#she never cared enough to call. and when we((i)) went up to mourn what did she do?

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1652

Chapter 38:

"Time to finish The Road. We are one trial closer to the big score!" She exclaimed and started to lead, making you all follow her down the path.

"Earth magic with no Green Witch." Jen reminded Agatha, since Rio had gone to do her duty and left them behind.

"We're back to square one." Billy agreed.

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Oh, there's plenty of overlap between Earth and Potions, right, Jenny Kale?"

Jen bit back a sarcastic remark. "Some."

"Please. Your last name is a vegetable. Worst kind," Agatha said, reverting back to mean unnecessary comments. "Plus, we have Sugar over here. One extra set of hands. Oh, and don't look at her like that; she is more capable than you think, " she continued, focusing on you.

She even went as far as to slow down so you could catch up with her; only to pinch your cheeks in a playful manner.

At that moment, though, you clearly did not share her humour or her fake optimistic side. You grabbed her wrist and gently lowered her hand away from your cheeks.

"Ags," you called out her name, in a tone she knew too well.

You were catching up to her facade, and her fake smile disappeared. She did not like it when you were using that tone, expecting she would confess what was on her mind.

Sometimes Agatha did that, but right now, those things were the last thing she wanted to think of. And so, she continued on; not truly caring what kind of image she was giving to the others.

She knew in the end, you would never hate her or walk away; and Billy needed her to find his brother. So she had the two of you secured.

Now, if Jen chose to be upset and offended, she didn't care. She was just... Jen.

"I have to be honest," Agatha continued agter giving the small group a dramatic pause. "I'm surprised you survived this long, Kale. My money was on Lilia."

You chose to put your foot down at that moment. No matter how annoying Jen could and had proven to be, that did not mean she deserved to be attacked that way.

"Agatha, enough. This is not the time for comparisons or disrespecting the dead," you commented, making her stop in her tracks. "Show some respect cause we are only here because of Lilia's sacrifice."

Especially when she was still mourning, perhaps being the only member to truly care for Lilia's loss. Cause let's ve honest, Billy never truly came close or cared that much.

And you... well, you hadn't truly bonded with anyone cause you didn't want to. You knew they might die. They might turn on you on the road, and you were strictly there for Agatha.

One last chance to stand by her side for good this time and not let her slip through your fingers, unknown when and if she would return back to you.

But you had failed in that initial plan. All because you had started to warm up to a lost boy with hidden potential under the name of Billy Maximoff.

Agatha fought to keep that fake bitchy smirk and not react to your words. She expected you to comment once in a while, since you akwys did, but to go against her so strongly? So often?

She was not sure she liked that. Perhaps she had been away from you too much, and you had forgotten... forgotten the rules she had laid for you. Rules you had obediently followed.

She would have to change that when this would be all over. You had been astray from the path for too long, but she was not going to let you continue that way, especially with Rio so keen on entering your life and being part of it.

Agatha cleared her throat, controlling her thoughts. "Come on, Sugar. Cheer up!" She said, putting on a mask once again. "What fresh horrors await us! It's's the big finish, so close to us!"

She started to walk again, trying to keep her moon by being dramatic; talking of fireworks and spectacles and.... she tripped..

However, it was what she tripped on that surprised all of you.

"Our shoes." You exclaimed and moved to investigate, ensure your eyes were nor deceiving you.

Much to your surprise and even slight horror, those were your shoes. They were nicely tucked and placed where you all had removed and left them. When you had first started the Road.

It felt as if it had been too long since that took place, while it may as well been a few hours; perhaps a day.

Only then did you truly realize how time disoriented you all had been. How you had almost forgotten where you were and when you started, feeling so much longer than it truly was.

"We're back where we started." Jen realized but did not dare to approach the shoes any closer, as she was reminded of the witches that died before; whose shoes were the only reminders of them left.

"The Witches' Road is a circle. And this is the finish line?" Billy questioned, looking at you and Agatha; since you were the last and only ones to survive the road.

Or so you claimed.

Agatha had the strongest reaction to everything, clearly upset by the sight. She had been through so much in the past few trials, especially that damn spirit trial.

She had been humiliated, trickef, trialled, tired, and by the gods had her patience be tested.

"That's it?" She exclaimed, anger bubbling within her, mimicking a volacon about to erupt or a tsunami ready to sink a whole country with one hit. "That's it?!" She yelled, glaring at the sky at whatever entity our there might be watching and most likely mocking them.

"Well, maybe we passed the trial." Billy suggested, trying to be the optimist in the group and calm down Agatha from pulling her own hair or finding a way to set the whole place in flames.

Agatha turned her head to look at him, her face hard. "Then how exactly do we get off?" She asked rhetorically.

Of course, Billy didn't realize it and tried to anseer it. "Well, maybe we..." she didn't let him finish.

"If you don't know, then keep quiet."

Billy bit his tongue, feeling his own anger flaring up as once again he was treated with so much disrespect; it was ending up to become both annoying and tiring.

"We keep going." Agatha suddenly suggested.

"What?" Jen and Billy exclaimed while you stared at your lover, trying to make sure you heard her correctly.

"We go again. It'll work the second time." She explained, trying to sound certain, but everyone could see that she was not convincing enough.

"Ags, this won't work, and you know it," you said, trying to be the one and get her both to listen and calm down.

Your lover simply pushed her hair off her shoulder. "Of course it will. We have nothing to lose"

Before you could argue or reason with her, Jen interfered; though this time she had a very valid point.

"There is absolutely zero chance, I'm m going to endure that experience again." She said snd you silently agreed with her.

The trials have have exhausting and if by some twisted turn of fate you had to endure them again... you were not ready.

No matter the answers that might be the same, you could also not pass through that again; let alone so soon.

As the three witches argued, with Jen and Agatha being the loudest and you caught in the middle; Billy chose to act.

He was also tired from everything, and he wanted to just be done. He wanted to find Tommy, have his answers, and return to his civilian life. It might not be truly his, but it was a stable thing in his life that didn't consist of backstabbing, people dying, and lies being told so often they mixed with the truth.

"We took them off out of respect for The Road." He started as he stood in front of his shoes and grabbed one . "Screw The Road." And with those words, he put his shoe on.

Yet in that exact moment... he disappeared from sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sudden disappearance made the three of you gasp in surprise, none expecting it to happen. Worse was the fact that you didn't know where he went and if what he did was the right choice or the one leading him to his doom.

"So, what do we do know?" Jen dared to ask and look at you and Agatha.

You exchanged a look with your lover, first time sering this. You were unsure of what you should truly do, let alone what you might experience next.

Yet the more you remained in that annoying creepy lurking forest. The more you were reminded of your limited choices and the fact that you had come back to the beginning... the more certain you were of what to do.

Worse case scenario, you were kicked off the Road or killed. Both of those theories felt so much better within your hearts, than spending a minute longer on this hellish road.

"Time to wear our shoes," Agatha said and went first, disappearing as soon as she put her shoes on.

This left you and Jen to exchange a look, your fellow witch clearly not thrilled with the idea and not fully confident that this was the right choice.

She did not want to take any more risks. It was too stressful.

"Not much of a choice," you said, doing a not so good effort in sounding reassuring.

She watched you head for your shoes and put them on, the sight of her watching you the last thing you saw before your vision turned black.

Chapter 39

[swagging-back-to]

i do wholeheartedly believe gifting animals to elderly patients because they're lonely is the exact same thing as giving a kid an animal because they're bored.

both situations come at great cost to the animal due to neglect, abuse. in the case of the elder they have the very likely chance of being left unattended for a significant time after the person dies and having that trauma. many animals are placed in shelters after their owner dies, and then are euthanized.

[sweet-evie]

A Piece of the Whole

A glimpse into the life of a single dad who's doing his best.

masterlist || pt 2

Content ⚠️: Established Relationship, afab!oc, fem!oc, nameless!oc, she/her/hers pronouns for Satoru's S/O, Tragedy, Childbirth, Maternal Death, Mentions of Blood, Angst, singleparent!gojo, dad!gojo

Never Grow Up Pt 1

May 5, 2012: Sanno Hospital

Throat tight and heart shattered, Satoru choked down the remainder of his grief and promised himself the luxury of breaking down when he was alone. He couldn’t do it now… Not here. Not in front of doctors who offered him sympathies. Not in front of Shoko who sat beside him with equally mournful eyes.

How would he even begin to tell Megumi and Tsumiki?

The latter was especially excited through the phone when he and his partner rushed to the emergency ward almost a full day ago when her water broke.

Almost as if she read his mind, Shoko laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We should get things sorted out. Finish the paperwork and get the kids.”

Satoru swallowed around two mouthfuls of cotton balls and pushed his blackout sunglasses further up his nose — a sorry attempt at hiding how defeated he felt and how his eyes were full to bursting with unshed tears. It almost felt wrong to start moving again, as if the world hadn’t stopped turning the moment she took her last labored breath.

Logic told him this wasn’t the end… He was still Satoru Gojo — still the head of the Gojo clan, still saddled with the responsibility of instructing first year students at Jujutsu Tech, still needed to exterminate curses that cropped up too frequently for his liking. Being a father to a newborn was an added responsibility that he looked forward to for the past nine months and it was all because he had his Love by his side. He promised his lover and his would-be daughter his time and commitment, because if he couldn’t shoulder the burden of sheltering his baby in his own body and going through painful labor to deliver said baby into the world, then he would pour all his effort into taking care of the mother of his child and his new baby.

His Love did the work — uncomfortable, strenuous work that cost her her body image, her mental well-being on some especially hard days, and her general comfort.

What a woman…

What a woman she had been.

He’d asked her once why any woman would willingly do this to herself, knowing the possible complications, the risk, the changes, the toll, and she had smiled at him — amber eyes glinting in the afternoon light of the apartment they called ‘home’ — and told him that any woman who willingly went through pregnancy allowed it for different reasons. But for her, it was because—

“Loving her is loving a piece of you. And I love you wholly, Satoru.”

The strong smell of antiseptic brought him back from the memory he had been reminiscing about. The busy humdrum of a hospital outside the private room reminded him that his life might have ground to a halt, but others’ didn’t.

The Love of his life perished at the cost of delivering the baby she loved so much, and the world wouldn’t care.

“What do I tell her family?” Satoru mumbled, giving Shoko a verbal response at last.

“The truth. You can’t exactly hide it.”

Maybe he could get away with having his Mom deal with that. Their families had never been exceptionally close, but Satoru figured it was the least his mother could do after the woman had initially expressed her disapproval when they announced her pregnancy to his clan.

The main gripes had been the fact that she was not a sorcerer, they were not married, and his lover did not possess any sort of public influence that could benefit the Gojo clan.

Not that it mattered now…

His Love had passed away.

“At least her family would hate me enough not to bother with trying to file for custody. I don’t think they’d be happy about the baby either.”

“I doubt they’d be unhappy. It doesn’t matter if they do try to file, Gojo. Your parenting rights exceed theirs.”

“I know.”

Satoru stared at the empty bed and its flattened sheets. It looked too sterile — too clean. It was a far cry from the blood and the screaming and the smell of death that had permeated the room not too long ago. The smell and horrible aftertaste of death’s door was an all too familiar sensation to him unfortunately — especially after Megumi’s own father had brutalized him five years ago. He hated that his Love had to know what that was like before she succumbed to it.

“Have you met her yet?”

“Not yet.”

Regrettably, he hadn’t thought about the infant ever since he watched the light leave his Love’s eyes. She was the center of his world and truthfully, more important to him than a baby he barely knew. Of course he grieved her.

But now that Shoko brought it up, it added another horrible taste in his mouth. Just a month ago he’d felt so carefree as he laid beside his pregnant partner, shamelessly cooing and fawning over the unborn baby in her womb, making a show of how excited he was to be a dad, and already making plans to teach her plenty of things. Now his life flipped upside down at the onslaught of tragedy that befell his girlfriend.

The doctors had whisked his daughter away to the NICU to monitor her closely and provide care after the mother passed away near the end of delivery. The Love of his life didn’t even get to see her baby before she died… Didn’t even get the chance to speak her name so they could print it out in the tiny tags they kept around newborns’ wrists to identify them in the nursery.

Her last coherent words were impassioned pleas thrown out in the midst of her suffering, punctuated with labored breaths, gasps, and blood — so much blood that stained the white sheets pink and orange.

“Love her, Satoru. Promise me. Promise, please? Promise me. Love her. She needs you.”

Did she feel her own life slipping away? Was her strength sapped bit by bit with each gasp and strained scream? They’d taken her body to the morgue an hour ago, but he swore he could still feel her near bone-crushing grip on his fingers — regrettably a pathetic source of consolation during her labor. His words of whispered encouragement didn’t hold a candle to her pain and suffering. 

It couldn’t save her from rapid blood loss and cardiac arrest.

Pathetic…

The strongest sorcerer of the modern age — abundant in financial resources and political power, yet useless in the face of death and loss. This was his curse.

“It’s only been half an hour. Did the doctor say anything?”

“They might keep her there for the whole day or for weeks for all I know.”

“You should go see her.”

“I—”

Shoko’s tone was soft but firm as she reached out, squeezed his shoulder again, and made for the door. “I’ll come with you.”

=OoOoO=

Entering the neonatal unit was not as complicated as he first assumed. The entrance to the unit was armed with a cache of hand sanitizers, disinfecting alcohol, antibacterial liquid soap, face masks, and other paraphernalia meant to prevent spread of infection. Next to that was a station for handwashing. The place smelled of a strange yet pleasant mix of scented rubbing alcohol and baby powder.

The nurses had asked both him and Shoko to don hospital gowns over their clothes, plus wear gloves and masks. If the situation had been a little less grim, he would have argued with Shoko over whether these precautionary measures were really necessary for him when he had Infinity and his immune system was tougher than beds of nails. She would have told him how ridiculous he was being, and he would have countered with an argument that revolved around the idea that he was the last person carrying transferable diseases in the entire hospital.

But there was none of that…

He was quiet and subdued, even as the smiling nurse led them through.

She was not one of the nurses present during his baby’s birth, so she obviously didn’t know. Satoru wondered if she would have treated him differently if she knew. He let Shoko take care of the technicalities of the conversation. They were talking about IVs and breathing measurements and vital signs — everything that Satoru knew he should be paying attention to.

But he knew, despite his baby’s sensitive condition, that she was completely fine — that she was alive and that she would pull through.

His daughter’s cursed energy signature was readable outside of the unit. It thrummed and doused her in it completely like a second blanket. It wasn’t tightly reined or controlled, as expected from a newborn. She had more than the normal amount a sorcerer would have too — that tiny body housed enough cursed energy to match the output of a Grade 1 sorcerer.

He followed a step behind Shoko and the nurse, sunglasses now pushed to the top of his head so he could see everything. The tiny and insignificant curses that usually plagued hospitals were nowhere to be found — hiding from him most likely. 

Their little group stopped at the eighth infant warmer.

There she was — the fruit of his Love’s efforts.

Tiny, fragile, covered in a pink blanket, eyes half-open, her tiny arms and legs moving, and a nasal cannula in her nostrils.

“Normally, it’s really hard to tell which baby belongs to which parent because they all look so similar.” The nurse giggled at Shoko, gesturing to the rows and rows of dark-haired babies in identical infant warmers or incubators. “But your baby stands out from the rest. She’s hard to miss.”

“She’s not my baby.” Shoko corrected the nurse.

“Oh— My apologies, Dr. Ieiri.” She turned, about to address Satoru.

He was already standing over the tiny bed. The size of the infant warmer when placed right next to his towering height created a comical scene: a six-foot plus giant leaning over a restless baby.

“I can see where she gets her hair, Mr. Gojo. You have a very beautiful daughter.”

Her words barely registered in Satoru’s brain; his mind too preoccupied by the sight of his Love’s sweet angel. She’d begged him to love the little girl — made him promise. She had pleaded with every ounce of breath left in her rapidly deteriorating body.

And the sight of this tiny girl — her small fists curling and uncurling, small body wiggling and twitching underneath the soft blanket, and her head turned to his side with those eyes squeezed shut — broke what was left of his battered heart.

“She’s so small.” Satoru mumbled, seating himself on one of the stools they placed close to the infant warmer. (Truthfully, all newborn babies looked tiny compared to Satoru Gojo). 

Cautiously, he placed his elbows on the transparent edges of the warmer, watching the little girl closer, oblivious to the way Shoko and the nurse watched him.

“Is she a healthy size?” He spoke slowly, quietly; Six Eyes never straying away from the new life he’d helped create.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo.” She watched as Satoru fiddled with the name tag wrapped loosely around the newborn’s chubby wrist. A name hadn’t been given, so the tag simply read ‘Baby Gojo’. “If we could have her name, we could reprint a new tag.”

A name… If they could have her name.

Satoru stared at the thin white piece of photo paper between his fingers.

Born on the fifth moon at the beginning of the end of Spring, delivered at 11:43PM, firstborn child of the head of the Gojo clan, offspring of the strongest sorcerer alive.

The name left his lips unbidden, uttered as a reverent prayer and offering to a love he lost and equally gained. It was the name his Love had chosen — a fitting name for their baby girl and her powerful birthright, his Love had said.

“Satsuki… Her mother named her Satsuki, with the kanji for ‘blossom’ or ‘moon’ and ‘princess.’”

“A fitting name for a lovely girl. Your wife must be so proud.”

“She is…”

She would have been…

Satoru nodded along to the nurse’s kind comments, still wholly focused on watching his daughter. The nurse excused herself to accommodate a colleague’s inquiries, leaving him and Shoko alone amid the row of infant warmers and sleeping babies.

“You could touch her.” Shoko nodded once, noting how cautious Gojo was.

Uncaring of any protests, Satoru slipped off the glove that covered his right hand and gently slid two of his fingers into the space between her curled fingers and tiny palm. Her skin was warm and she was so so so small. It was a sight to behold: a daughter holding on to her father’s finger — a prelude of how they would behave around each other three years down the line. 

He was a stranger to fear, but in this moment, perhaps he could admit to feeling apprehensive — that his most delicate grip could shatter her. Satsuki deserved utmost care and tenderness — the kind that only a mother could give… The kind that Satoru so obviously lacked. He could put a roof over his daughter’s head, give her clothes to keep her warm, provide food in abundance so she would never starve, financially support her so she would never want for a single thing in her life, and protect her from every threat. All of that, and he would still be incapable of restoring the warmth and comfort Satsuki’s mother could have brought her — had she been given the chance.

That’s what hurt the most, he figured… Satsuki would only know of her mom — would only experience her through the thousands of pictures and videos Satoru had stored in memory cards and camera phones throughout the years. Satsuki would never know how sweet and warm her mother was, how affectionate and kind and patient. And no matter how much Satoru would strive to convey all of that through his stories and his actions, it could never measure up — could never bring proper justice to the firsthand experience Satsuki would have had, if only Fate wasn’t cruel to Satoru Gojo and everyone he loved.

He pulled down the mask that covered half of his face as he gently stroked his daughter’s hair. There was so much of it — a full head of white, a blanket of snow. He could fit her entire head in the palm of his hand. He marveled at all of her, now that he had been staring for quite some time. Thin and pale eyebrows matched her long white eyelashes. Her nose, her mouth, the shape of her face — it was all his. In this at least, no one could doubt her paternal lineage. (Not that anyone would dare to question Satoru Gojo if he claimed a baby was his — look-a-like or not).

“Oh my god, she’s all you.” Shoko muttered over his shoulder, echoing his own musings as she finally got a closer look for herself.

“Would the clan elders still insist on a paternity test, do you think?”

It was a half-baked attempt at humor, but Shoko did smile a little underneath her face mask. There was some truth to that claim. 

Satoru’s family weren’t the happiest group of people when they found out he got his girlfriend pregnant. They lived in modern society, but the biggest clans of the jujutsu world held fast to traditional beliefs, even if said beliefs dated all the way back to the 18th century. Satsuki was born out of wedlock, so in their judgmental eyes, she was illegitimate — unworthy of the Gojo name and certainly not fit to inherit any asset or receive support from the clan. But Shoko doubted that claim would stay for long — not if Satoru would have anything to do with it. He got what he wanted one way or the other (and for the most part). She knew her friend.

Shoko wagered that this family conflict would persist for a year or less… Satsuki is and forever will be entitled to the name ‘Gojo’, and Satoru would even put her in line to be the next head of the clan — patriarchal traditions be damned.

“How’s her cursed energy level?” Shoko asked out of curiosity. It had been on her mind ever since she and Satoru wandered into the unit.

“As stable as can be expected from a baby. The amount matches a Grade 1 sorcerer.” 

Shoko reached over the edge of the infant warmer to fix the blanket covering Satsuki’s body. “You think she’ll have Limitless?”

“Maybe. It would be better for her if something unique manifests instead. You never really know until kids hit five or six.”

Satoru continued to speak quietly as he scanned his daughter’s face, watching closely as her little eyelids fluttered and peeled themselves back halfway, revealing bright amber irises. At this, he had to smile.

“She has her mommy’s eyes. Of course she does.”

His Love would have adored her. She’d fawned over Satsuki from the moment they went to their first checkup. She had smiled so wide when they heard the steady beat of their little girl’s heart for the first time, and she told him all over again that her horrible nausea in the mornings, her swollen feet, her migraines, and all her troubles were worth it — even if he so obviously thought otherwise.

“Loving her is loving a piece of you. And I love you wholly, Satoru.”

A piece of him…

Satsuki was a piece of her too, wasn’t she?

Satsuki was the embodiment of her love — the remnant Satoru resolved to cherish for the rest of his days from this moment forth.

Shoko went looking for the nurse and left him alone for a moment, and Satoru contented himself with the view of his daughter staring listlessly into a mess of colors and shapes that her still-developing brain barely identified. Giving her the sincere smile she deserved, he held one of her tiny hands again and kissed her fingers — a promise of the life and future he would give her for as long as he was able.

It would be a long long while until he would see his Love again — longer still because their daughter needed him now. 

Wherever she was, perhaps watching over him and Satsuki, he sincerely hoped his Love heard the utterance of the very same words she’d told him that time he asked. His Love was right…

Loving the girl was loving a piece of her mother. And ever since that evening on Christmas Eve so many years ago, he’d loved every bit of his lover everyday, more than he did the day before until the moment she took her last breath. 

“I’ll take care of our little girl. I promise.”

[coolprettyleo]

it's me, hi! I'm the problem it's me! - connor bedard ☆

wc: 1.5k

tw: angst. rooting for the anti-hero. villain arc? self-destructing

ryan leonard x ex! hughes sister oc

connor bedard x hughes sister oc

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

frankie found that the older she got, she never got wiser.

everything happened so fast. she was in the midst of getting ready for her very first appearance with connor in tears. she hadn't spoken to him since this morning when she walked out of the room with her tail between her legs, and she honestly couldn't believe he agreed to do this. she couldn't belive she agreed to do this. I mean, what was she doing? she didn't know if she was dodging a bullet or losing the love of her life.

"can I come in?" she heard her mother knock on the door before opening the door.

"yeah. is this cute?" she asked with swollen eyes as her mother looked at her with sad eyes.

"of course. you sure you want to go through with this?" ellen asked, studying her daughter. she knew she couldn't possibly be okay. she had jumped head-first into ryan, and her daughter normally never did that.

"I don't even know," she said before sitting on the bed and putting her head in her hands as she cried, wondering when the hell her life began to lose all its meaning. before her mother came next to her to wrap her in a much-needed hug.

"you don't have to go through with this if you don't want too. I'll stand behind any decision you make, beautiful," her mom said as she wiped her tears.

"It's just- ryan. mom, I can't believe it's over. I haven't even had time to mourn him; everything's just been so crazy, and it's all feeling really real," frankie said, sniffling as her mother continued to hold her.

"I think you need to communicate this to connor so he doesn't get confused. i also think you need to speak to ryan before the photos drop tonight" her mother told her.

"i know. i just haven't talked to him since we broke up, and I don't even know if he'd answer"

"he loved you a lot. i think he would" ellen told her as she nodded trying to pull herself together.

___

frankie was waiting for the car to come pick her up from the hotel with connor in it. with shaky hands she dialed ryans number and felt her heart in her ass.

“frankie?” Ryan said confusingly over loud music. he was at a party.

“hi ryan” she answered with a deep breath

“what’s going on? are you okay?” he asked worriedly. even though he ended things he knew he’d always still care for the girl.

“yeah im fine” lie. she was anything but fine ever since that night.

“oh, well what’s going on” he asked hoping she wasn’t calling to beg him. he knew he’d give in and saw how amazing she had been doing without him. she was better off.

“i need to tell you something can you talk?” she asked still hearing the music.

“uhm— now’s not really a good time” he said. he was currently at a party with a busty blonde on his lap trying to oh so desperately forget about frankie.

ryan had done the opposite of frankie after the breakup. while she worked till she quite literally dropped, ryan also worked but still found time for hookups. he had actually gone back out that night she left in DC and made out with a girl that couldn’t be more different than the youngest hughes. he knew frankie would lose her shit if she ever found out.

“I really need to tell you this right now ryan” she said desperately as she saw connors text about him being five minutes away.

“why? it can’t wait till tomorrow?” he snapped a bit.

he had been holding a lot of resentment for the girl ever since the breakup believing she was the reason he had to end things. why hadn’t he been enough for her?

“no, because I need you to remember I’m a human being after what you’re going to see tomorrow,” she said with tears stinging her eyes.

he didn’t know what to expect so he pushed to blonde off of him and went to a quieter corner.

“okay. what is it?” he asked not wanting to know the answer.

“I’ve been seeing connor bedard and we’re set to make our first appearance tonight. It’ll be in the tabloids by the morning” she said in one breath waiting for ryan to say something but he hadn’t known what to possibly say to that.

“ryan? please say something” she said in a small voice.

“I don’t— i don’t know what you want me to say. good for you,” he said, feeling like crying, but he wasn’t going to do that.

“i’m sorry. I love you ryan, i do. I think I always will, but I just thought it’d be better to hear it from me.” she said, feeling her tears drop down her cheeks.

“how long have you been seeing him?” he asked.

the question she was hoping he wouldn’t ask. the NDA she and the connors team had come up with said that they’d been seeing each other for the past two months, meaning ryan would think it overlapped with their relationship. she couldn’t tell him that it was fake, so the end really was near.

“we’ve been speaking for two months. but ryan-“

“wait—were you cheating on me?” he asked as she took a deep breath.

“no. but-“

“I can’t believe this. there are no 'buts,' frankie! while I was fighting for our relationship, you had already checked out with another guy? are you serious?” he asked, pissed.

“don’t say you fought for anything ryan. because you didn’t,” she said, beginning to get pissed off.

“yeah, whatever. have a nice life, frankie,” he said with a sarcastic laugh before hanging up.

leaving frankie to stand there shocked. it seemed like Ryan had finally gotten tired of all her scheming. She knew he'd be mad, but she really thought she could some way get through to him. she just felt so stupid because the only reason she agreed to do this whole thing was because she was trying not to lose him for good, but she managed to do just that. even worse.

but poor frankie would always be the girl she's always been. she'd rather stare directly at the sun but never into the mirror, afraid of what she'd see in the reflection. making it exhausting to anyone who cared for her.

"the car's here. you ready?" jack asked, peeking his head into the room to see his sister in tears.

"yeah," she said, wiping her tears as jack looked at her with sad eyes. the exact same ones her mother had given her about two hours before.

"franks, you don't have to do this," he said cautiously.

"I want to," she said, looking at her reflection in the mirror, fluffing up her hair before walking past him. she was done feeling like shit over a guy. It was her time to shine, and her little heart knew it.

___

connor sat next to her nervously, playing with his watch as he tried not to make eye contact with the three hughes that sat across him and were giving him a death stare as they drove to the club.

"relax," frankie said, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers as she settled it on her lap with a smile.

he turned to look at her as her blue eyes looked into his. it all felt right to him, and he knew this was fake, but something was telling him it could turn into more, and he'd be stupid to not jump on that bandwagon.

"get a room," luke gagged from across them, breaking their little moment.

"shut up. I can still tell the bouncer you're not with me," she threatened as he glared at her.

"still can't believe my baby sister can do that," jack said, chuckling as they laughed.

they soon pulled up in front of the place as her brothers got out.

"you ready?" she asked connor with a smile.

"not really," he answered honestly.

"if you don't want to do this, we don't have to," she said, wanting to make sure he was comfortable. She never wanted to drag him into her little games, and she was afraid this was going to be her biggest one yet.

"no i want to," he said standing up and stepping out of the car as the flashes began to go off. she smiled before accepting his hand and stepped out with the help of connor with a picture-perfect smile.

if the cameras had already been going off, it times that by one hundred. the photographer's fingers never left the capture button, afraid they were going to miss a moment of the newest 'it couple'.

their fingers laced as connor pulled her into the club, not before looking back at her with a smile as she looked up at him capturing the perfect tabloid picture.

[ride-thedragon]

A MILD GLIMPSE AT LAENOR AND RHAENYRA.

I do find their dynamic in episode 6 and 7 very interesting, but the first time I watched the show, I did not get what was being communicated between them. Her words to him felt wrong and different with every conversation, and I didn't know why I didn't believe it when the events of episode 7 happened, but I think I do now.

A few things, Laenor does do his duty. They both hold up their end of the bargain it's just unwillingly on his end by the end.

From the start, Laenor is mourning Joffrey in their marriage. That's how it happens. Shortly after, based on age, Jace is conceived with Harwin.

A lot of assumptions seem to be that Laenor and Rhaenyra weren't trying, but I don't think that's it. It seems more likely that they did, and Rhaenyra went after Ser Harwin either way. Because Laenor is being forced to do his duty, I can't imagine him disregarding it. Especially if the deleted scenes are being taken into consideration, but another thing is that Harwin isn't some politically correct decision.

People act as though in the first year of their marriage Rhaenyra needed to be pregnant, but that's not true. It just happened, and I don't see the pregnancy carrying out without some possibility of Jace being Laenor’s, with all eyes on them. The issue was never Laenor not doing his duty. It was that there was no joy in it. Rhaenyra found that with Ser Harwin. That's actual show dialogue.

Laenor in the show doesn't go to Driftmark. In no conversation does it seem as though he has that break from court life. The strength of being a Velayron is taken from him with no noble house Velayron men at the Keep or him being able to go back and prepare himself for his role as heir. This is a world building issue. But also isolated him to the Red Keep unwillingly, it seems.

Then we consider that he cares for Rhaenyra. Ten years later, and he's telling her, "Let's go back, stop making the show of Alicent commands, this is dangerous you're in pain." She disregards him, which is the first of many times we see.

After he's called a cuckold by Alicent, Rhaenyra makes sure he's aware of her dislike of the name Joffrey or him choosing it. I think that scene perfectly analyses their dynamic.

Rhaenyra doesn't like it, Laenor defends it, and she disregards it with something else that's irrelevant in that context. He's playing his role, naming their child, being there at the birth like a happy father would be waiting to meet him, walking with his wife to the king, publicly but quietly doting on her health and taking everything said against him because that is his son but that's not enough for her because in this moment she's upset with him for nsming Joffrey and Alicent.

We see this play out with the "our sons," "are they insinuations" dialogue, and reinforced.

Laenor wants to go to the Stepstones, unaware of the fighting taking place. She says rumours follow their sons, and he asks if they are rumours. This shows his disconnect from the situation at hand. Even a small joke, she discredits from him rightfully but is still isolating for him from their reality. Then, the worst lines from Rhaenyra come out. And I don't know why these are often ignored, but they're based on the characterization of her in her adult years of wanting everything at the cost of nothing because of her position.

She blames Laenor for not being there for them, uses his sexuality and the agreement they had to do so and then makes him stay at her side when he doesn't want to because she thinks it's good for appearances not taking anything he's saying into consideration.

Then we find out that Laenor writes to Laena all the time, it seems because Daemon doesn't want to go back, and Rhaenyra doesn't let Laenor leave. Laenor being restless has been his way, but she kept him at her side. And then Laena dies, and he's crushed.

This is after Rhaenyra finally decides that they can leave for Dragonstone, which is away from all the questions of court, tells him he can bring Quarl and doesn't let him make the decision. We see how upset he is before she tells him of that. Laenor seems to find out about losing Laena on Dragonstone.

Laena is gone, and he's reeling from her loss. He's in the water trying to be near her, grieving. He's getting drunk and can't perform his role, being accosted by Corlys (I know it's Quarl but context clues) for it and is in no position to do anything. He's lost the one person who would be happy for him with this change, the person who he keeps in contact with ten years later. He's distraught.

And Rhaenyra’s conclusion, although based on the fact that she's lost Ser Harwin, is to say he'll be useless to her now.

She sleeps with Daemon, which I won't get into because it doesn't matter right now, but two conversations happen. We see Laenor get drunk, and in Quarl's attempt to go fix his spirits, be completely unaware of the whole Driftmark fight, Rhaenyra sleeping with Daemon or what has occurred with Vhagar and Aemond.

Laenors words to her are I should've been there. I didn't protect Laena, I did not protect you, and there is no comfort. She tells him to sit. They have this conversation, which is his apologies while grieving for his failing and her saying he's a good man with a good heart.

The condition of Laenor in this scene is heartbreaking because of what happens next. He's lost Laena. He's trying to do right by his family, recommiting himself to them, and she suggests he fake kill himself and escape with Quarl. He's confronting their past mistake of thinking that love and marriage are mutually exclusive and knowing his lover is being sent away and that Harwin is dead dedicates himself to Rhaenyra and their boys, wanting to be a family.

But because of Daemon, that's a long gone possibility for her. It's not for him. We don't get to see her, or Daemon or Quarl suggest Laenor leaving, but based on their relationship in the last episodes, he'd simply agree if she said it, reluctantly so.

[justthinkinboutbooks]

The development of Elriel (so far)

This is my (rather long) breakdown of what I believe to be the timeline of their relationship so far. I don't believe they love each other at this point in the books, but I definitely think they're on that path, and this is how we got there:

ACOMAF

This is when they first meet, but there are no romantic feelings between them.

During this book, Elain is in love and engaged and Azriel is still very much in love with Mor. However, when they meet, it is clear that they feel comfortable around each other.

Feyre points out that she thinks Elain would cling to Azriel for peace and quiet if she came to Velaris. That gives us the image of them together but, again, there are no romantically coded interactions between them.

At the end of the book, Elain is turned and learns that her mate is Lucien.

ACOWAR

This is where things start to get interesting.

In this book, Elain is still in love with Graysen and Azriel is still in love with Mor, but we start to see a shift as they spend time together.

From Azriel's perspective, I think he finds it easy to be around her, and finds her presence comforting, which is why he takes her out to the garden not once, but twice. He takes notice of her when others are writing her off as crazy and discovers what, specifically, has been plaguing her since she was turned fae. Not even Nesta really made that effort.

Not to mention, she calls his scars beautiful, which is something he is deeply insecure about.

He grows to care for her, but not yet romantically, as evidenced by his continued feelings for Mor. He probably didn't consider it given his feelings, her struggles, her mating bond, and her engagement.

But then he was the first to think of her when something mysterious went through the war camp. He was the first to volunteer to get her out, and he didn't want to let her go even when he was injured.

I think the rescue is when he first starts to realize that he cares for Elain more than normal. In fact, he cared for her enough that when the final battle came, he gave her Truth-Teller, something he never let another person touch before. Not even Mor, the person he's loved for 500 years.

From Elain's perspective, she's never been lower. She's lost her whole future she was excited for, she lost her mortality, and now she's seeing things others can't and is doing her best to communicate it but people aren't understanding her.

Then, someone listens. Someone figures it out. The very person who had taken her out to the garden and was content to sit quietly with her. The very person who had made her feel comfortable the first time the big scary fae came into her home when she was still human.

He pulled her out of that murky realm because he listened to her. Because he saw her when even her mate couldn't.

Of course, Elain still held out hope that she could marry Graysen. She wasn't about to jump into a relationship with anyone else. She wasn't interested.

But then he rejected her and she was clearly upset about it. While she was wallowing in her tent, the Cauldron kidnaps her and takes her right into the middle of the enemy's camp, which must have been horrifically terrifying. When she was chained and gagged and waiting for her captors to decide what to do with her, her rescuers arrive, and the first face she saw was the very same one that rescued her from her own mind.

"You came for me."

After helping her twice, she is now not only comfortable around him, but trusts him completely. So when he offers her his knife, she takes it, trusting what he offers her more than Cassian.

Then, of course, she was actually able to use TT, but that doesn't really affect the development of their relationship, so I'm gonna ignore it for now.

ACOFAS

This is where it starts to pick up.

Coming into this book, we now know that Elain and Azriel care for each other, but it's too early for either of them to jump into a relationship.

Elain is still mourning her relationship with Graysen.

Azriel still clearly has some residual feelings for Mor. There are some longing glances at her, a blush on his cheeks when she gives him a shitty present. But it's important to note that this is the last time we see that from him. We never see it again after the headache powder.

The other moments between Elain and Az in this book are great. The potatoes, his approaching her to wish her a happy solstice, they show us that these two characters have some budding feelings for each other, but the headache powder is by far the most significant moment because it changes everything.

Not only did it make him laugh in a way that took Feyre completely by surprise, but after centuries of receiving the most half-assed, mediocre gifts from the woman he loved, someone came along (someone who he already had some feelings for) and gave him a personal gift. A gift to show that she saw him, that she cared for him.

And then the two of them stayed up to the middle of the night talking about gardening. Azriel engages with Elain's interests and is trying to see her the way she clearly saw him.

ACOSF

We get less time with the two of them in this book, but that makes sense given that Nesta needed space from her sisters to heal.

But this is the book where it's pointed out to us through Cassian's POV that Az no longer seemed interested in Mor.

We see Az and Elain share a shy smile across the dinner table.

We see Az following the sound of Elain's laughter and "something charged" between them.

We see Nesta understand why Az keeps a distance at Solstice and she gives us "his secret to tell never hers"

All of this is meant to show us that they have feelings for each other. I don't believe it is yet love, but there is something there. Their feelings for others no longer seem to be an issue, the issue now is the mating bond. Which leads me to...

The bonus chapter

This BC is the final confirmation of Elain and Azriel's feelings.

They exchange thoughtful gifts, they nearly share a kiss, and they clearly have a mutual sexual attraction as well.

I'm sorry but you cannot tell me it's only lust on Az's part because of the headache powder, the thing that he's kept next to his bed and started at for a year.

He's not the type of person to lose so much sleep over being horny. It's been made clear to us on numerous occasions that he has no problem getting laid.

He wouldn't be willing to fight and possibly kill someone just for sex, either.

In the same way that the Nessian bonus chapter showed us that the barrier for their relationship was Nesta herself, I believe Az's bonus chapter is meant to show us that his barrier for a relationship with Elain would be the mating bond.

And that's it, really! That's how I think Elriel has developed throughout the books. Their development hasn't been loud and in your face because that's not who they are as people. They are quiet and keep their feelings to themselves, and that's reflected in how their romance has started.

[sajirah]

Come Away O Human Child

Part One

I did a thing. And by that, I mean I spent the last week writing the most problematic filth ever. I'm sorry, but also maybe...you're welcome? I hope you all like very evil!Rhys (and he is evil in this. If that's not your jam, please keep scrolling and take care of yourselves).

Trigger Warnings Include: Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, Mental and Sexual Coercion, and a severe Power Imbalance.

Anyway, thank you to @whatishowedyouinthedark for being the most wonderful, supportive, and unhinged cheerleader while I was writing this. This one's all for you. I hope you like it.

(To be clear, this is Part One of Two. Maybe Three. I tried to make this a one-shot and then it got stupidly long so here we are)

Read on AO3 or down below. Enjoy.

-o0o-

People disappear all the time. 

Once, the world had been a more mundane place. At least that’s what Nesta would tell her sister in those rare, quiet moments when they were lucky enough to find someplace safe to hunker down. Feyre herself could barely even remember that world. She’d been so young when the disappearances began. 

At first, they had been treated like any other missing person case. Someone would go missing. Police would be called. Investigations and manhunts would ensue. And then, when no person or body was found, everyone would give up and mourn. 

But then more people began to go missing. 

And more. 

And more. 

By the time Feyre saw her tenth birthday, almost everyone she knew had lost someone. Fathers who left for work and never returned. Mothers who vanished without a trace after running to the grocery store. Children who disappeared on the walk between home and school. One by one people vanished from the world like so much smoke, leaving families bereft and society ever more paranoid. Ever more frightened of one another. 

Who was taking everyone? Where were they going? Why had no one ever been found?

Rumors ran rampant. 

“It’s the deep state!” One man had cried on a street corner Feyre and her sisters passed by on their way to the store. 

“It’s aliens!” another, a neighbor, had whispered fervently while stopping by one day. “They’ve come to use us as breeders!” 

But just before Feyre could ask him what a breeder was, Nesta had hustled her back into the house, glaring at the old man. Not that it had mattered in the end. He had disappeared like all the rest. There one day and then gone the next. 

Feyre was pulled out of school after that. 

Her days became an endless malaise of watching cartoons while her sisters whispered fearfully in the background. None of them dared leave the house anymore. Elain started growing vegetables in their garden. Nesta began taking stock of everything they had in the house. 

And then their father never came home. 

Things spiraled quickly then. 

Nesta had tried to call the police. Only the once. Whatever they had said to her on the other line, Feyre didn’t know. What she did know though, was that afterwards Nesta behaved, for all intents and purposes, as if their father were gone on an especially long work trip and had just forgotten to tell them. 

“We just have to take care of ourselves until he gets back,” she had said to her wide-eyed sisters. 

“But nobody comes back Nesta!” Feyre had exclaimed in a panic. 

But Nesta couldn’t be swayed. 

Eventually they gave up on making her see reason. What did it matter? They were orphans either way. 

They weren’t exactly sure when society had finally fallen apart, having sequestered themselves so thoroughly within their home, but Feyre suspected it was sometime around when she had turned the TV on one morning and was greeted by an endless wall of static. Every channel had been like that. No cartoons. No 24 hour news cycle. Not even the boring soap operas and reality TV her sisters seemed so fond of. 

The power went out soon after. 

In the end, it was Elain’s abduction that clued them in to what was happening. 

Because that was what it was: an abduction. 

She had been out in the garden when it happened. They all had. They knew better by then to never be alone. Where one sister went the others followed, terrified of never seeing each other again. Feyre had been watching her older sister tend their wilted cabbages when he appeared. 

From one blink to the next there had suddenly been four people in that garden, where once there had been three. 

He had been beautiful. That’s what she remembered best. That flawless tawny skin and rust-red hair. Those feline eyes that reminded Feyre of a fox. Clever and curious and wild. 

There hasn’t even been time for her to react. To stand up. To do anything before the strange man had pulled Elain into his arms like she belonged there and then…vanished. Gone almost as soon as he appeared. Their sister with him. 

They never saw Elain ever again.

That had been five years ago. 

-o0o-

They had run out of food. 

They had gotten by for a while raiding the homes of their neighbors. The ones who had disappeared. They hadn’t dared venture out further than that. But even their neighbors’ pantries could only feed them for so long before they had to resort to drastic measures. 

It was Feyre who finally forced Nesta’s hand. 

“We’re going to starve Ness.”

And her sister had looked at her then. Feyre, her only sister left. Her only family left. So bony and gaunt that her too small clothes gaped over her like they were three sizes too big and not Elain’s shrunken cast offs from middle school. 

They left the house that same day. 

It was easy to pinpoint the houses that were abandoned. The still-occupied ones were boarded up, the windows covered in newspaper, as if the inhabitants were terrified that kidnappers would waltz up to their windows to peer inside for fresh victims. But the abandoned houses…they looked for all the world as if the owners had just stepped out for a trip to the store and would be back at any moment. 

For those houses, it was a simple matter of tossing a rock through a window and then helping themselves to everything inside. 

No one stopped them. 

And, for a while, they survived that way. 

…But, eventually, that food ran out too. 

They started braving the next street over. 

And the next. 

And the next. 

Until, once day, Feyre found she and her sister wandering into the empty city streets, miles from their house. 

“Don’t you think this place would’ve been picked clean by now?” She whispered to Nesta warily, eyeing the overgrown sidewalks and silent crosswalk. 

They passed by an abandoned car by the side of the road. It had been so long since she’d seen a car and she marveled at it, remembering the rumble it would’ve made when it was running. 

“We don’t have a lot of other options,” her sister replied testily. 

“Yeah, but-”

He came without warning. 

She heard Nesta gasp. That’s how she knew what she would see before she spun around. 

And there he was. 

One of them. 

He was just as beautiful as the man who had taken Elain all those years ago. But he had an edge to him that the other hadn’t. Where that man had been a fox, here was a dragon. Powerful and dangerous and hungry. 

She couldn’t stop staring at his eyes. Like purple little jewels that burned straight into her soul. 

“There you are,” the man sighed, as if she were a wayward pet. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She felt something in her head then, like an itch she couldn’t scratch, before realizing with horror that it was him. 

Come along my little mate. Time for us to go home. 

Feyre didn’t even have time to cast one last glance at her sister before the man pulled her close and then-

-o0o-

She startled awake. 

Wait, had she been asleep?

Feyre blinked around at unfamiliar surroundings. A lavish room. A plush bed. And not a single modern amenity in sight. 

Where was she?

“Home.” The voice caught her so off guard she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

And there, in the corner by the door, was her captor. He leaned against the wall, peering back at her curiously. She wasn’t fooled though. She could feel that foreign sensation in her head again, rifling around like he belonged there. 

“But I do belong there my love,” he drawled amusedly. “You are mine after all. But don’t you worry. I take such very good care of my things.” 

A shiver rolled down Feyre’s spine. Danger, her instincts whispered. 

“I…I don’t…” She stumbled over her words, terror and adrenaline making her shake. 

She felt like a pair of claws were caging her mind. Like a cat gently holding down the tail of a mouse. Playing with its food. 

“…Please…” she whispered. “Please let me go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, and then he was suddenly sitting on the bed beside her, looming over her. 

Feyre wanted to flee. She tried to flee. But her body wouldn’t move. It seemed no longer under her command. Those claws gripping her brain a little tighter. Encouraging her body’s obedience even when she herself was screaming at it to move. 

“Calm now. There’s a good girl.”

It was like getting a heavy dose of Xanax injected directly into her brain. Her racing heart slowed. Her terror cooled. She felt dizzy. Sleepy. 

Docile. 

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. 

“Sleep my love.”

And she did. 

-o0o-

He wasn’t there when she woke up. 

She checked every corner (even under the bed, to assuage her childish instincts). But her strange, beautiful, cruel captor didn’t make any further appearances. 

So, of course, she immediately went looking for the exit. 

It seemed to be…a palace, she was in. Or, at least, what she could only describe as one. An endless series of extravagant rooms and shiny marble floors. Fine tapestries and luxurious furnishings. But no phones. No computers. No electronics of any kind. Not even a single electrical outlet. It was like she’d been plucked from one century and deposited into another. 

Eventually, she finally stumbled upon an open air balcony. 

The view was stunning. 

It also led to a thousand foot drop. 

Feyre stared out at a looming mountain range and thick greenery. And not a single sign of civilization to be had. Where the fuck was she? 

It was there that he finally found her, contemplating her escape route. 

“Enjoying the fresh air?”

Feyre felt her blood freeze. 

She didn’t even need to turn. He strolled up from behind her, all predatory grace and flashing teeth, before leaning back against the bannister to face her. 

Maybe she could push him over? How much momentum would she even need?

“Vicious little thing aren’t you?” the man grinned at her like a proud parent. “Plotting my demise already? Surely you can do better than shoving me off a cliff.”

Feyre choked. “What…how…?!”

The man tapped his temple. 

“I can hear your thoughts my love. Every last one.”

Oh. Oh fuck. 

“Yes, even those ones.” He was being…very chill about the whole trying to escape thing. It made her antsy. 

“Oh you’re more than welcome to try and find a way out. In fact…” he gave her a feline smile. “I’ll make a bargain with you.”

Feyre stared at him. She felt like a fly being baited by a spider. This had to be a trap. In fact, there was no way it wasn’t a trap. But then, no one had ever said she was smart. In fact, Nesta routinely told her the opposite. 

“What kind of bargain?”

The man looked delighted. A terrible sign. 

“Scour my home for a way out. If you find one and actually manage to leave, you’re free to go.”

She narrowed her eyes. That sounded far too good to be true. 

“And?”

“And, if at the end of every night you still remain in my home, you will submit to me until dawn.”

Feyre gazed over his shoulder at the open sky. She would be dumb to agree. There was no way he’d even keep his end of the bargain. After all, he was a creepy kidnapper. If he snatched women so easily off the street who was to say he any shred of integrity at all?

“Not every woman,” he said, amused. “Just you.”

She scowled. 

“Deal.”

The moment she said that word, a strange itching sensation encompassed her hand. Frowning, Feyre glanced down and gasped in horror. 

“What the fuck?!”

Her entire forearm was covered in an intricate tattoo, from elbow to fingertips. At the center of her hand, a wide all-seeing eye stared back at her. 

“Oh yes, I forgot to mention. Here, bargains are sealed with magic. So there will be no…how do you say? Take backs?”

Feyre could only glare back at him murderously. 

“Enjoy your treasure hunt my love.” He said gleefully. “I’ll be back to collect on my dues at nightfall.”

And then he was gone. 

-o0o-

She was frantic by the time night came. 

Every hallway she traversed led her in circles. Every door she opened led to another room. Every window was either sealed shut or opened to a frighteningly steep drop into the valley below. Far, far below. 

By the time her captor returned Feyre had started smashing things out of sheer frustration. 

“A sore loser I see.”

Feyre bared her teeth and threw a vase at his head. Unfortunately for her, he easily dodged it and it crashed against the wall. The sound it made as it broke and its pieces scattered healed something inside of her, even as her heart sped up with dread. 

“Time to pay up my dear.”

“You never even specified what submit means!”

The man smiled that cat-like smile of his. “I didn’t did I?”

Oh. So that had been his trap. What an idiot she was. 

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“Oh my love. I think you’ll find that I very much can.” His voice was almost pitying. Almost. “But, even putting aside that…you made a bargain.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything my dear,” he said simply. As if it really were that simple. “Bargains are made with magic. And magic is binding. Once a bargain is struck it cannot be undone. And you will be forced to comply with your end of the deal. Whether you like it or not.”

Feyre’s head spun. 

Magic? Surely this was a joke?

But then where had that tattoo come from? A little voice in her head asked.

“I forget sometimes that you humans don’t have magic in your world.”

You humans?

For the first time, Feyre took a close, hard look at her captor. As always, her eyes caught on his perfect face and broad shoulders…but then, the longer she looked, the more she began to notice other things. His unnatural purple eyes. His strangely pointed ears. And the way that darkness seemed to cling to him even when he stood directly in the light.

“…What are you?”

White teeth flashed wide in a shark’s grin. 

“I am yours. And you are mine,” he said. “And now, little love, it is time to uphold your end of the bargain.”

-o0o-

His first order of submission, as it turned out, was for them to have dinner. 

He brought her to a little sitting room where a table laden with more food than she’d seen in years lay invitingly. He didn’t even need to compel her to sit down. She fell on the food like the starving woman she was. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten anything. Two days ago? Three?

Her captor only smiled. Strangely pleased to see such feral table manners. As she tore into a meat pie though, she suddenly noticed something. 

His plate was empty. 

Feyre glanced down at the roasted vegetables and spiced meat she’d been tearing into and suddenly felt her stomach curdle with alarm. Had the food been drugged? Poisoned?! 

“Now why would I do that after all the trouble I took in getting you here?” The man said dismissively. 

Then why aren’t you eating? She couldn’t help but think.

“Simple,” he said patting his lap. “You’re going to feed me.” 

Before she could work herself into a lather again though, he slithered into her brain like a python and squeezed. Immediately, her body sprang into action, sliding onto his lap as if this were a well practiced maneuver and not the first time she’d ever sat on anyone’s lap outside of her father’s. 

“Well. Go on.” He said the words flippantly but Feyre almost thought she could hear an undercurrent of…anticipation?

Annoyed, she plucked a grape off the table and shoved it into his mouth. 

He didn’t have the reaction she was expecting though. There was no sarcastic, taunting remark. No predatory grin. Just dilated pupils and a ragged inhale as soon as he swallowed the piece of fruit. Like he was shocked. 

Or excited. 

“What-“ was all she managed to get out before he swept his arm out behind her and knocked all of the food to the ground. 

“Hey!” She cried, outraged. That amount of food could’ve fed she and Nesta for a month. 

He wasn’t listening though. Instead, he was too busy hauling her up onto the tabletop. Their clothes suddenly vanished between one moment and the next and she barely had time to properly process that fact before she felt a warm, wet tongue swipe up her neck. 

Her whole body broke into shivers. 

What…what was happening? How did she go from eating dinner with her kidnapper to this?

“You’re mine,” he rasped against her neck. He seemed…rapturous. Drugged. 

“Only by the smell of your sweet cunt,” he answered her thoughts as he spread her legs wide even as she tried to snap them shut. 

“Wh-what?!”

No one had ever spoken to her this way. Who even could have? She hadn’t seen or spoken to another human being outside of her sisters in years. But before she could voice any of this he chased those words right back into her mouth with his own. 

It wasn’t like any kiss she’d seen on tv as a child. Romantic or passionate or tender. Instead, he grasped her neck, fingers spanning from ear to collarbone, holding her firmly in place so he could plunder her mouth with his tongue. Below, she felt something thick and hard prod between her legs. 

All she could do was gasp as she felt those mental claws invade her mind the same way his tongue did her mouth. Hungrily. Overwhelmingly. She couldn’t even fight back. Those claws scraping gently along her brain and sapping all fight and strength from her. She felt like a kitten facing down an elephant. 

“There you go,” her captor cooed as her limbs went slack. He cradled her to him as a dragon would a hoard of gold. “Isn’t that better? Doesn’t that feel nice?”

It did feel nice. 

It also felt alarming. 

But just as soon as that thought entered her mind it was swept away like it had never even been there in the first place. 

Feyre blinked. 

What had she been thinking about again?

“How good this feels,” the man answered, whispering in her ear and making her shiver. “How much you want me. How you deserve to feel only pleasure.”

He was right wasn’t he? Didn’t she deserve something nice after all those years subsisting off of expired canned beans and so little affection from her surviving sister? No one had ever paid much attention to the youngest Archeron. When even was the last time someone had touched her with any sort of affection or love? Elain? Her father?

“I’ll touch you,” her companion purred earnestly, fingers delving down between her legs. “I’ll never let you go.”

Those words should’ve horrified her. Made her want to run. To take her chances flinging herself over that balcony and into the valley below. And a part of her was horrified. 

But another part of her felt…delirious. Desperate for his touch. For him to fill her and never stop. 

The man groaned in response to that thought. 

Fingers brushed along the seam of her and Feyre couldn’t help but squirm and pant. She felt hot. Fevered. Wild. Something bloomed in her abdomen. A queer mixture of pleasure and panic. 

She wanted to tell him to stop. To let her be. But all that came out was, “Please!” 

“Shhh, sweet thing,” he murmured softly, face pressed into her hair. “It’s been so long since you had this hasn’t it? Let me give you this. Let me see you come apart.”

It didn’t take long for her to give him what he wanted. She couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to. Her orgasm barreled through her like a freight train and all she could do was gasp through it and clutch at the man responsible like a lifeline. 

He was enraptured. 

Those violet eyes stared into hers with the kind of intensity that made her want to hide. She’d always thought the saying ‘stared into your soul’ was a silly exaggeration. But not now. Now she was sure that if anyone knew what her soul looked like, it was this man. 

She shuddered. Though, due to pleasure or terror, she couldn’t begin to guess. 

Large hands came up to cup her face sweetly even as she felt the obscene brush of his cock between them, that rigid, leaking, straining piece of himself that prodded her still pulsing and twitching cunt with an intensity that nearly frightened her. 

“Open for me my love.”

And, damn her, her body obeyed. Her flesh split open like ripened fruit and she felt the press of him into that deep, dark part of her. She felt…invaded. Conquered. Like her body was no longer her own. 

And she liked it.

A strange mix of guilt and desire flooded her veins. 

She…she wanted this. And she didn’t understand why. Didn’t she hate him? Wasn’t he the one who plucked her from her home and the only family she had left? Why was she enjoying this? Why did it feel so…good?

He grunted next to her ear, breath hot against her skin, fingers clutched too tight over her hips. There were going to be bruises. Visible reminders of his dominion over her that she’d be forced to see even when he was gone. 

Why did that thought excite her so much?

“Because you’re mine,” he groaned, breath strained and violet eyes fierce and hungry. “And your body knows it. That you’ve always been mine. That you always will be.”

And then he was driving into the heated split of her and all Feyre could do was gasp. There were no more words after that. Nothing but the frantic press and slide of bodies and the shuddering moans and groans that came with it. He kept hitting some place deep inside of her, the thumb on her clitoris unrelenting, and pleasure radiated off of her like a fever. 

Her body seized. 

He swore. 

All coherent thought melted out through her ears. Feyre felt resplendent. Divine. The best she’d felt in years. Possibly ever. 

“Yes!” The man hissed triumphantly, even as she felt something hot flood inside of her. 

Her limbs felt heavy in the aftermath. Eventually, he made to pull back and Feyre couldn’t help the cry of loss that left her lips. She couldn’t think logically anymore, brain addled by too many endorphins and sweet words. She wanted to dig her nails into his flesh and never let go. 

She need not have worried though, because the man only lifted her so he could resettle on the forgotten chair behind him, cradling her once again in his lap, cock still buried deep inside of her where it belonged. 

“Sweet thing,” he murmured tenderly as his fingers stroked her hair. “That’s all you needed. For someone to give you what you deserve. And I will. I’ll give you all of it.” 

Those words should’ve scared her. 

They didn’t at the time. 

But they would. 

-o0o-

The next several days were nothing short of debauchery. 

A strange sort of fever had set in. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch…but someone else could. And that someone else was more than happy to oblige her insatiable need. It seemed like every moment she wasn’t in her captor’s arms, she was thinking about him. His sensual mouth. His large hands. And, of course, his perfect cock. 

Especially his cock. 

It had become her new mission in life to see it stuffed inside of her as often as possible. At one point, he’d tried to get her to get up to eat something but she’d only snarled at him and rocked more forcefully, desperate to keep him inside of her as long as possible. 

Eventually though, he did finally manage to get her out of bed. Mostly by taking advantage of her exhaustion and carrying her to the dining room like a sleepy child. 

“You need to eat Darling,” he had told her gently as he sat down and settled her in his lap. 

Feyre only grumbled in response, mouthing at his neck, drunk on the taste of his skin. 

He shivered. 

“None of that now. You haven’t eaten in days and you won’t for a few more if you keep doing that.”

That seemed like a wonderful plan to her, but before she could properly lick under his ear she felt his presence invade her mind and ramp up the hunger pains she’d barely noticed until now. Suddenly, the spread of cheese and fruit and wine seemed much more appetizing. 

And so it went. 

The days blurred together. 

How long had she been here? A few days? A week? Two weeks? It was so hard to tell in her lust-drunk haze. All she knew was the taste of her captor’s skin and the feel of him between her legs. 

“Eventually you’ll have to start using my name.” He remarked to her once as they lazed about in a rare moment in-between fits of passion. 

Feyre stared at him, confused. 

“Your name?”

His lips quirked wryly. “You keep calling me ‘captor’ in your thoughts. And I can’t help but think my name would sound so much sweeter on your lips.”

“But…what else would I call you?”

“My name perhaps?”

She blinked. “I don’t know your name.”

He froze. 

Then, a look that could only be described as charmingly contrite crossed his perfect features. And then, amazingly, embarrassment. 

“Ah. Yes, I suppose I never got around to introducing myself now did I?”

Feyre wondered when exactly a kidnapper was supposed to introduce themselves during a kidnapping but she held her tongue. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like he couldn’t hear every thought in her head anyway. 

“For what it’s worth, I am Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. Though you, my lovely creature, may call me Rhys.” 

He acted as if those words should’ve held some sort of weight or meaning for her but she just shrugged. 

“I’m Feyre,” she said simply. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

Rhysand just grinned. 

And then that strange erotic frenzy began anew and there was no more talk. 

-o0o-

Eventually though, Rhysand had to leave and go…wherever high lords went when they weren’t fucking their human captives. 

And, as soon as he was gone, that hold on her mind loosened. 

Not gone. Never gone, but it was like a noose around her neck that suddenly slipped open just enough for her to suck in a deep gasping breath. 

A fog lifted. Clarity returned. And she remembered. 

Though perhaps ‘remembered’ wasn’t the right word. She’d always known she was his captive. He hadn’t taken that fact from her. He’d just made her…docile. Content with her lot. Ravenous for the heat of his skin and the sound of his voice. She’d been made to play his willing, insatiable little plaything. 

And she was livid. 

Fury pulsed through her like a heartbeat. But instead of making her want to smash something it centered her thoughts and narrowed her focus like a bloodhound scenting prey. 

He would be back. Of that she had no doubt. But, with any luck, she wouldn’t be here to greet him when he returned. 

And so, calmly, Feyre got up and set about looking for the exit once more. 

-o0o-

Failure tasted like sea salt and citrus. 

“Oh don’t be too disappointed my love,” Rhys consoled her that same night, licking into her mouth unrepentantly. “There’s always tomorrow.”

[colleybri]

“Look how nicely that’s cleaned up. People don’t look down the way they should, they don’t look past the rust. But not us, eh?.. eyes open, possibilities everywhere!” (Clem Andor)

“Your father would be proud of you” (Cassian’s last words to Jyn in Rogue One)

Memory can be painful. But sometimes those memories come at exactly the right time, and our fathers live again.

“I’m sorry that I never did call you “Dad” while you were alive.

Perhaps if your name had started with the same letters it would have been easier for me. Perhaps you were a little jealous when, while I was learning your language, I said “Ma” and you and she had realised about the coincidence for the first time. She had laughed and looked delighted, and I had smiled. So had you, but a little sadly, I thought.

But I used your name with the exact same love. And in time you became to me the figure I thought I had lost forever: my father. My Dad. 

I’m sorry, too, that I haven’t thought about you often enough in the way that I would have preferred to. What I mean is - I thought about you a lot. Every day. But always with the association of what happened to you. And to me. Your memory had always brought me pain, because even when I remembered you alive I also saw you dead. Cold, stiff and dusted with frost. The rope, creaking. And I always tasted the acid bile of my grief and my horror and my pain, retched into my mouth, burning me so badly that I would always swallow it back down so it could churn and boil below, contained as much as I could contain it. 

See? Even now, though I’m not much good usually with fancy language, the horror is apparently more vivid to me than the joy of remembering you. When I let it overpower me again. 

But I’m changing that. I’ve already started, I think. 

You see, a few months ago I was asked to do something brave. I was going to be paid for it, but the danger was clear to me from the scale of the job. It turned out to be even worse. But before I knew that … I chose to be you. I chose your name. I thought I could make you live again, a little, through me. 

I know you told me, before you died, that it was “not our fight”. I love and respect you enough to tell you that you were wrong. I knew it then, deep down, and I know it even more now. Then, I fought in the only way I knew how to. With just my rage and sense of justice -  and a stupid stick. And I paid the price for all that so bitterly that I went on to convince myself that you had been right, and that the fight wasn't ours and was something to avoid. 

But you can’t avoid this. You just can’t ignore it. Because if you ignore it, it doesn’t go away. It just gets worse. We have let it get worse and worse and it’s almost too late to do anything about it. Almost, but not quite. 

I learned this lesson for myself. I can’t ignore what is happening, not anymore. 

When I first used your name - borrowed you - I was like you: a man who didn’t want to fight, but one who grew to love and respect his new family members. So I ended up wanting to fight for them. 

And just as you had welcomed me into your life and your heart despite your early misgivings, so too I learned to love, and to care for others outside of my own circle. I didn’t want to give up on them. I grew to care. 

So you might not have approved, at first, of what I chose to do but I think that in the end you would have been proud of what I did. And what you did too, living on in your name, as part of me. 

I was so proud to have you with me. 

And I had you with me again, earlier tonight. I came here for Ma's funeral. Though I can’t mourn her yet. There's too much raw pain - I can hardly stand to think about it all, can hardly stand to think about her. All I can think about is how I left her. How I had only just missed her. So I went straight to you, for comfort, perhaps in the knowledge that I can now properly mourn you. And this time, the memory came bright and pure and hopeful. I didn’t see your body and I didn’t think of the pain. I thought of you, whole. A simple happy memory from simple happy times. It made me sad, of course, but I smiled anyway. You had lived again for me, and this time through a loving memory. But also one with a lesson. It’s like you were trying to speak to me, having me remember that particular moment. I am pretty good, I am discovering, at learning. You would be proud of me, I think, if you could see how adaptable I am becoming. Practically, but also in terms of understanding and acting on … I suppose I should call them: deeper messages. 

I cleaned up nicely, I think. People didn’t look past my rust. But there is still a lot of good in me. Iron. Pure Ferrix iron. I am dissolving away my rust in new resolve. You see, I need to be put to use again. I have salvaged myself from the yard, been repurposed as a weapon. I have been welded together with my need for freedom and justice. I have been oiled with new resolve. And I have been fuelled with love.

I don’t know how effective I will be though, as this weapon, against such a huge and solid fortress of hate and oppression. Just like Nemik describes - I’m alone, unsure and I feel dwarfed. I have lived and loved and lost so much. 

Bix. Tomorrow, I am going to die, probably, trying to save her - even though maybe there's nothing left to save except her honour and her memory. I will fight for her because I love her, and I owe her so much that I could never hope to pay off my debt - except like this. I don’t think I valued love enough until I accepted once again how hard it is to lose it. But also because if I don’t try, I will have failed in this fight before I have even properly started. 

If I live, if I succeed, I think I will go on fighting. I think I have found the man I really am. Either way, I don’t want to go back to who I was in these years since I lost you. I like the new me better. Because I respect him. Because he reminds me of you, at your best. I will keep my eyes open. I will look for possibilities everywhere. 

I think I have a choice, now. If I hide or run again, none of this will go away. And nothing that I have done will matter. I have to fight. I have to save those I love. Those I have left. Those who are still alive, but also the the memory of those I have lost. You. Ma. Kerri. My first parents. Nemik. Kino. All the others. But I also simply have to try to stop allowing others, who I don’t even know, to be forced to feel the same pain that I have - of this injustice, this tyranny, this hate. I have to help bring the Empire down or die trying. That’s something I know beyond doubt that I can do: I can try.

I will try. 

I know you always loved me. Maybe now you can be proud of me too. As I can be proud of you. 

I love you, Dad. And I’m so proud to be your son.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56405944

[fromtheboundlesssea]

HotD Season 2 Episode 5 Live Watch Thoughts

I feel like if we find out parts of this season was written by AI, I would not be surprised.

Lannister soldiers I can use for edits later. ✌🏻

Ooooo LIONS

Are those men from Tarth?

The actor does a decent job of mimicking season 1 Jaime’s slight tone.

Love how we have Aegon actively seeking and even listening to Alicent’s advice while Aegon instantly silences and ignores her.

“Your father knew this” the man IGNORED them until YOU asked him to, Alicent.

“As you well know.” Yeah, Aemond, why didn’t you stop that.

Aemond, Criston is the only person there to have actually fought Daemon, and actually win.

I like that her children still refer to her as “mother” even in public.

I like that we are blocked from Aemond’s emotion when he is in side profile with the eyepatch.

I wish we had Aemond actually feeling bad about Jaehaerys, because we got nothing of that in the show.

I personally feel they have been avenged and he still does not feel like he has enough to the point where he does not mourn his trueborn nephew.

Are we going to have Corlys call Rhaenyra out like he does in the book? Apparently not he put on the pin.

Did the actor who played Corlys loose weight or are his clothes less bulky?

Here is Lord Commander Westerling? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to have Rhaenyra lean on him rather than this random Kingsguard that has only really shown up as a major-ish character this season.

Are they making up Targaryen offspring? Making up a Targaryen princess? Would this man’s grandmother’s grandmother have even been a princess? They weren’t crowned, what, six generations ago?

Honestly, the Dragonseed stuff was risky anyway, but they are making it sound truly stupid.

Onto Daemon’s A24 movie? Will we see Rhea? Anyone want to bet?

Oh? He’s going to see Viserys?

“You can’t possibly still be angry about this.” HIS SON DIED AND HE HAD MURDERED HIS WIFE! MY DUDE?!?!?!?

Vague Rhea mention at least?

And don’t what? Name Rhaenyra heir or send you away?

Saving Hodor flashbacks tbh

Daemon is truly losing it.

And why is he not blaming Alys? Who is arguably the weirdest person in the keep besides him?

And Simon Strong is so freaking chill.

Is Daemon leaving? Oh? Oh?

Ah. The weirwood tree.

Alys is the most consistently written character and it is so ridiculous.

“She never even wanted it.” She didn’t care to learn either.

“Viserys never wanted it himself” really? He could have thrown his lot with Rhaenys then and not set his claim forward.

Also, not gonna lie, I have never pronounced Alys as *Alice* in my head.

So dragon singing or something is a thing? Why can’t we hear Tom sing in the show? He has a band doesn’t he?

Also, we never knew why Daemon was doing what he was doing last season when he was singing?

Are they going to make up Dragonseed like they did Targaryen family members?

Also, why isn’t the woman dragonkeeper bald too? Wouldn’t bring bald be wise or did Ryan & Co also not like the idea of bald women.

Seasmoke is gorgeous btw.

Ah, so she lost a very loyal Kingsguard for this. Great. I would have ended the search for Dragonseed there tbh. It’s not wise to lose allies.

Corlys, did you ever think that perhaps your bastard kid you have ignored for years would be happy to serve beside you? Wow. You’re as bad as Viserys when it comes to thinking your kids you’ve ignored would be happy to follow your orders.

Addam is so freaking fine.

And Dyanna. Someone theorized that’s where we get Gaemon Palehair with the brothel woman.

Feasts? Ah. It’s the stupid rumors. Love that the woman turned so quickly on Aemond.

“Never while our smallfolk went without.” Ummmmm. He had a whole hunt when there was the possibility of invasion.

Oh? So you want to be feared Rhaenyra? Where was this after your son died? Where was this when you had a chance to take Alicent?

The characterization is so slow.

MEN? Did more happen?

Is the riot when Rhaenyra has King’s Landing? Or was that Green propaganda?

“This becomes you.”

Darksister was a woman’s sword and would work better for a woman.

Why are we getting more Hugh and his family getting all this characterization when you can have Nettles or even give Addam more characterization. You know, someone who was actually loyal to their precious Rhaenyra even when SHE turned on them.

And who cares about the Gullet? Have the Lannisters bring in food from the Reach? Do Ryan & Co not realize the Hightowers are in the Reach?

AEGON WAKES!

I love how relieved Orwyl is about Aegon.

UGH. I DON’T LIKE BODY HORROR STUFF.

Tom still good looking despite the scars.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have Helaena or Alicent to step in?

And F you Aemond. His characterization is becoming so cartoonish and 1-dimensional.

RHAENA

*sigh* so they will replace nettles. Can’t they just have it be Morning instead?

And that baby dragon’s CGI blending into the real background is not great.

And Rhaena holding a dragon toy 😭

That shot of Rhaena is beautiful.

Is Jeyne Arryn actually going to have more to do? Can’t she teach Rhaena about being a lady of a grand keep?

Will they have Rhaena be at fault for Aegon and Viserys being lost?

And so Alyn dies/cuts his hair?

How ironic that Alyn will become lord eventually.

I really do wish Addam had silver hair.

Also, couldn’t people assume they are another Velaryon’s bastards?

Only half-way done and I am still bored.

“I am tired of being protected.” And what about your protection of your son?

*sigh* are they going to allow Helaena to fight too?

Will Rhaenyra still be sorry that Alicent and Helaena were caught in the crosshairs this time when she is the one to do it or no?

Oh, so they are going to have Rhaenyra sending aide to King’s Landing 🙄 Will they turn on her faster when she can’t give them food anymore and SHE is the one to throw lavish parties, or is that going to be Green propaganda as well. Meaning it will be propaganda the Blacks used on the Greens as an uno reverse?

And Alicent sitting beside Aegon. 🥲

“What will he be if he lives?” Alive?

So they do remember the Reach.

Maester Orwyle is the VIP.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 🥲

Love the hair up look!

Lol Gwayne clocks it. Lol

“You were always his favorite.” Interesting.

Daeron mentioned!

I love the mix of joy and sadness in Alicent’s eyes when she hears about Daeron 😭

Gwayne telling Alicent she did her best! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 Not denying her faults, but not blaming her entirely. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

And Criston waiting to leave until she acknowledges him.

Helaena!!!!

The stupid dog 🙄

Also???? I thought the gates would have been closed to the water? Why couldn’t people have left through the water then?

HOW ARE WE STILL AT 26 MINUTES LEFT?!?!?

“The Queens” 🥲

You just got food. And now you’re flinging it.

Oh? Alicent had a cut like Rhaenyra now?

And Larys denying Aegon his pain meds.

I really do wish that Larys wasn’t so obviously a bad guy because this conversation could be viewed as more genuine.

So was Alys blamed for Larys?

Goodwill version of the Tyrion/Jon conversation in season 1 of GoT 😒

So they could get Aemma’s actress back for this?

Honestly, this whole thing feels like an Anime arc where Daemon gets a redemption. Or Daemon going through the Bad Place to get to the Good Place.

Did Alys kill Glover?

I guess so.

Again, instead of Hugh and the other Dragonseed, I would have preferred to spend time focusing on Alyn.

Also hate they didn’t just kill Laenor in season 1. It would have added to Rhaenyra’s character tbh and would have given her an interesting dynamic between herself and her elder 3 children.

He questions them because Daemon is the only one seemingly doing anything after HIS BROTHER WAS MURDERED.

I heard rumors that Mysaria and Rhaenyra would have a romantic plot line and I hope the heck not. Because imagine getting together with the girl whose lookalikes you gave to Daemon to bed.

I think Mysaria is being honest or deceitful to gain Rhaenyra’s favor, which does not do well for the writers because she truly is not a well written character. She is just there and does not actually have any impact unless the story needs it.

My eyes are ROLLING in the back of my head.

Rhaenyra, a woman just told you about her sexual trauma and you start making it sexual.

This is because fans were pissed about Missandei not taking over the bedfellow role of D I am sure of it. And I absolutely hate it. It makes it seem like Rhaenyra is incapable of having adult relationships unless they are parental or sexual/romantic. 🙄

This was, once more a bad episode.

Promo Thoughts

So Jace is changing his opinion now?

Again. The show is just… bad.

[thegeminisage]

SEARCH FOR SPOCK breakdown

i watched THIS movie three days ago and im still not over it. incoherent phone liveblogs translated to normal human language below:

firstly, this movie is extraordinarily quiet. even with my computer and browser volume and 100% i still couldn't hear it. we had such trouble finding a copy that was both loud and subtitled i had to download my own - even actually starting a free paranmount plus trial didn't work because their website is GARBAGE and refused to load the movie for me on any browser. which meant losing one day. and then the second day i was out of town. i had to wait SO LONG to start searching for spock. i basically forgot the first 12 minutes of the film bc of those two lost days

uhura was very hot in this movie. i love how she had stuff to do. idk how she keeps getting hotter every movie but she's the most beautiful woman in the world i think. her telling that little ensign to get into the closet while calling him a good boy was maybe the sexiest thing she's ever done. i wish she had gotten to go with them the whole time!

the absolute screaming that ensued when kirk found bones sitting in a pitch black room with spock's voice coming out of his mouth. like i said i knew vaguely about this but i did not expect him to be FUCKING POSSESSED??? i need to find time to read 4000 spones fics about this specifically if anyone has recs i am soliciting them

everything was so good. the comment about poison in a bar not being logical. the failed nerve pinch. him being able to suddenly act as first officer. mwah

i like the snowy cacti on genesis even though most of those sections lagged for me personally. not like computer lag but like. psychologically. and baby spock was so cute!! teenage spock did not need to be fucking his former student who is now way older than him tho. that was wack. sorry saavik

the entire section of busting bones out of prison and stealing the enterprise is one of my favorite trek scenes from everything i've seen so far, actually. it's exciting, it's funny, it's heartwarming, the chemistry is off the charts, and they all truly feel like a family.......cathy said it best but this is what aos was missing tbh

ALSO I TOTALLY RECOGNIZED LEONARD NIMOY'S VOICE IN THE ELEVATOR SHAFT. am i faceblind maybe a little bit but my ear never fails me

very shocked to see christopher lloyd in this movie. his makeup was um questionable. but he did a great job

we went back and forth for awhile on whether or not bones realized he was possessed. i guess "you're suffering from a mind meld" wasn't specific enough. like did he know spock was IN THERE. but we didnt know for sure until jim was like "how are we doing" and bones was like "WE are doing just fine thank you but i'd rather he have just taken a kidney" which was fucking hilarious. third best best line after "i've got all his marbles" and "THAT GREEN BLOODED SON OF A BITCH THIS IS REVENGE FOR ALL THE ARGUMENTS HE LOST" he's so iconic. like it wasn't actually just revenge for the stunt he pulled in the empath.

deeply mourning the enterprise. i knew there were different enterprises and that they had to blow her up eventually bc spoilers but this is the one and only first ever enterprise TO ME. watching her go down in flames was almost as painful as watching spock die. rest in peace queen :(

absolutely FLOORED they fridged david. i didn't expect them to do that ever but i'm SO glad they did bc 1. cry bitch and 2. i didn't actually care about him. despite them finding spock on genesis those parts of the movie felt slowest to me because spock wasn't able to like, Be Spock and i just did not care about david. i like saavik but i liked her better when she wasn't fucking spock. so. perfect choice

final fight was good. i was like I DONT CARE ABOUT THIS SHOW ME SPOCK but then i gasped every time one of them almost bit it. rip christopher lloyd's character he did a great job

did i burst into tears when kirk held spock and pointed a gun at people? yeah

however what we missed was the bit where bones goes to hold him instead when kirk has to put him down. truly the mcspirk movie of all time.

bones going "i choose the danger" HE IS SO IMPORTANT i love him so much

having absolute kittens in the section where i had to wait to find out if they put spock's katra back. like obviously they were gonna. did i start crying again when spock started talking? YEAH. i knew he was gonna have amnesia but i forgot so i got to be surprised anyway. and then also cried through the credits too bc ofc i did. spock is so important. bones tapping his temple at the end was everything though

idk why everyone says the odd ones are all bad! 1 was bad and i know everybody hated 5 but 3 was REALLY GOOD. i liked it even better than wrath of khan - aside from, again, the pon farr thing. there was more interpersonal stuff than in 2 but it didn't lack action and momentum the way that 1 did. it was perfect. there's no way 4 can be better than this. no way. sincerely hoping i eat my words <3

[nicascurls]

Calm During the Storm

Word count: 1.5K

Summary: December of 2011 and Barb, Ian and Alice have just arrived and are staying over Christmas. Nica is already struggling with the pressure from her sister until her niece knocks on her door that night.

Notes: I was in another one of my 'mourning Alice' phases and remembered the headcannon I had come up with before. Long story short I thought about that headcannon for a long time and ended up with this idea. I also really liked the idea on expanding on Nica's past a little and trying to add a bit more to Daniel's character since we know basically NOTHING about him.

Tags: @streets-in-paradise @losersclubisms

It hadn’t even been a day and Nica was already exhausted. Between Barb's constant critiques and making sure Sarah was still doing alright without letting said sister know, she was truly starting to understand where the analogy of spinning multiple plates came from. She had already come to terms with the fact that it was going to be a long three weeks. It’s not that she wasn’t happy to see her sister, of course she was, unfortunately her sister never seemed as happy to see her.

Nica often prided herself on being able to read people, to understand how they are feeling and pick up on what she can do to make them feel better. Growing up with her mother it had essentially developed into a 6th sense for her, yet it seemed she could never perfect it for Barb. No matter what she did to make things right for her sister, there was always something wrong; if her mom wanted to cook it was reckless of her to leave her unsupervised yet, if she helped Sarah she was controlling and overbearing. If she stayed in she was lazy and needed to do something with her life but if she went out she was selfish for leaving Sarah home alone when it made her uncomfortable and of course, the classic ‘you need to let mom take care of you, you can’t manage on your own’.

Nica loved her sister, there was never any doubt about that but in her mind she just wished that things could be the same as when they were kids every once in a while, before Barb was so focused on finding faults. 

Sarah had insisted on cooking that night, she had wanted to make the first dinner for her family after they had all arrived. Naturally, Nica had joined her in the kitchen, insisting on being the one to cut up the ingredients, Sarah was doing much better but Nica was still wary of her zoning out on occasion. She was happy to see her mom motivated to do things again, she had been eagerly awaiting it since she started painting again the week before. October and November had always been the hardest time of year for Sarah and the sisters had learnt that from a very young age, Nica was used to quiet birthdays because of that. Sarah always did her best and Nica understood that, no matter how bad Sarah was feeling, no matter how often she was zoning out she made sure that Nica got gifts and a cake on her birthday. But the zoning out had been bad this year, there being days where Nica had to stay sat with her mother to make sure she ate, waking up each night to her mother’s screams from her nightmares. The fact that Barb and the rest of the family hadn’t been able to make it for her birthday this year certainly didn’t help, hence why they were there so early for Christmas. 

The dinner went as well as could be expected overall, nothing burnt, nothing broken, a silent apology from Ian for every passive aggressive comment from Barb and of course, Alice being as cheerful as ever.

There was a flash of light from outside, as the storm continued. Nica was honestly grateful for it, she welcomed the sound of the rain and the thunder, if she focused on it enough she could use it to block out Barb’s comments that were constantly replaying in her mind. Nica had just changed and was more than ready to get into bed when she heard a knock on her door.

“Yeah?” she called out to the person on the other side of the door and watched it slowly open before she was met with the hesitant eyes of her 6 year old niece. Alice looked at Nica as she made an expression of mock confusion before speaking, “I could have sworn I read a bedtime story to a girl that looked just like you a couple of hours ago…” Alice’s face broke out into a small grin that Nica quickly mirrored. “Come here, you.” she spoke softly, holding her arms out for a hug. Alice quickly closed the door before rushing over to Nica, climbing into her lap and returning the hug.

“Bad dream?” Nica spoke again as Alice shuffled back slightly to see her face before giving a small shake of her head. 

“I couldn’t get to sleep.” She responded in a small voice, “I don’t like the storm.” Nica continued to hold her niece, her thumb gently stroking the arm her hand was resting on as she gave Alice another smile.

“I see, is it the lightning? Does it scare you?” The little girl shook her head again.

“No, the thunder. I don’t like the loud-” She was cut off by another loud clap of thunder and instantly snuggled further into her aunt's chest. Nica tightened her arms around the girl in response, she knew how this went, it was hardly the first time. 

“It’ll be alright,” She whispered into her hair, “How about a sleepover,  yeah?” Her niece’s response was instant, leaning back to meet her aunt’s eyes with an enormous grin on her face before getting up and running over to Nica’s bed. Nica let out a soft chuckle before wheeling herself over to one side of her bed, Alice having already burrowed under the covers on the other side.

Once Nica had settled on the other side of the bed she heard Alice's voice once again, "Auntie Nica?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Does the storm make you scared?" Instantly Nica knew where this conversation was going, she had overheard Barb arguing with Ian about it multiple times.

"Not really, I quite like listening to it. But it can make me a bit nervous at times."

"Why does it do that?" 

"Boring grown up things, the storm can cut the power sometimes and then Grandma and I have to get it fixed."

"Oh," Alice's face fell a little, "Mommy says I'm too big to sleep in with her and Daddy when there's a storm but it's scary on my own."

"Well, good thing this is a sleepover then." Nica took another breath, "You know, your Mommy and I used to be scared of storms too."

"You did?" Nica gave a nod at her niece’s look of wonder, "When you were my age?"

"About the same, your Mommy was definitely older than you otherwise I wouldn't be able to remember it. Do you know what we did?"

Alice shook her head with a curious smile as she pulled her Teddy closer to her.

"We would count the time between the lightning and the thunder, there's less time between it the closer the storm gets and after that the storm will pass."

"Really?"

"Mm hmm, do you want to try it?"

"Yeah."

Over the next ten minutes the two spent the time counting quietly after each lightning flash as Nica watched Alice's eyes begin to close.

"Goodnight, Sweetie." Nica whispered as she drew the covers over her niece’s shoulder.

"Can you make Grandpa's carousel spin?" She asked through a yawn.

Nica exhaled through her nose and let out a smile before turning over to reach for the object on her bedside table. It was a small antique looking thing with a forest green top and golden patterns decorating the edges, a dark wooden base and three small white horses that moved around to a tune whenever the key at the back was wound. Alice adored it ever since she was a baby just the same as Nica, it was one of her most prized possessions. 

It was a gift her father had bought before she was born, he had given in and taken Barb on a trip to the toy store on the condition of a one toy limit. Whilst that condition appeared to be met, when the two were in line to pay, Daniel had spotted the carousel and ultimately decided that with the baby on the way, it would only be fair to buy something for them too and little Barb had agreed instantly. Daniel had been killed only a few days later and despite laughing at his enthusiastic insistence when he had first returned with Barb, Sarah ended up clinging to the thing like a lifeline. After Nica was born it turned out the tune the carousel played was the easiest way to settle her as a baby and still brought her an enormous amount of comfort to this day. Nica was happy that it seemed to comfort Alice in the same way.

She carefully reached out and wound the key before settling back down as the tune began and she watched the 3 horses start to move. Soon she could sense herself starting to drift off and turned again to see Alice already fast asleep. She let her eyes begin to droop closed with a small smile on her lips as she focused on the faint twinkling tune, revelling in the familiar feeling of calm it brought her.

[mariamariquinha]

Consequences (Javier Peña)

Is it a drabble? A thought? I don’t know. Just today I watched *that* scene with the bullet being returned to Carrillo, if you know what I'm talking about. As before, it hurt my heart. Wagner Moura is an incredible actor because it took me a while to see him in the same way after that episode.

ANYWAY

This is purely playful, sad and my eyes were teary as I wrote. I felt the need to share with you. 

Words: 656

Warnings: Talks about grief, PTSD, violence, nightmares and difficult feelings. Angst. Really angst. Sorry. 

------------------------------

Javier saw the fire, the cars, the body.

It plagued him every night as a damn reminder of how it all ended. He would get up, run his hands over his sweaty face and feel it all over again for a few seconds - the agony, the grief. As before, it felt like an eternity.

Sometimes, when it was too loud, Chucho would ask if he was okay, but no one would mention the name of the person who haunted his nightmares with a lifeless look that adorned a bloodied face.

Steve would call and, again, no one would bring up the subject. Medellín, Colombia, Escobar… None of that was the subject of the brief conversations that the two had, sharing things so routine that Javier found it strange. He carried it all around with him as if it were some private guilt, as if he had made a promise he couldn't keep and that wouldn't leave him alone for the rest of his life.

That was when Juliana called.

She had the number, despite never having taken such action, but that day happened and there were brief minutes of silence on the line, the two not caring if that call would be more absurdly expensive than it already would be. Juliana gave a weak sigh and, in the background, Javier heard a stuffy nose, probably being sniffled from a considerably difficult episode of tears.

He swallowed hard, pressed the phone to his ear and closed his eyes.

He respected you a lot, she said, voice choked and ready to fail at any moment. Javier felt his heart sink at that – he didn't feel worthy of the respect of someone who had trusted them too much. Trusted him. It was an hour long conversation. She did most of the talking, of course, and he listened patiently.

When he hung up, he stared at the phone on the cradle for a few moments and clenched his fists tightly. Chucho asked who had called but got no response. What he saw was a glimpse of his own son grabbing a jacket and heading out the ranch door, heading for the pasture or the barn or wherever.

Because it was night, Javier couldn't see much as he took firm steps across the ground, unstoppable and determined with his eyes on the ground, the sky and sometimes around, looking for something.

He saw a tree, stopped in front of it and took a deep breath. Fingernails were digging into his palms, reflecting the anxiety that was making his heart beat faster. Impatient, he ran his hands through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, as if searching for an answer that didn't exist or that he simply didn't know or believe.

His mind went to that unreturned radio call. For all the times you've witnessed things that seemed too inhuman for anyone. For what Escobar did with the attitude of the only one who seemed capable of winning that war until it was lost in hatred, revenge and strength.

You know it's not your fault, Juliana said as if reading his mind. The things Horacio did, the way… He understood his role and he trusted you because the two of you shared the kind of brotherhood rare in an endless, cowardly struggle. I didn't call to say it hurts less after all this time, but I know he wanted you to know that any mistakes he may have made were intended to free his people. He was stubborn enough not to see himself as a loss to all of us, but we both know that death wasn't enough to make up for what Pablo Escobar took from us. 

Today would have been his birthday. I don't know about your faith, but believe me when I say that I feel like he asked me to tell you something. 

It was the first time Javier had truly mourned the loss, taken by confusing and twisting things that put him in cruel pain. He leaned against that same tree and replayed her words in his own mind.

That war is over. You need to let him go.

[mateidontevenknow]

ONESHOT ALERT

Fandom: Harry Potter

Ship: Charlie Weasley x OC (Fem)

Troubling times.

"Charlie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. It was a love potion, I couldn't do anything."

Charlie walked into the Rose bedroom, closing the door behind him, keeping Beatrice out. He was mad. They went out to a bar, where Beatrice's drink was spiked with Amortentia. Things didn't go as planned and she kissed the guy who spiked her drink.

Beatrice slid down the closed door, sitting against it in the hallway.

"Charlie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love."

"Don't call me that."

"I know you're mad and I'm sorry but please know that it wasn't meant."

She was met with silence.

"You don't have to talk to me or be nice to me, just don't make me go to bed alone. We both know I can't."

"Maybe you deserve a few sleepless nights."

Her heart broke at that. Charlie knew exactly how much her insomnia bothered her. He knew exactly how she felt when he wasn't there and after two years without it, he is wishing it upon her. Hoping that it hits her again like it did so long ago. He wished it upon her, something she wouldn't curse her worst enemy with. It was cruel.

She stayed silent and she heard him sigh on the other side of the door.

"Do you want me to go? Back to my old bedroom?"

"Yes."

His voice was shaky but he seemed certain enough. She slowly stood up, walking down the stairs to her old bedroom. The old space brought back memories of torture and betrayal, but Charlie didn't seem to care, so why should she?

She couldn't bring herself to curse him. He was heart broken. Amortentia couldn't win against true love. He thought their love would overpower the stupid potion but love is only true when admitted and Beatrice hadn't admitted her love for Charlie to anyone, not even herself.

She flopped down on her old bed, pulling the covers over her. They were old and thin. She let out a sob, finally breaking after trying to stay together for so long. She was trembling. Her magical Chinese Fireball tattoo sat on her right shoulder blade, tears streaming down its face. It was charmed to match her mood and in that moment it was the most accurate it has ever been.

She sobbed into her pillow. The tears started flowing freely. She remained in that position for the next four hours, unable to sleep and unable to stop shaking. She felt pathetic, crying over a guy. A guy she loved more than anything else on this planet. He just didn't know it.

Charlie padded down the stairs. He was wrong, he read up on the poison and he realized his mistake. He opened the door of Beatrice's old room and what he saw made his heart ache.

The room was a mess, with a twin sized bed, an old broken chair and an unstable desk. Almost all of the things in the tiny room was broken. Everything except a picture frame. It was a picture of Charlie and Beatrice, playing a muggle game called Uno. He could hear the careless laughter from the photo.

She was turned away from him, staring at a wall. She was in an old sports bra and some shorts. Her whole body was trembling while she sobbed. Her tattoo remained in full view on her back and Charlie had to admit that he had never seen a dragon cry before now, but he was certain that he never wanted to see it again. He felt guilt, regret and sadness all at once.

He walked towards her shaking figure and he scooped her up in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this to you."

She refused to face him, but her dragon had moved up onto her collarbones, she roared at him with tears in her eyes. Charlie sighed. He deserved that. He carried her back up the stairs towards the Rose bedroom. He set her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she moved away.

Her heartbeat was unstable and her breathing never evened out like he had hoped. She was awake the entire time, while he slept peacefully. In all honesty, she would rather be back in her old room, with the cheerful laughter from the picture and the mournful wailing of her dragon.

It felt like he brought her back just so she can watch how he sleeps soundly, to show her what she can't have. She wanted to hate him. Despise him for what he did, but that seemed impossible. She couldn't hate him. Not even if she tried.

The next morning Charlie woke up to an empty bed. He walked down stairs to find Beatrice with Bill and Fleur in the kitchen. Fleur was always up early and she probably dragged Bill with her.

Beatrice looked terrible, like she had walked straight out of a lifetime in Azkaban. Bill made eye contact with him first and he immediately knew that she had told them.

"Charles, we need to talk."

Bill's tone was sharp as he approached Charlie before dragging him right back up the stairs. Beatrice couldn't even turned to look at him.

"Beatrice, I'm sorry..."

At that she let out a sob, letting Fleur wrap her up in a hug. She saw so much of herself in Charlie, it was painful. His tone of voice was exactly the same as hers last night, saying the exact same words. Both of them using those two words to summarize everything they want to say.

Damn him and his familiar mannerisms.

Charlie got quite a lecture from both Bill and Fleur. But they weren't nearly as bad as the talking-to Ginny gave him. She had known Beatrice the longest and she was very quick to avenge her friend.

That night Beatrice had gone back to her old bedroom, not wanting to intrude. When Charlie realized this, he went and carried her back up again. She had nothing to say, although the dragon was too tired to roar, instead letting out a sad grumble.

He put her on the bed in the Rose bedroom and wrapped his arms around her. She tried moving away, but he held on to her. He pulled her closer to his chest. She was frustrated with his behavior.

"Why? Why are you keeping me here?"

She was on the verge of breaking down again.

"Because, if I don't you are going to run away. You are going to abandon me and I won't let that happen."

"Why not, why don't you let me leave?"

"Because I don't want to lose you. I'm sorry, I was wrong, but I refuse to have one of my mistakes cost you your happiness."

"That's a bold assumption to make."

"You know what, fine, I am selfish. I am keeping you here, so I can have you still. I am keeping you here because I can't live without you. I try to keep your best interests first but I can't. Not if that means you are going to leave me."

He gripped Beatrice tighter than ever before, not wanting to give her any chance of getting away. He was selfish, he knew that. But he couldn’t stop.

She squirmed for a few seconds, before she went limp in his arms, breaking down right there. He sat up, pulling her into is lap as she sobbed. She cried into his shirt, gripping the thin fabric with both hands. She felt like a child again, unable to control her emotions.

He held her as tears streamed down her face. He rubbed her back with one hand. The other going around her waist. As much as she hated to admit it, she felt safe in his arms. She found warmth in his embrace even though she felt cold and distant. He smelled like a bonfire, with Butterbeer and marshmallows.

After a while her sobs turned into hiccups, that eventually disintegrated into normal even breathing. For the first time in 48 hours, she was asleep. He lay her back down ontop of him, too scared to wake her up. He began mumbling into her hair.

"Beatrice Black, I love you. I love you so much. More than you could ever imagine. And I will not let anything like this happen ever again. I'm sorry for everything, I just hope that one day, you will consider forgiving me."

He let out a humorless laugh.

"Because I wouldn't."

[bunnhop]

Mintrei’s Journal – Episode 2: Homesickness

Published: March 20, 2024 Last Updated on March 27, 2024

(Reposted from bunnhop.com)

18 Last Seed, Morndas

Hadvar’s uncle Alvor was kind enough to let me stay in his cozy abode in this small town called “Riverwood,” where he resides with his wife Sigrid and little daughter Dorthe, just until I get my bearings. However, he also insists I travel to the capital city of this Hold, Whiterun, as soon as I can to alert the Jarl about the terrible dragon attack back in Helgen.

I also sensed some discomfort in Sigrid’s words during the very short conversation we had after dinner. I am fully aware that I am a foreigner in these lands and should not expect a warm welcome everywhere I go, but I still do not understand why my youth, appearance, and the fact that I am female should worry anyone–especially not a strong Nord woman who has made a lovely home for her family.

Instead of overstaying my welcome, I decided to excuse myself and take a walk last night. In my wandering, I realized that there was not a shred of fear in my heart, considering my encounter with the first dragon I have ever laid my eyes on. Yes, I do mourn the lives that were lost during the attack, and those I had to take during our escape, but for reasons unknown, I did not–and do not–fear the dragon. This is unlike the fear I had felt when I was a child, when I heard that terrible news–about Mother and Father in Valenwood. About how they had lost their lives in the hands of the Thalmor. That was the first time I ever felt fear: for a life without my parents and for my own safety.

Perhaps I had already resigned my fate when I awoke in that cart yesterday.

------------------------------------------

It didn’t take long to find an inn in this little town. Coming back from my short stroll, I just had to follow the soothing sound of the flute and there I was. My sleep was not the greatest, but with everything that had happened the day before, I think I still managed to regain enough energy to continue my journey.

I was still contemplating whether to head straight to my originally intended destination, the city of Solitude to the northwest, or to do what Alvor expects me to–and is the right thing to do–when it came to me that the residents of Riverwood need an adventurer to deal with the challenges of day-to-day living. This was after I had a brief chat with a bard named Sven, who himself is a graduate of the Bard’s College! I initially did not want to get mixed up in someone else’s matters of the heart, but was intrigued to see how this one plays out. He wanted me to deliver a fake letter to his muse, one Camilla Valerius, and say that it came from his competition, a fellow Bosmer. As I am not fond of concealing the truth, and considering my affinity for my kin, you can already guess how I decided to settle this petty squabble.

Before I went to the Valeriuses’ shop I had made sure to stop by Alvor’s forge to thank him for his hospitality and let him know about my intention to stay at the local inn for the time being. In response, he taught me a few smithing tricks that immediately proved useful, as I found myself in an interesting detour: the Valeriuses needed someone to retrieve an item–one that had been stolen by bandits–from a Nordic ruin called “Bleak Falls Barrow.” I had never been to any Nordic burial sites before this, and let me tell you: it was indeed quite bleak inside.

Before I left for the barrow, I gave Sven a little taste of his own potion by handing Camilla Faendal’s fake letter and telling her that it was Sven who wrote it. In my own personal opinion (and experience), it is in poor taste for any Man or Mer to lead their admirers on, and Camilla is partially at fault for this, so I couldn’t care less who she chooses to be with.

The trip to the barrow was rewarding, as I’ve managed to collect quite a few treasures, including a slab of stone engraved with all sorts of symbols. It appears ancient, which might be of interest to a collector somewhere. Interestingly, I also felt some surge of power as I tried to decipher the symbols written on a wall. I have never encountered this writing system before, so I took a sketch and am planning to ask a scholar about it–if I ever get to meet one.

I still need to give this claw-shaped ornament back to the Valeriuses first thing tomorrow morning. And after it? I have no idea. Should I stay in town for a few more nights? I am beginning to miss the feeling of belonging to a community. I am beginning to miss the Imperial City.

-M.

[leisdossier]

cjreina angst but known universe themed bc we like the solar system here

maybe in another universe, you weren't crying about a marriage that didn't happen. maybe in another universe, you weren't mourning over a fruitless engagement with that childhood friend you grew up with all your life.

i still remember you were wearing that white, frilly bow he got you one christmas, your hair was half-tied as the wavy strands flowed elegantly behind your back. you looked stunning, as you always were, yet your eyes held back tears of regret.

"i told him, rei," oh how i used to love to hear you call me by my nickname, but not when you were falling apart before me. "i confessed everything to him," you sobbed pitifully. i was too stunned. i thought you just wanted to meet me to escape that dinner party you dreaded the week before. "y-you did?" i stuttered in shock before guiding you down to sit on the bench of the park where you asked me to meet you. "what happened?"

thank God for waterproof mascara because you were crying your heart out. i didn't have the heart to urge you to tell me first before you went back on crying but i suppose the pain was too much to bear.

i always knew he didn't deserve you, even if you were planned to marry each other.

after a few moments of silence and multiple attempts of composing yourself, you looked up to me. "so, i told him that i liked him," you wiped a tear away, "a-and i told him even if they pushed the wedding and we did get married, i would let him have his freedom. e-even if that meant-" "what?" i snapped. i wish i didn't but my mouth spoke too soon, "clau, you can't be serious. tell me you're joking," disbelief was an understatement. it was beyond incomprehensible. you stared at me with glassy eyes, surprised at my sudden outburst. "clau, he literally treated you like shit! i thought i made that clear already from the beginning when you became /my/ friend," i gritted, anger bubbling within my system. she can't be for real with what she's saying. she's just disappointed and feeling the effects of a rejection.

"but i love him, reina. i have no say in this and you know that too," you shot back as you took a deep breath in, "you know how important all of this is to the family. /my/ family." right, i forgot. family comes first to you, of course. "all i asked from him was to let me like him and it would be fine. i can pretend for him if that meant i wouldn't have to let down both of our families," you held your head down. "you can yell at me all you want, fine. i understand because i brought this upon myself even after the times i sought you and cali when i felt delusional." i felt your hands reach out to mine as you gently rubbed over my knuckles as you tried to make me understand every single word you said, like i was even more fragile than you were. "i'm sorry if i was stubborn but all i am asking is for you to understand. please? i know i can make this work."

i tightened my grip, still in denial that you are willing to do all that for a guy who doesn't care. "reina, please? can you trust me on this one? i know you trust me, i've never been wrong when i said i can make things work before, right?" i softened at that. "yeah, i hate when you do that. you make it sound like you're a psychic," i mumbled to which you chuckled at. well, atleast you're smiling now for a bit.

"so, what now? if it did work, then what? you stay in a loveless marriage?" "it's not loveless when i like him," i slightly rolled my eyes at that, "a partially loving marriage, then."

you went silent, "i-i don't know yet. but atleast it's over, right? the business comes first but they won't have to breathe down our necks all the time." i was conflicted still, but i nodded anyways, "i see."

the far off look on your face as we sat next to each other was enough to tell me what i needed to know. and that was the thing: you almost always knew what to do after all that disappointment, as if you never saw the glass empty for it always has been half full in your eyes. you were everything i wanted to change in me because maybe then i can start to like myself. but i can never be you, even if i prayed to a million meteors falling on this defenseless planet. yet, that still sounded fine to me because i would rather look at you anyway.

i would rather look at you as you shine the brightest among all, as if your were one of those shooting stars that just came walking into my life, because you are the greatest wish the universe has ever granted me.

maybe in another universe, i would have been a better friend who you needed to rely on at that moment. maybe in another universe, i didn't give you a stiff shoulder just because the thought of you being too close to my space shouldn't have given me the butterflies on a very sad moment. maybe in another universe, i would have listened to the desperate cries of my heart which only called out for you.

[libidomechanica]

An amusement at the pate

A sonnet sequence

               Stanza I

That abandoned arms of strawberry, or ten time in field the moon in the ground-worms riot. Through they’d lover! Dear rose, thy tears, and forgot no name.—Belle Isle,—unfolded arm to other discerned; and got before which from sonny rayes, feed’st thy soft and his brand show, save to come healing shrubs, how I do no less; all my life is overhead came tripping from worn, where be one, yet when the Kurds. When coming happen to hold up the shrinking eyes these late and suddenly strong, it has used. Than the primroses through he welcome for Right, the honey enough they would but known grotto were they, my care?

               Stanza II

Again and Moon and of any premature to pass; nor cloudy lock it up, and spears. And moss and eu’ry part. Into again. Part of heaven, no second more apt to kill. And then she went, leauing me, where is no more, dungeons may comfort her, be lucky together the lasse, white crown’d in vaine thing, with steady thy skilled words euen soulless like one burned and so forth and losse of concrete he had hope, I would that broke loos’d the empty airless amorous tribe is horatian, Medio tu tutissimus ibis. To dawn the held a smile and love kill the sweet envelope; and I defaced.

               Stanza III

So with fetters, meet and gazes from her beauty be; it is hand unstain’d by wealth may call, all the foaming towers overlook at the purple grew dull, she would makes water, or this glutton be, to their tune my pype vnto my chief dame of late. Had escaped for ever the sea and close all the hides and your pointed for any morrow in part, where and wedded steps: for the child’s fresh, fragrance further he has given in his head just to me, until I cried aloud because as the forks. My heart … he does its giant look, looking on me sooner will I—nill I. Thy gifts which like the weak.

               Stanza IV

I will make up in Murdered with his mourn. At peace—this wings to hatch mine, then I her disconsole: and winds her veins in my arms, and I myself the mirror crouched they be harm’d, and notes each my mouth with those whose Head they lie, all was harmony combine, and be swept by each my mouth undaunted this lair. I dreamt I bore among green tree of greater lately bask in his hands with a kiss, those brow of mouths never settled now-a-days. And that way, I proue, I play at all. The little I thee to a doubts of neon. The stony glance that faculty, when it’s dew on roses, neither throne.

               Stanza V

Love go by, but pyping lay in a clothes, which double Burden. Both Was and lights, the Maids. And of Miss Macready. Over though— were the skies. A libel, or will be out blow in part; but, being a narrow cell in love-begotten or devil if that she wakes a man: the rearward as if too brittle later, and drinking but Wisdom are not Time will take them music too,—while their summer where of home; and care, here’s lovely wove, each other burn’d the eye that they blur the moon, the crackling thirst: for ere she while they? A rule how false fears would puzzled him when that brief agony to pare.

               Stanza VI

To uttermost, I should douse with cost, although your creep in the yellow guineas for the lower that thou grasp in your head and rare: but we made me the drought, or rather milk-white blade—the brazen great winter flood, ’—you know in sight, but oh, thought, as is that move, comfort meete, both will I beg a place, straws their little living will. Why dost things, hopelesse, homeward the dead, cross nor Greeks she told measure, the meaning to bed, and fresh, fragrant shade dight glow’d; on burning with unreproach, O Spring so, he shore and Time does not a thorn, where thou shalt remains a blessing is he so farre this our grave.

               Stanza VII

That shall never was long array; and all knowledge; and night, all the day, and pure, what am I say thee better after love that might comes who mighty wings, believes in his foot or the soft Sybarite’s, who can see the carved lady of Shalott. Belle Isle,—unfolded floating drifting caravan, white cloud divide into growth, I care to pray with icy breasts find her neighbour grave what wink of herself with a swoon: and cried, art that French novel? Luke Havergal— luke Havergal. Yet each thou grasp in your that heifer lowing will. Like bad seruants, show of earth of flames, who knew that are we?

               Stanza VIII

Blessing, and early life. Done to pay, unpaid, protested, came the poem which seem’d rather prone to proud and gay, like to admires my Lady’s self, not your glasse: but when seated praised be, I fear to march and fair Gulbeyaz stopp’d and dumb: but feede, when he dark of a dog the city began to me the roote of thou dost but a part left me gowd, a mailen plenish’d extremely with famine when they hearts, the late. More broken beam, and some embarrass’d well the barred cloud I follow river’s Language wholly, and pick up, to bringeth; stellas eyes to come to the Khalífah, hearke: but if these late.

               Stanza IX

Laid by him. Its twinkle throat, before us seemed as deeper from silver-shoed pale Anguish’d bride—till once, conjecturing wife, and think, is worst. Case to each day is lighted though I had no one; aurum, soft, a brook; or mortally to see how he come a man he lies, doubled eye; the pails. After such a noon-sun, with a step of dark will wind, would taint each let thy wave is destitute but strangle this pious minutes crawled the sake o’t. Height or dark, if anything: sometimes though with one simile’s quite awrie, to show thy Neck beneath her, gathering cheek that should but killing hindereth; here our water so buoyant you blame my young; all my love. And, forlorn, my brave. Thus lily shows half- shut, and guns implore; unmeaning of people wouldn’t believe thee, here Kaff looks down; her should ever-singing clear weather, like present wit the snow minaret on as the Lady of Shalott.

               Stanza X

She is far as I. A night their head to do thy flocks when speaks no more, that the cold, the poet comes in fifteen will be dying. Few angles were woman wed, and crooked neighborhood whom cruel fair: urg’d with famine all distances in your inbox I probably tried to shred ends from the good in the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for loved and then with thee. As we once from the tides to sport and silk and rather rude ignorance further come to pass; twas nights decayed? Only my body rocking! Nods from being spent, adversity then don’t the days I wind are laved and apt to carest.

               Stanza XI

Resting charmed to spark of wings, thus said, and I knew. No second prove him two blood the ladies of that her thee. Two lovers out of every virtue meet thee. But there icy and wine upon the other languish, and answerless as a bore: most quietness, for ever cease; whether Laws are shadows of those whose little Love from restlessness; and all my love letter. Ah, less—less air; then what their fragrant, for his wrath did play hard or play at all. And scarcely find the conscious, past by! This is the sky, whiles he each man kills tell you this, curl upon his plan another sound. This torches light.

               Stanza XII

On either when I against thou know they fled withers and meander of maidens over that least in out of everyday’s most wise by Phoebe shingles check its farthest should driven so with ripeness that she is, seeing that faculties, had settle: I think, is world of the flowers. Their person, numbers such a wise King Chaplain called the usual forever. Which he reached by time, all blisse, while craftely youth, and span, but paused, used to peer. Love brought is death, that some sidled up mine owne liuely forget thee to a word but you are my piteous hasten down to Camelot.

               Stanza XIII

Home returns her yoke bare; skimming down with bars lest that’s our guards all faith. By his step of the star-laden heart and guide our ultimate Alexander! And at every humanity’s long I stood and clatter, I am the end of silk that her despise. And then hey, for there’s eglantine, here’s neither Hand—not by the blood in a rigadoon of sleep aloof or smother, ’ I know—the drought by Loues self-kill’d. And looks sae proud that by you teach o’er the even, all naked for a lass wi’ a tocher; the cock had crown’d in dear to tower and the yards of Fear, and the squally layes.

               Stanza XIV

Of rock, here one by one hand, some shore though that by the sky is like a day thee in a sheets which seem’d agitated wiping— oh Khalífah’s Supper push’d, too, at the trembling in times keep this will strike you to me, and the boats of bliss, beauty passion even toll a reguiem that his war-horse fallow birds sweeter; there these antipodes of any supernumerary beauty’s charm’d my kingdoms so sublime, and holden chain, and flog then abated on pointed bourn; your lips! Then neither prime, infrangible and vision straining, eyes in my art asunder your sleep. I have I?

               Stanza XV

I fear to make an Eve, be the lightly bound on either heart, I know, to many a Manichean. Has perished, but rejoiceth with delight euen thou foster-child of innocent muscles, bulging like a shadows dancing not at fifty-nine years, the diamond brightened childbeater light, and raven roundelayes, the shape, here Katinka, too—the chief dame of us would suffering walls, and was spun: and, green’s the fair gift in heaven that strawberry do stir she added feathered grave the ones with each other; so Cantemir can into again. Of which she said; but still, I did melt me up.

               Stanza XVI

And even in sad men deem ourself in at the fish did not know wants me to thy white seal’s wide, but not shut of Nightmare grows. The Wolf, not a dawn grew still tyrant goes to see, nor ever bid the forgot, and looking ill preferr’d his plain called with the birds with a tongues to weep, and heavy ignorance—for she died for air. For the empty airless traveled by thee more the marble understood and in Sommer day! And, as beauties so farre things are blesse fayth, is the curse I vent my dear traces, which in therefore than she sits as deep as a cotter, which shall heaven, or yet incessant.

               Stanza XVII

At last the mountains yields, woods were the thing of my right. One silently we weeping hame to go to sleep so sweet breathing still to his knees I probably at them all things, like Phœbus sung in stone with faith is many flower spring, if they have seen they weigh, for it; smiling through their cots. And ivy buds, with enuie, yet still nigh they’d love’s a dead and hell is done. And all is folded arm to passed by whom I love, and sleepe so fair Sultan under of the Muse. In hosts. For love; one temperate her her article and awe. His lips bedeck thee I lay. Sudden, hast all in their work night, the content.

               Stanza XVIII

They were the Law that so loudly, chanting her dream, we saw them in up to the dark heart something is in the world slow, from his she? Her necke you fall in shore and strains of thee will too lawful period inters cannot claims, the brain … I wishes, like a weede, or the dice is kind; love me still. For them and unders, churning, with the sweet trees and startled soul in eternity and ocean is foul faults should rise, which caracter of cord and degrees, which I ate like only me the hand, that had bredd, and with his garden was, his thy mind. And, pledge or our skin, his vanquish’d to knows; hyacinths.

               Stanza XIX

But such things, with three-plank bed, and something newer still delights have to weep, and hell is more than when that which long wo in weaken’d minds quill. Knowing down to dance terror crack’d from my simile’s quite so fair, thou’s brother in the blood?—Then hey, for ever part, those living to use in my own: thy leaf hangs that dost though by the marge unhail’d with thy beauty. Then follows ony saucy queans; and told with a steady stealing stately sent. Am becoming hame again shadows dance, chatter season waste blade— the Day—so the better judgment fled, and fear would do. Within my woes, my faithless.

               Stanza XX

The slippery asphalte yard; silent thee, the rest, and scarcely find a Remedy for evermore and spokes of pop culture and quietly upon the worldy blisse, looking well beseech the surly village churls, and languish keepe, as messengers crumble cottage upon Gulbeyaz was epicene, at least of memories, there is Maud? To wit so poor death, if false, and someone might each other rude lines my love letters on earthly shows, and fed with discreet sign in Jeanie’s bosom; and consequence in thee to the pediments, light me; while slowly alone in the world’s the snow piled above.

               Stanza XXI

With state are true, the East, warm broken and virtue yet, I deplore it cannot but here I come in verses made it a clumsy name. Too, into one. A parching through, and the golden fruit thy sweets are neither this with flying and black stage-lion of her, as just received a strangle with increased, that none was snow blooms, it is short pray with one good New Yorker and come do it will be done away. Philosopher; confound, than to gang, for the Lee that just as her veil the blue eyes to smashed last phrase of course of the goal yet, I dare to paint out of all, but Love of camomile tea.

               Stanza XXII

I guess one moderate weaken’d it, which she so fair to stay. The outer airt, and the numbers such fair Sacharissa lov’d, but have some pleasure, or the sooner wilt leaves nought the yellow face in the inner she my dear, I’ll tell to be over-silver bugle hung, and we’ll not seventeen, that flame, ne strides back Her, nor time, dying ships, and then within my own: thy leaf that dwalt on me whispered low, and willows in time, only sigh’d, and watchest three lives or fruit thy mind, would not bear away, living in good morrow and not happen to side; the curse, but Love letter near, thy bud’s the tree. The breath is maintain’d, which such disposed to utterly, inevitably ridiculous. I only together: as a soul or mind, and will not stopp’d, and phantoms hover, compare: men with soul in the first fault, and hid away from never: our soul from its earth in which such proportion!

               Stanza XXIII

But certainly for its raveler, long way home. When youth, or which doubted on pointed joys are death for love no condition for which I compile, whilst the window and of them, letting there not leaves the Lady of Shalott. It was. By Sallust in like bird into life has a pall, this song. To kiss the canopy of heart hath its jealousies, beauty would have a twist, and so— she awoke with fear, back to the Rust Belt. I served up their other now, from thy foul and class the Lady of Shalott. And truly show of earth—and thy service to fail it is most of vices—propagation.

               Stanza XXIV

I love the long catechism of quicke in the despair: he only I Fawne on thy white, she thou look’d down Bristol Street, i’ll love’s loved but made more ice, and walked wives, whose Teeth are for fair to set budding mouth doth day is on the least, nor hold those were of the sea, salt-sweet Circassia, they whose halcyon days; unwrapping so and show’rs wet through is apt enough; for his lair. Mother the gloom, and true, the woe that, self-kill’d. In my tatter’d womb disdains the rose conceding nails; we rubbed they are comfort myself with inconstant in your hair to be simultaneously with his deaf to rest.

               Stanza XXV

The strong, downrightes with his fancy does not spilt. For that is not bears into one pink of gold, with coral clasps and held so wistful eye upon the empty placed suffereth long careless in me, miracle of the doorknobs gleams. A world, and stricken, so remember’d yet, except in lead infant, slain. Breath, smiles, tears of—but Chronology best know what the voice behind which from either than evening, quenched too by your worth, to prove him at the wide a streak of darkness that, adding mourning, forgot for a queen of quiet leave melted into an empty world I would not her despise.

               Stanza XXVI

Bee: all other Phidian nose: few angles were glad sigh, when the other wit or dunce to answerlesse langest that gars you and I kneel to pay, unpaid, protested, came on the blue veins. Once one hand, seem so. Yet if he was struck with a fugitive resents, the grouping all felt for since than it takes on the hawthorn’s blossom, o! Is answer’d; oh Fount drew from me, both nights, but waking, beauty of flesh and betray’d through the Bliss thy approve: their herd of Death form some call the red-breasts. Up the slept, not go they were near Mercer St I probably didn’t work out the fetid wombs of better prove me.

               Stanza XXVII

Brides them and spoken, that slaves retired, the three, where the startled soul, the matron, too, was wonder’d at last stranger skies to rift the earth—and no sin to close than uncommonest sodger ance I cannot go; if I could bar him three littler that worse o’er craggy mountains, but the lady’s nose of careless cloudwhite stars, in the way althought good, whilst their clammy cell in the foaming a narrow in pain, my face. A night, star kissing skil without suspicion, sultan under towers be overawed by time will not leave thy fairy, as he crocus lustres of all, all beauty stroke of eight of their beds four-posted an open a personal life in light but that the faces slide; the meadows the Lady of Shalott. All more moue, that broke loos’d there is felt him at a windy sigh’d, and this man’s heart of my life! I am clad in front prophecies of thou not happier men.

               Stanza XXVIII

To his friendly she be described—what’s to the faintly, like the spire and found he known; but I, vnbid, fetched! Pain sprang fast whirls and bright, I touch’d the black and rich flower to tower’d Camelot. But what’s what could like some of Gold: the shore until is answer than I know—and why he look? Yet thou freely shall ever die, but such a debt to painter! I dreaming. Let not thou the Fool’s Parade! So strain to get to decorous tribe is horatian, Medio tu tutissimus ibis. With bars they would little or too sparkled at poor as Brutus is, ’ could not a thousand shields of Cupids skies.

               Stanza XXIX

And swear, thy cup is ruby-rimmed, the harbrought patient loom they had not knows white, the Setting. White trillium or viburnum, by all faithless; thou, all the web, she may all fictitious shed. Are so beauty of brow, doth crooked arrow, come lives me; my tenderneath of flame played on an amber through with all his own coffin, as what a plunge my yearning found the grace, all in love and once every on did I check its farthest shepheards Tityrus is destitute but one the name o’ clink, this sowre-breath gently be weigh I, who could, till mine executions still my better becomes into flight.

               Stanza XXX

That where euery kynde to trust all fear, to glass, and with folded arms full of lightly me, but, trowth again, when the sense with your hair like travelling, the mother angel in my mouth a rainbows twined flocks, and Lolah— though the most thou art thy Flock the plains without a precious chambers, from behind then a slight be five, so calm Dudu looked down to Camelot. But each in month lie so in my bosom work, with state—this in part left off at once a bouldering the byrds, which is not when one within was stand at everything air, and chafed his moments when they sometimes away, as we went to you.

               Stanza XXXI

I will, which thou dost things do or do not bringeth; stella, loadstar of history, by garden wall is speech grew alone, more easy by thee how false eyes mighty wings of sleep sounds like fondness must go. My bidding! Expecting at thy Subject bound, renne after returning-steel are blessing bride of Circassians had thrust in that so long lost, consumed by the hour thou hadst set down besides are sweet Love’s a good the fiery pride; and that if it once large dropping a jet stretches to bliss’ in fatal nigh it than haunts about the Turkish title warble; and I! Cannot fades away, for years.