how to do her hair and if she should use makeup - aren’t they already supposed to look perfect? What if she can’t do better and just messes things up? Not the point. The point is, Rosalie takes over her Leah-plan looks from then on, because enough is enough, and Alice is too busy planning a damn wedding to do the job for them. The third time they hang out, Victoria confesses that she’s still learning to read. The next time they meet up, Leah admits that she did some research on adult literacy and found a few articles and pamphlets about helping friends who learned how to read late adjust and continue their growth. Victoria tries to play it cool but her eyes are wet the whole time and she’s smiling like she’s psychotic for a week straight.

They’re walking back to the border of their territories after the sixth of such hangouts when she glances over at the shapeshifter and starts to notice an ache in her chest. They stop at a midpoint and stare at each other before awkwardly saying good night when the ache drips lower and turns to a burn. Victoria hasn’t wanted to attack somebody for a reason other than hunger in a while, so she blurts her goodbyes and gets out of dodge as quickly as possible. It’s only when she’s bursting through the front door and Emmett is asking how her date went that she realizes that she’s burning not with the urge to drink, but with the urge to touch. Bree gives her an odd look, asking if she’s okay, and Victoria chokes out a hoarse ‘yes’ before locking herself in her room and having a minor mental breakdown. 

She avoids hanging out with Leah for the last few weeks of summer, all the while cursing herself. But she can’t help it. For the first time in centuries, she wants to be touched. She wants to be wanted. And the magnitude of what it would mean for Leah to reject her or to return her feelings, overwhelms her to the point of breaking. They have time, she tells herself. Time for her to overcome her fears. Time for her to become somebody worthy of Leah. She has time.

And We End Before Breaking Dawn Because I Guess I’m Writing a Fic Now And No Spoilers

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Thanks to everyone who showed interest in this post/fic! Also, sorry that this thing is so fucking long and monstrous, but I’ve honestly never felt so inspired by an AU before. Special thanks to: @the-bilight-saga @shittytwilightaus @snailcullen @trashanddrivel for messaging me and talking to me about stuff like this! My inbox is always open.

If you want to be tagged in posts related to this au or in posts regarding the fic I plan to write for it, message me, reply to this post, or reblog with a request in the tags! If you want to be taken off the taglist, let me know and I’ll do that immediately. If my post or ideas inspire you to create your own fic/art/post/work, even if it’s different, go for it! And tag me or message me! I’d die.

[7deadlycinderellas]

if the summer of lives could just come again, ch24

AO3 link

 Dragonstone

Tyrion doesn’t have the most extensive experience with queens. When the ruling monarch's consort for half of your life has been the sister who despises you, one learns to take even that experience with a grain of salt.

So, to say he’s apprehensive about meeting this so-called Dragon Queen, is putting it lightly.

“Any word from King’s Landing as of late?” he asks Varys one day when they’re still waiting about the castle. The keep had been nearly deserted when the pair had made the journey. Stannis had taken a number of his men, and his wife as well, when he sailed north.

And many more of them had been pulled away, Tyrion learned, when the men from the Iron Islands had begun attacking Storm’s End. Despite their feud, Tyrion knew Stannis would consider it his duty to aid his brother’s men.

Now the only people who remain at Dragonstone are the beleaguered castellan and a handful of household servants. These people hadn’t even spared Tyrion and Varys a second glance when they had arrived. It was nearly perfect.

“Word is that our queen has given birth to a healthy baby boy. She has named him Gerold. The smallfolk have taken to calling her Good Queen Margaery, and her child the golden cub.”

Tyrion nods. It’s a good pick. Suitably kingly and honoring a Lannister remembered as clever and fair. There were too few of those lately.

“Do we have any idea of what our impending visitor will mean for her?”

Varys’s expression is solemn.

“One would not expect good things to come to a regent when someone who feels they have a birthright to the throne returns. “Usurper” is the word I would expect to hear thrown around.”

Tyrion takes a deep breath. Varys’s assessment is indeed accurate.

“Whatever our dear queen’s cunning ambitions leading her to the throne, I must say her rule has been nothing but benevolent for nearly everyone. She shouldn’t be held responsible for the present or future behavior of her husband or his hand.”

“Do you think she will be?”

Varys smiles, though a bit uncertain.

“Our queen is a clever woman indeed, though I do hope she’s not too clever by half. There are many stories that have made it across the narrow sea about Danaerys Targaryan, Mother of Dragons. One tells that she had a husband and child, both of whom were lost to her. Others say that she believes herself to be barren.”

Tyrion is shocked by that. Targaryan or not, a royal needed heirs.

“If I was still an advisor to the queen, I would suggest her best course of action would be to throw herself on the Dragon Queen’s mercy and hope they can find some common ground. “

That might be best. As hard as she worked to put herself on the throne, Tyrion can’t imagine Margaery giving it up easily. This is what he’s still thinking about when the wind begins to change, and he sees movement on the horizon over the water.

Tyrion is awash as the creatures come towards land out of the mists. The stories could never do dragons justice. His imagination as a child had not been enough.

But his eyes are soon drawn away from the figures circling the skies. He doesn’t even catch a glimpse of their rider.

He’s been distracted by the small fleet of ships on the bay below her.

“Are...are those Ironborn ships?” he asks Varys.

Varys’s eyes are actually uncertain.

“It appears they are. Perhaps this story will have a few more complications than expected.

 Winterfell

Robb, his siblings all muse, is quite possibly one of the only men in all of Westeros, who could go into a holding facility for a group considered ‘savages’ and come out with a politically advantageous betrothal.

They at least had notice, Ned having sent a raven with the news, before they returned so the rest of the Starks could react.

The woman in question was named Val, she was Mance Ryder’s goodsister. Her own sister and goodbrother had been killed in one of the assaults on Castle Black, but her and a small group had managed to flee south, when they had been captured at the Last Hearth.

We know they don’t give her any kind of importance to her position, Ned writes them. They chose Mance to lead them, they didn’t choose her. Despite this, they do listen to what she says, and they seem to think we’ll lend her some kind of weight to her family connection. They think the alliance will mean more to us because of it.

 I’ve spoken to Robb alone, he’s fine with this choice. He hopes she will get along with her as well. This could play a huge role when the rest of the seven kingdoms find out about the Free Folk coming south of the wall.

This is the first thing that’s come there way that has genuinely shocked any of them.

Arya asks Bran if he remembered anything about Val from before.

Bran frowns before answering “Not much really. She was blonde, fought with a dagger. She and Dalla were both killed when Stannis’s men ambushed Mance’s camp following the assault on Castle Black.”

Arya’s face is curious, a combination of concerned and apprehensive.

“She better be worthy of him.”

Robb and Ned are still a few weeks from returning to Winterfell, so there’s not much to do but continue shoring up the weapon and armor stores, prepare the shipments of both to other holdfasts and continue training.

This particular morning, however, Arya doesn’t feel much like doing anything. So when most of the others are in the training yard practicing, she sits on one of the walkways looking down at them.

After a bit, Meera comes and sits beside her.

“Need a break too?”

Arya nods.

“Sansa and Mother should be getting home later today. Thought I’d save my energy. “

Arya’s face looks pensive and after a moment, Meera asks.

“Are you worried about your brother’s marriage?”

After a bit, Arya nods.

“Robb getting married before led to disaster. He must have known it was wrong, marrying someone else when he was betrothed to a Frey. Betrothed for a fucking bridge. I was too, but I didn’t know that for years later, after I’d slaughtered House Frey.”

Arya suddenly shifts, and she wonders if Meera had ever been told that particular bit of her background.

If she hadn’t been told, her face doesn’t show it.

“If you’re expecting horror from me, you’re not going to get it. The Freys have been nothing but a thorn in my house’s side for generations. I’m actually a little bitter they’re alive again.”

Well at least there’s that, Arya thinks.

“This, an arranged betrothal to someone he’s barely met for the sake of a politically necessary alliance, regardless if he was twice my age or a brute or we hated each other...this was the sort of thing I always thought was the future for me, and that it was set in stone. That’s what I grew up thinking marriage was.”

Meera purses her lips.

“I always meant to ask what it was that made you change your mind about wanting to marry. Everyone here seems to think you had basically sworn to never do it.”

Arya laughs. It’s so strange in retrospect.

“Honestly? When I was traveling north to return to Winterfell, I ran across a couple of Lannister soldiers. I was frightened at first- I’ve seen first hand how soldiers often treat vulnerable women- but they were kind. Shared their fire and their food with me. And one them- he kept going on about his wife at home. Told me about how they were expecting a child, and how he wanted a girl. And it- after everything? It sounded so nice. Peaceful. So different from what I always thought it would be and also nothing like the songs of romance Sansa loved. Being able to marry without worrying about politics must be one of the nice things about being lowborn.”

Meera’s lips quirk into a small smile.

“I was always a little frightened of marrying myself. Not that I was worried about being sold off like you- no one bothers making political alliances with the crannogmen.”

“There are a few minor houses in the Neck aren’t they?” Arya asks her. She never spent much time paying attention in lessons, and Jojen and Meera don’t talk too much about the other people from their home.

Meera nods.

“We can’t just marry within them though, or we’d all be Targaryans by now. My mother isn’t of noble blood- I’ve seen how my parents’ marriage was written down. ‘Jyana of the crannogmen’.”

Arya files that little bit of knowledge away. She should ask Meera to tell Gendry that. Maybe they might even be able to meet her someday when this is all over. All these years and he still occasionally got attacks of insecurity because of his birth.

“But I had been raised that my duty was the carry on our house line, so I knew I would have to marry eventually.”

She makes a face.

“Even though it was more likely I would have known the boy I would end up marrying since childhood, there was also always a chance I would have spent my whole life thinking he was a shithead. And while I didn’t really think I would ever be forced to do it, I knew I might have been pressured...especially if Jojen died young like many people seemed to think he would. I was sixteen when we left Greywater Watch before, and I thought it was a blessing that I got to put the topic off for a little while.“

Arya thinks a bit before she asks her next question.

“When did you realize you and Bran were, I mean- you’re nearly as much older than him as Gendry is than me.”

Meera smirks.

“More actually, nearly six years. Gendry and I have had a couple of conversations on this very topic - the two of us are actually only a couple of moons apart.”

She blinks a bit, lost in the past before continuing.

“I’m pretty sure Bran was taken with me pretty early. Your brother wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s not good at hiding things like that. I tried to ignore it, because he was so young, and I was sure his interest would fade. But then time went on and we both got older and it didn’t seem like our age should matter as much as it did before.”

She blinks again, and Arya wonders if she’s blinking away tears.

“After we fled, I pulled him until I couldn’t. He didn’t even wake up from the visions until I couldn’t run anymore. My legs felt like jelly and I could barely feel my feet at all. I fell and tried to get back up and then fell again. When I couldn’t do anything else, and I was certain we were going to die, I wanted to kiss him senseless. “

Meera’s eyes stare off, faraway, but she’s got a tiny smile as well.

“And then when your uncle saved us, it didn’t go away. I thought that maybe when we made it back south things between us would...it seems like such a damned joke. That when I finally began to return his feelings, he no longer cared.”

Wiping her face and sniffing, Meera is suddenly desperate to change the subject.

“I hope your uncle can make it back from the wall. He saved our lives, before, he deserves some happiness too.”

Their conversation is broken by the sound of a horn announcing an arrival.

Arya pulls herself to her feet.

“That must be Mother and Sansa.”

It’s not even been a whole turn of the moon, but seeing both of them again is fantastic. Even with both bits of news they have to break.

Sansa looks as disquieted by the news of Robb’s impending marriage as Arya had been. Catelyn merely nods, acknowledging that it really was time Robb found himself a wife anyway.

It’s after she leaves that Arya reaches for Sansa’s arm and holds her tight as she grits her teeth and mutters.

“Robb’s entire future could hinge on this. If he- if she...I wish I had realized before what a bunch of bullshit the idea of marrying for the greater good is.”

Arya squeezes her arm. She’d always disliked the idea, but Sansa had first hand knowledge for how the resentment and anger these bonds caused could fester and grow and spill over. How they could transform into deceit and underhandedness and backstabbing. These could threaten the safety of the realm far more than by having one that was not united. As much as she could pray that this marriage worked out, she looked at every such possibility and wondered if it would breed another Cersei.

But when Arya tells her that the Wall had been breached by Others, than with nary a word, Sansa is all business again.

“Is Ser Davos at Winterfell now?” she asks.

Arya nods, a little confused. She follows Sansa up to the little study in between all of the Stark children’s chambers. This was where the Septa had given the girls their lessons, and before, where Old Nan had kept an eye on them when they couldn’t be wandering about. Arya hadn’t spent much time in this room in years.

“What are you-” she asks as Sansa rummages through one of the desks. She removes a letter she had stashed away.

“Lord Tyrion sent me a contact to reach out to near Castle Cerwyn which could provide us with wildfire to use against the Others. It won’t be safe to use it once they get past the wall, so I should seek them out as soon as possible.”

Arya’s eyes go wide.

“Wildfire doesn’t go out easily,” Sansa muses, “Even detonated over the ocean, it still burned, burned nearly all of Stannis’s fleet...I don’t think even the worst of winter blizzards will do much to its effects. I won’t risk the destruction of our home by burning it on this side of the wall.”

That’s what Sansa thinks on when she goes to Davos that night and before they prepare to leave in the morning. She sees the image in her head still of the strangely beautiful green flames, peeking in through the windows of the Red Keep. She also remembers the fighting men set on fire by it running, diving in the sea, trying desperately to put it out, screaming as they burned to death.

She thinks this is what causes the haunted look on Ser Davos’s face when they mount their horses and set out the next morning.

“I’m glad Stannis is at the wall,” Sansa tells him. “There’s not a lot of men I would trust with such a deadly weapon. Too many of the Night’s Watch have spent too long thinking that the Free Folk are the only enemy they are meant to be guarding us against. And they have been trained to not even think of them as humans- they might not think that it’s abominable to use such a weapon against something living. I believe Stannis does understand that.”

As long as Stannis doesn’t get stuck on something involving fire again, that is.

Castle Cerwyn is less than a day’s ride in good weather, but in the snow they barely make it by nightfall.

The guards who lead them to the guest house, Sansa recognizes, as Free Folk. They seem at ease too, but are both wary of her and Davos. Sansa wracks her mind, trying to remember if she’d heard any particular complaints from this holdfast about the decree regarding them. She can’t. House Cerwyn had suffered greatly under the thumb of the Boltons before the Long Night, and had barely been able to send any men to fight at all.

They go out early the next morning in search of the name in the letter.

To say he is strange is an understatement.

He is extremely old, older than the oldest men Sansa can recall meeting. He walks with a hunchback and his voice as a strange quality that makes Sansa think perhaps he has suffered some injury or illness of the throat in his time.

Or, she thinks looking about his workshop, perhaps he drank some concoction he shouldn’t have.

Wisdom Othlelle keeps looking at her out of the corner of one eye and muttering. She sticks close to Davos for more than a few reasons.

She also notices a few young men coming in and out of the shop and files them away in her mind.

When Othlelle inquires as to why they require the substance, Sansa plainly says.

“So I guess you haven’t been hearing any stories of enemies of the north with a particular weakness to fire.”

Sansa and Davos pay him for his services, and he directs one of the younger men to prepare the shipment.

Sansa looks him square in the eye.

“And there won’t be any funny business with the transport. It will only go to the wall, and only be passed into the hands of Stannis Baratheon. I can’t imagine the Alchemist’s guild would think too highly of you training acolytes unofficially this far north.”

He seems taken aback by her tone, so Sansa hopes it’s enough for her words to make an impact.

With that taken care of, Sansa and Davos mount their horses again and take off, hoping it’s still early enough to make it home by the end of the day.

When they’re riding, the wind comes by quickly enough that Sansa wonders at the look on Davos’s face. He’s been moving slower lately, she’s begun to notice the lines in his face more. It’s mostly hidden by his cloak, but she thinks she sees a glimpse of-

When they stop to water the horses, she finally asks.

“You look as tired as the rest of us are. Do you ever think about going home?”

His face is guarded still, but there’s a flicker that makes Sansa think she’s right. She reaches out to touch him on the shoulder.

“It’s fine. You’ve done so much already. You helped get Gendry out of King’s Landing, you’ve spent all these years helping us evacuate the Free Folk to the south. You’re the one doing most of the coordinating with the other houses, not Robb. “

“How am I supposed to go south when I know what’s coming?” he responds, sounding slightly desperate.”How can I go be with my own family when I know I could be stopping someone else from losing theirs?”

Sansa shakes her head.  

“Talk to Father when he returns to Winterfell. You’re not technically in our service, you’re not beholden to any of us-”

“I’m beholden to you all far more than nearly anyone else in all of the realm.”

“And your wife and sons need you. You got them all back, you should spend every moment you possibly can with them, because they might not get you back again.”

Davos’s face falters, and Sansa decides not to push.

“Like I said, we’re getting to the brink of war here, and you’re not a young man. Talk to Father.”

The horses are back at strength, so they remount and keep riding. The snow is blessedly light, and the sky remains bright.

They’re getting nearer to Winterfell, when Sansa’s horse spooks.

“What is it?” she asks her, but only gets a ‘neigh!’ in answer. She tries to spur her on, but she balks. She turns her head to Davos, who’s own mount is acting strange too.

Sansa hears a noise she can’t place, so she halts the horse and draws her bow. She hears the noise again, and turns, trying to spot it’s direction.

Then the noise turns more familiar, it becomes a howl.

A howl that heralds a rush in the snow covered brambles and a light gray figure appearing.

Sansa sees Davos draw his own bow and has to shout, “Wait!”

She loosens her bow.

“Ghost?” she asks.

And watching his tail wag, she hears footsteps and more rustling.

She sees another wolf appear across a clearing, and then another.

And then a group of women.

Well, women, and one man.

Sansa lowers her bow completely.

“Jon?”

She’d recognize the face anywhere. She remembers seeing it for the first time in nearly as many years before.

She hastily stumbles off her horse and throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Sansa?” he asks her, sounding confused. “What are you doing out here?”

She pulls back to look at him, and then to look at the other women with him.

They’re a motley bunch, dressed in ragged furs and carrying a strange assembly of weapons. And then Sansa spots one of the women, who’s huddling into herself and pale, and feels a pang of familiarity.

“Gilly?”

The girls looks confused at her words, and Sansa steps back.

“This is Ser Davos of House Seaworth. We were just finishing up some business before heading back-  you’re all on the way to Winterfell right?”

Davos has already rushed forward to shake Jon’s hand firmly, with a bigger smile than Sansa’s seen in ages. Jon mostly looks dazed.

“It’s good to see you again, Jon Snow,” Davos turns his attention to the women. “And you too ladies. May I ask your names?”

All of them answer, one by one. The last one is standing nearest Jon, holding a young boy on her shoulders. She looks up and says, “I’m Ygritte.”

Sansa can’t keep her hands off her face, and Davos’s similarly lets loose a noise of shock.

There’s a flash on the other woman’s face and Sansa suddenly wonders if she knows, what she knows.

“How far away are we from Winterfell?” Jon asks.

“Not too far. I can probably take one more person on my horse.”

“Take Gilly,” Henneh insists, “She’s still sick.”

“We haven’t had any issues with bandits-”

“I don’t think they will be a problem,” another voice says. Sansa squints and spies a small figure with an oddly shaped face.

“Sansa, this is Rowan. She’s the last of the children of the forest.”

Sansa smiles. Perhaps she should be more shocked.

“It’s getting a bit late,” she tells them all, helping Gilly onto her horse in front of her, “Maybe we should continue this conversation on the road.”

The road, even with the snow, is far less intimidating with such a group. Jon walks beside Sansa and Gilly. He reaches up and touches her quiver.

“You have a bow now?”

Sansa grins.

“Lots of things have changed since we’ve seen you. I have a bow, Arya has a husband, Robb has a betrothed, she’s a wildling too.”

As they get closer, she reaches down and touches Jon on the shoulder.

“I think you should try and talk to Mother if you can. Father told her the truth...and I think it really shook her up.”

Jon’s eyes go dark, and so Sansa gives him a pat.

“Like I said, lots of things have changed. It’s okay if you have changed too.”