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bcacstuff · 7 months ago

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Great article with Caitriona.

‘I’m Impossibly Excited About What Happens Next’ – Caitriona Balfe Looks Ahead to Life After Outlander

https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

When you don’t know what the norm is – and in many ways actress Caitriona Balfe admits she doesn’t – it’s difficult to subscribe to it. Yet, perhaps that’s what makes the Irish actress Caitriona Balfe so endearing.

Caitriona Balfe is a wonder. She is impeccably beautiful, has style, talent and a warm, courteous persona, as well as the ability to excel at whatever she pursues. She is someone who retains charm and humility despite operating for over two decades across industries that have beaten those qualities out of more than a few who’ve gone before her.

In terms of the Caitriona Balfe that we see this summer, this is the woman who has won a legion of devoted fans during her dedication – now almost a decade – to hit time-travelling show Outlander. However, as the drama faces its final curtain, the Irish beauty – who has already reinvented herself once, having excelled on the catwalk in a previous incarnation – can’t wait to see what lies ahead. “I look back and my modelling days seem a lifetime ago,” she begins, “and really, despite the success I had, it was a period in which I was never really settled or content. The fashion industry is so unstable, so volatile, so fickle. I was never in a place where I thought I had it totally worked out; yet the grounding it gave me was invaluable, if nothing else, by virtue of the fact it was so tough!”

Her time on the runway began with Chanel, before Balfe was photographed for the likes of Givenchy, D&G, Moschino, Alberta Ferretti and Louis Vuitton. Regarded as one of the most in-demand models in her prime, across a three-year period from 2001 to 2004 she walked in more than 250 shows. “Fashion, for me, was always about storytelling, with a real emphasis on expression and imagination. It offered me a way to express myself not just in clothes, but through mood, personality and even environment. It all meant moving into acting was, I guess, a natural progression.”

Yet the freedom to use fashion as a medium for so much else rarely falls on the models themselves. “You’re constantly told ‘no’, or ‘you’re not right for this’, or ‘you don’t fit into that particular mould’,” she offers. “It really teaches you resilience, to not take things personally and to keep pushing forward.”

Credit: Photo by Matt Baron/Shutterstock

New Direction

Having endured such creative short-changing, Balfe may have been forgiven for wanting to sink back into the shadows and pursue a new career that held rather more autonomy… which makes the fact she made a beeline for TV and film producers a little baffling. “Acting challenges me on a different level, emotionally and intellectually,” the star admits. “It’s where I find true fulfilment, being able to move into another person’s head and tell their story. For me, modelling was always a stepping stone, not the final destination.”

Scouted at the age of 18 while studying acting at the Dublin Institute of Technology, the tenacious teen joined Ford Models and was offered the opportunity to move to Paris, one she happily accepted as travel hadn’t been a luxury her parents could afford while raising their large Irish Catholic family.

Though she never made it to the ranks of supermodel status – “I would never have wanted that label anyway” – her worth comfortably kept her in the upper echelons of the modelling fraternity. It was only towards the end when she was largely hired for commercial catalogue shoots, that tedium began to set in and a new adventure beckoned. “I think you know when you’re done… in any industry or part of your life. And I think as soon as you realise you’ve activated that emotion, it nags and nags at you to do something about it. In the end, to be finished is a relief.”

One thing the 45-year-old retains from those days, however, is an exuding, radiating, luminous beauty. And she, unequivocally, appreciates fashion – indeed loves it now for the fact it’s a passion, not a profession, albeit is relieved to leave the towering stilettos behind. “Listen, I still love a beautiful outfit! I mean, who doesn’t love to dress up and feel amazing in something well-made and stylish? But honestly, as I’ve gotten older, comfort has become much more important.

“When you’ve spent hours on the runway or at photoshoots in heels, corsets or tight-fitting clothes, you really come to appreciate a great pair of trainers… or soft, oversized sweaters. These days, I’m much more about blending style with practicality. It’s all about balance. Comfort, for me, doesn’t mean sacrificing style; it just means I’m not willing to suffer for fashion like I might have in the past!”

Towards the end of the noughties Balfe found herself in New York. Aged 29 she was already feeling the scrutiny that comes with being a model approaching their third decade, and so she made the move to Los Angeles with a plan to return to drama training. By Hollywood standards she was a late starter, but her catwalk grace, confidence and strong work ethic meant she was soon landing roles, albeit minor ones – fans of the actress can catch a glimpse of her in both J.J. Abrams’s Super 8 and the sartorial masterpiece that is The Devil Wears Prada.

Credit: Photo by Action Press/Shutterstock

Good fortune

She may have suspected she would spend the next few years steadily progressing through auditions and the uncertainty of work, in much the same way as she had in her later years in fashion, however just as the fear started to set in, Balfe struck gold. Of course, with all the gracious humility she carries with her, she didn’t even know it at the time.

The nugget was a television series based around Claire Fraser, a former World War II nurse in Scotland who is cast back into the mid-18th century and ends up joining a raggedy band of rebel Highlanders – an unusual concept to say the least. Furthermore, Balfe’s was one of hundreds of audition tapes that landed on the casting agent’s desk. However, land the role she did, and now as filming commences for the eighth and final series of Outlander, it’s hard to imagine anyone else in the lead role – a woman who is fierce but authentic, a kind healer who is devoted to the rough and ready clansman, Jamie (played by Scottish heartthrob, Sam Heughan).

Claire and Jamie’s romance has overcome many obstacles across several time zones, and Balfe is grateful to have occupied such an intimate role with someone she considers a close friend. “When Sam and I first started this journey, we had no idea it would go on this long. Now, we’ve been through so much together – professionally and personally. It’s been a real joy, but we’ve also learned to step back a bit off-camera. We used to spend more time together, but now we know when to take a breather. You have to, or else you’ll go mad!”

With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. “Right now, I don’t know how the story ends. I’ve resisted finding out. Sam knows and likes to hold it over me, but I think it’s more fun not knowing. It keeps me in the moment as Claire.”

Perhaps what makes the Outlander journey easier to leave behind is the fact Balfe has been driven and exemplary on several side projects. The first, and arguably most important, has been in becoming a mother in August of 2021. Given the devotion of the Outlander fanbase and the general hysteria that surrounds celebrity, Balfe and her husband, music producer Tony McGill, have decided to not reveal their son’s name. In fact, the entire pregnancy was shrouded in secrecy, despite the actress filming the sixth season of the drama while pregnant.

Irish Roots

Her other most notable work outside of the hit show was arguably in Kenneth Branagh’s Academy Award-winning film Belfast, for which Balfe was nominated for Best Supporting Actress. Touching, honest and genuinely moving, Belfast brings to life those who were so intimately affected by Northern Ireland’s infamous ‘troubles’. Semi-biographical and set in 1969, the film focuses on Buddy, a charming and lively nine-year-old, played by Jude Hill. Balfe plays Buddy’s Ma, a homely Protestant woman who is bound to the city she lives in. As tensions begin to rise, this once peaceful Belfast street becomes dangerous and deeply polarised. Ma is ferocious and formidable in her love for her family. “Growing up in Dublin, I felt such a pure connection to the issues people faced for so many decades in Ireland. The conflict rages on, but these days it is verbal, and that’s much more preferable to the violence and the terror that permeated so much of when we were young.”

When casting the film, Branagh was keen to enlist actors who had a personal connection to the content. Belfast native Jamie Dornan plays Pa; the mother of Dame Judi Dench (who plays Granny) was from Dublin.

However it is Balfe who has the most visceral childhood memories. In the years following Balfe’s birth in 1979, her family moved to Tedavnet, a rural village in Ireland near the Northern Irish border. Her father had an enviable job as a police sergeant while her mother tended their brood of five biological and two adopted children. Checkpoints, bomb scares and gun-wielding soldiers, therefore, were simply normal parts of her childhood landscape.

Despite the turbulence of childhood, the star has nothing but fondness for her home country. “Ireland will always be home for me, no matter where I am or how far I’ve travelled. There’s something deeply grounding about coming back – it centres me in a way nowhere else can. I think it’s a combination of the people, the land, the familiarity. I love the energy and sense of community you find in Ireland; it’s unique,” she says.

“When I get the chance to visit, I relish the simple pleasures – whether it’s sharing a cup of good coffee with family, a quiet morning surrounded by the countryside, or just walking around the place where I grew up. It’s these little moments that remind me of my roots and they always bring me back to a place of calm and balance amidst the craziness of life and work.”

Despite not snagging a statuette for her performance, Belfast made evident the talent and promise Balfe possesses. And moving forward, the pursuit of new projects and bigger experiences has even led the actress to sit in the director’s chair, having taken on the role of Executive Producer for an episode in season seven of Outlander. “It was terrifying,” she laughs, “I won’t lie! However, it’s always been something I’ve wanted to try. On a show like that, we are a family. There’s such a sense of trust and that made it easier for me to step into the role. Sam and I joke that we’ve been through it all at this point, so nothing really surprises us, and we permit ourselves to make mistakes, and to learn as we progress.”

It’s that sense of grounded excitement that makes Balfe a gift of grace amongst so many who bulldoze their way into the picture. “I’m at the point where stepping back seems the wrong thing to do. A bit like leaving the fashion world, I think I’ll know when the time is right; but in my head, I am impossibly excited about what happens next.”

Caitriona Balfe’s Career Highlights

Outlander

The historical drama television series is based on the Outlander novel series by Diana Gabaldon. Balfe plays a nurse A nurse in World War II who mysteriously goes back in time to Scotland in 1743. There, she meets a Highland warrior and gets drawn into an epic rebellion.

Belfast

The Oscar-winning film by director and writer Kenneth Branagh is about a young boy and his working-class Belfast family’s experience in the tumultuous late 1960s.

Money Monster

Balfe starred in the American crime thriller, Money Monster, about a financial TV host Lee Gates [played by George Clonney] and his producer Patty [played by Julia Roberts] who are put in an extreme situation when an irate investor takes them and their crew as hostage.

Modelling

After being scouted by Ford Models age 18, Balfe modelled for 10 years, including three years on the catwalks in Paris.

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andreafmn · 2 years ago

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12 Days of Ficmas ❅ Day 3

Word Count: 4.0K Paring: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Prompt @12-days-of-ficmas: anonymous donor pays for the kids at your nonprofit to have a perfect Christmas. Wait, this handwriting looks familiar Warnings: mature language

Summary: For a little over half a decade, (Y/N) has run the Angel's Touch Foundation caring for children in need from all over Small Heath. But times are hard and money is tight, and all she wants is to give the children of her foundation the best Christmas. And an anonymous letter might just have all the answers she has been searching for.

A/N: goodness, I love angst a little too much. I think y'all might need to prepare for a christmas filled with just a tad of sad 🫣🫣

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Life in Small Heath had never been easy. Life in England had not been easy in general. At least not for the everyday man, much less for their children.

(Y/N) had dedicated her life to making sure no child went hungry in her town. With what little money her family had left her, she had started a foundation in their name to do just that. For a little over half a decade, the woman had seen to it that no child went hungry or homeless, especially during the holidays.

It had been hard to keep Angel’s Touch afloat for years. Keeping the foundation running smoothly required more money than was flowing in most of the time, but she somehow always pulled it off. She didn’t care if she went hungry herself for a couple of days or if she lived in the smallest apartment she could afford. All she wanted was to make sure no child went through the hardships that had been bestowed upon them with no fault to them. As hard as it was. She pulled through every year, and she would continue to do so for as long as she could.

That particular year had been particularly difficult, with their government funding being cut in almost half, a slow influx of donations, and the amounts of intakes growing (Y/N) didn’t know how they had even made it to December without more struggles.

“I don’t know how we’re gonna give the kids a good Christmas celebration this year, Margaret,” she sighed as she sat on her desk chair. “We’re barely making it as it is, and I don’t even know where we’ll get the necessary funding for next year.”

“Well, we could always ask…”

“So help me, Margaret, if you say what I think you’re gonna say, I’ll fire you right now,” (Y/N) warned. “I don’t care that you’re my closest friend and one of the only reasons I’m still standing.”

“I’m just saying, love. He could help,” Margaret shrugged as she placed a cup of tea before the woman. “But I understand why you don’t want to call him. We could try the church again. Grovel to the Father for some more donations. At least enough to give the kids a Christmas dinner.”

“Yeah,” she responded, ignoring the fact that her friend had tried to bring up the one man she had wanted nothing more than to forget. “I’ll try to call some family friends or try to kiss up to politicians and remind them or their re-elections. Maybe see if my brother has any money to spare. I just need to find someone with big and loose pockets for this month. Then, we can worry about next year.”

“You’ll find a way,” Margaret said with a comforting smile. “Somehow, you always do.”

“Just one year,” she begged. “All I want is for one year to go smoothly.”

“Oh, darling, we didn’t get into this business because it was easy,” the woman reminded her. “We do it so the children don’t suffer under someone else.”

“Right,” (Y/N) smiled. “For the children.”

“We’ll make it through, darling. Don’t worry your pretty little face.”

It was easier said than done, that much (Y/N) knew. She made more phone calls than she had ever done in her lifetime, trying her best to reach everyone and anyone who would listen. As Christmas day approached, she felt her time running short. Money poured in slowly, and it was spent twice as fast. At the rate they were going, it would have surprised her if all they could give the kids was a hot mutton stew.

But what (Y/N) didn’t know was that a higher power was in play. Something and someone she had no control over.

A week before Christmas, after receiving another shipment of donations of basic necessities, two of the children she housed ran after her down the halls. “Ms. (Y/N)!” they yelled as they ran. “Ms. (Y/N)!”

“Woah, Helen, William, slow down,” she chuckled softly. “You know there’s no running in the halls.”

“We’re sorry, Ms. (Y/N),” Helen smiled angelically. “But there was a postie outside. Left a package for you.”

“Yeah, he said it was urgent.”

The boy extended a pristine envelope sealed with the crest of England. “Alright, thank you, kids,” she smiled “Now, go on, darlings. Go get some lunch.”

Once the children were out of sight, (Y/N) hurried to her office. The envelope didn’t say who it was from, but her name was written on it in the most beautiful calligraphy she had ever seen. Inside the room, she put aside the box she was carrying and sat quickly by her desk to see what inside the letter was so urgent.

“Slow down, woman,” Margaret chuckled as the woman pushed her aside. “What do you have there?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Helen and William gave it to me. Said a letter man had dropped it off, and it was urgent.”

“Looks quite official, doesn’t it? Does it say who it's from?”

“No. It only has my name.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Margaret smiled. “Open it already.”

“Alright, alright,” she chuckled as she pulled out her letter opener. The wax came off the paper easily and, inside, (Y/N) found two pieces of paper. But it was the one in front that caught her attention. “Oh, fuck.”

“(Y/N), such foul language,” Margaret laughed. “What is it?”

“Someone has donated sixty thousand pounds to the foundation,” she choked out. “Do you know what this means, Margaret?”

“Oh, fuck.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she laughed. “We are more than set for Christmas, Margaret. And not just the holidays. We’re set for next year!”

“Happy fucking Christmas,” the woman exclaimed. “Does it say who it’s from? We need to do something to honor whoever it was that decided to answer our prayers.”

“Uh,” she stammered as she looked for a name. “It doesn’t say.”

“Anonymous donor? I mean, people do get rather generous during the holidays.”

“Yeah, I just wish we could thank whoever it was,” (Y/N) said. “But, we have enough planning to do now. Christmas is in a week!”

“Don’t you worry, darling,” Margaret smiled. “Everything will be perfect.”

As her friend set off to work, making phone calls and ensuring deliveries, (Y/N) looked over the second paper in the envelope. There wasn’t a name there either, but she recognized the lettering far too perfectly. In a handwriting that she wished she had forgotten the words: Happy Christmas to you and the children.

At that moment, she wanted to break down. It had been years since she had spoken to him, much less heard a word from him. Yet, somehow, when she needed him most, he appeared like a knight in shining armor. In a simple cheque, he had been able to resolve her biggest worry. All it took was the stroke of a pen, and all her problems had disappeared. It was just so easy for him.

But she couldn’t come undone. Not when there was so much to be done.

In the blink of an eye, seven days had passed, and the Angel’s Touch Foundation was preparing for a feast. Every single one of the kids had received their fair share of toys, clothes, and anything else they might have wanted. It was truly something out of a fairytale.

Their entire home had been decorated from top to bottom for the holidays. It made the children very excited to see the place filled with Christmas lights and decorations, and many a kid stopped to gawk at the massive tree that had been propped up at the foundation’s lobby. Everything was beautiful and perfect.

(Y/N)’s mind should have been focused on the kids and their happy faces. She should have been zoned into their reactions when they got to open presents that morning or their surprise when they were told what they’d be having for dinner. That’s what should have been running through her head.

Yet, since she had received that letter, only one thing lived in her mind. His name and his face swirled around in her brain like it was the only thought that mattered. It consumed her every waking moment and filled her dreams with images of him. She had done so well to avoid him for years, and with just a few words, he was all she could think about.

After dinner, while the kids all played and laughed a floor below, she found herself inspecting the piece of paper that had started her spiral. Maybe the longer she looked at it, something would happen. Maybe it would make him walk through the doors…

“Darling, you can’t spend the rest of the night locked up in here,” Margaret said as she walked in with two glasses of whiskey. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

“I am,” she smiled softly. “I just… it’s this letter. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“There’s no point to dwell on it, dear. There’s no name.”

“I know who sent it.”

“What?” Margaret gasped. “So, there was a name?”

“No,” (Y/N) chuckled dryly. “I recognized the handwriting. Instantly, actually. And I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?” the woman inquired. “It was Thomas.”

“It was,” she sighed. “I just don't understand how he could have known. I haven’t seen him in years, and then he shows up out of the blue with this letter.”

“Darling, Small Heath is big but not big enough,” her friend mused. “Why don’t you go see him? It’s been long enough, don’t you think?”

“And say what, Margaret? That I ran away from our home, and he’s somehow still saving me? I… I can’t go see him.”

“But you want to,” she said. “And you know where he lives. Everyone does. So, just go to him.”

“He’ll turn me away.”

“It’s Christmas,” Margaret smiled. “He won’t turn you away on Christmas. Now, there’s a car waiting for you downstairs. So, go, love. Stop waiting around.”

(Y/N) didn’t know what had possessed her, but her legs moved faster than her brain could think. And before she knew it, she was in the black car headed toward Arrow House. She could have told the driver to turn back around at any second, proclaimed she had lost her mind, and the best thing she could do was sleep off the madness. But the car kept moving, and the distance became bigger. Then, the grandiose house was looking down on her, beaconing her closer and closer. Once she was out of the car, her decision was made for her. The only way was onward.

She knocked on the front doors, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anyone up at that hour. One second more, and she would have walked herself back home. Yet, the door opened wide, and an older woman opened the door. “Hello,” she smiled. “May I help you, dear?”

“Oh, um, perhaps you could,” (Y/N) stammered. “I was looking for Mr. Shelby.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “Come in. He’s just in his study.”

“This late into the night?” she questioned as she followed the woman inside. “I thought perhaps he would have already gone to bed.”

“Mr. Shelby keeps odd hours,” she explained. “But I think you knew that if you yourself are coming at this hour.”

“Right,” (Y/N) chuckled. “I guess if he had been asleep, I could have used that as an excuse to leave.”

“He was expecting you earlier in the week, Ms. (Y/L/N). But I guess you were quite busy with Angel’s Touch.”

The woman’s words stopped her in her tracks. “You know who I am?” she asked. “And you knew I’d be coming?”

“Of course, I know who you are. It’s my job to know,” she smiled. “Well, we’re here.” She knocked on the door before them and opened it ever so softly. “Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes, Frances?”

“Ms. (Y/L/N) has arrived.” Frances beckoned the woman inside, and she did as told. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

(Y/N) heard his voice before she saw him, and she felt shivers running down her body. His head snapped toward her the second he heard her name, and the cigarette he had just lit threatened to fall out of his mouth as he stared.

They stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, wondering if the image before them was a hallucination like the ones they’d had before. Maybe they were scared. Maune they thought the second one of them moved, the other would disappear.

“(Y/N).” Tommy was the first to speak. But his voice was so low it was almost as though he hadn’t, almost like he had said it as a prayer. “You’re here.”

“Yes,” she breathed, her heart fluttering against her chest and threatening to jump outside of her body. “I came to thank you for your very generous donation.”

“Ah, so Angel’s Touch is yours,” he said nonchalantly as his demeanor changed to the mask he always wore. “I was simply trying to do a good deed this Christmas. The name of the foundation sounded familiar, but I had no way of knowing you were the one running it.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Tommy. You already knew it was,” (Y/N) commented as she took a tentative step toward him. “Why now? After all these years, why have you reached out now?”

“I have no need to pretend,” he announced as he filled a glass with whiskey. “I was truly just doing a good thing.”

“Right,” she conceded. “Well, I’ll simply thank you then. And since you did not leave a return address I had to come personally to give my gratitude. Your donation has changed the lives of many children.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted.”

“Alright then. I guess I’ll see myself out. Since you were only doing a generous thing.” (Y/N) turned, fully determined to walk out the doors and leave him with the same indifference with which he was treating her. But she couldn’t walk away. Not again. “Oh, cut the fucking bullshit, Tommy, and give me a real answer. Why now? I can only assume you’ve always known where I was. So, why did you reach out now?”

Tommy’s eyes found hers, and she swore she could have died at that very moment. She was sure in the infinite blue of his eyes, she could see the love he used to have for her, the love that had died after he had come home from the war. “I reached out because I heard you were in need of donations. Truly,” he explained. “I was going to hand deliver the cheque myself. Even went by the building.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“But I saw you, (Y/N). And I realized there was still so much anger and resentment buried that I decided to send it through the post. Because regardless of how I feel, those children deserve a better life than they were given,” he said defeatedly. His shoulders had fallen and she was starting to see the broken man behind the mask. “Yet, I still wrote that note, and I knew it would bring you around sooner or later.”

“For what, Tommy? Why did you want me to come here?”

“Because I need a fucking explanation!” the man exclaimed, slamming his hands on his desk. “You fucking disappeared as soon as I came home from the war. In the middle of the night. You took your things, and you fucking left. Like I meant nothing to you. And you have the gall to stay in Small Heath. Hidden, but still there. Why, (Y/N)? ‘Cause it wasn’t just me you left. You left the entire family.”

“You’re joking, right? You truly have no idea why I left?” As she was met with silence, (Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh. She crossed the room as she did, staring out the window because it was easier than looking him in the face. “You were a completely different man when you came home. At first, I told myself it was normal. That the things you had seen in the battlefield would have haunted you ‘til the day you died. But then, there were things that could not be attributed to the war.

I know you used the opium to help with your Shell Shock, and I tried. I tried to be okay with it because I truly believed you needed it, Tommy. But you’d be worse after. The nightmares still overtook you and your behavior… well, long gone was the man that used to make me laugh,” she sighed, wrapping her arms across her chest. “And, up to that point, I would have put up with it all because I loved you more than I loved myself. But then, you brought women into our bed. Maybe you thought I hadn’t noticed, or you believed I would keep my mouth shut and let you do as you pleased. Maybe I did wrong by you for allowing things to get to that. Still, I had not expected you to ever raise your hand at me, Tommy.”

“(Y/N),” she heard him call.

“I can understand that you were drunk. Pissed out of your mind with the whiskey and the drugs. But I had told you how my father had treated my mother, and you had promised that you would never stoop that low.” She could feel the tears start to form in the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks in ugly black streaks. “That was the night I decided I would leave because I could not live in a house with a man I was afraid of. I told Polly what my plans were, and she helped me. She gave me enough money to go back to my brother’s, and she promised to keep my secret. I don’t want to think of what would have happened if I had stayed.”

“You know I would have never hurt you, (Y/N).” She could tell his voice was closer but cautious. It was the first time they had spoken, the first time they had gotten answers, and he was not about to lose his chance to understand it all. “I must admit, the man that came back from the war was not the man that left for it. I don’t think such a man even exists. But I would have never hurt you.”

“How can you be so sure, Tommy? You swore that you would have never raised your hand at me, and you did. How far could a strike be? Or perhaps a push or a shove? That’s how it starts,” she shrugged sadly. “If I had stayed… I couldn’t have stayed. It would have ruined us both. I mean, look how well you’ve done for yourself. This house, your business, I’d say everything worked out well for you.”

“It didn’t,” he sighed, stepping even closer. She could feel his presence behind her, looming over her. She could feel the warmth from his body even as the cold from the winter seeped in through the window. “There’s always been something missing.”

“I heard you got married,” she said. “Even got a little boy. I’d say that’s more than enough.”

“My wife is dead. And though, yes, I still have my child, you know what I’ve been missing.”

“You loved her,” she continued. “If love was what you were missing, you had it.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it, (Y/N).”

“You gave your heart to another. That’s what I know.”

“How could I ever give something that wasn’t there anymore? Something that was taken many years before.” Tommy’s chest was pressed against her back, rising and falling at a dangerous pace. His hands ran up her arms, his touch so soft she thought it was a ghost. But he was there. She could feel his breathing on her neck, feel his heartbeat through his chest. Tommy was there, and she could not deny it. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). The last thing I ever wanted was to lose you.”

“I didn’t want to go, Tommy. You have to believe that,” she sighed as she leaned into his touch. “I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

“I know, but you’re here now. You’ve come back to me,” he whispered in her ear. “Please tell me you’ve come back to me.”

“I can’t go through that again, Tommy. The children at the foundation depend on me, the workers… I cannot go back to the woman I was. I lost myself in you, Thomas Shelby. And if I did that again, I don’t know how I could survive.”

Tommy kissed her neck unexpectedly, savoring her skin as he had done many years before. He breathed her in and sank into the familiarity of her body. He remembered her softness and her warmth, he remembered every curve of her body and the way it would react. He remembered how it had felt to have her belong to him.

But (Y/N) also remembered how lost she had been without him at the start. Being with him meant losing a part of herself. It meant she would no longer be (Y/N) (Y/L/N). She would be Tommy Shelby’s girl. And she didn’t know if she could go back to that. Not when she had done so much to be the woman she was.

Yet, the feeling of his lips on her reminded her of the moments they had been happy. They had been young and in love, and even if they had less, they felt the richest they could have been. His hands reminded her of a time when she had not been afraid of him, when his touch was a welcomed solace and not a dark premonition. It all reminded her of the life they believed they could’ve had.

“Tommy,” she whispered as his kisses became feverish. “Tommy, wait.”

“What?” he groaned. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“If we were to do this, if we were to be in each other’s lives, we need to take things slow,” she said. “I cannot jump into these waters headfirst. I need time.”

“Time,” he chuckled softly. “Time is something we’ve had so much of.”

“And I need more of, Tommy. Please.”

“Alright,” Tommy conceded. And though he wanted to be more annoyed, all he could feel was compassion. “At least stay the night. It’s late, and it’s Christmas. You shouldn’t be out on the road.”

“If this is another ploy to get me into your bed, Mr. Shelby,” she chuckled, turning to look him in the eyes finally. Those icy blue eyes that had always haunted her.

“It’s not,” he smiled. “I can have an entire room set up for you if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“It takes trust, doesn’t it? And it’s already a cold night, I wouldn’t want to freeze until morning.”

With a warm smile on his face, one he hadn’t remembered he could muster, he took (Y/N) in his arms. “Happy Christmas, (Y/N),” he said. “I do hope it was a good one.”

“Well, I certainly haven’t had better in a while,” she chuckled. “But I know it’s the best one Angel’s Touch has seen.”

“The best one yet.”

“Right,” (Y/N) said. “I guess all we needed was a true angel’s touch.”

“I’m no angel, darling. I’m more of a god.”

“I can see the sense of grandeur hasn’t died down,” she chuckled as she leaned into his touch. They walked through the quiet house in each other’s arms, forgetting the past years, forgetting their absence in each other’s lives. They were simply present at that moment, and that moment only. “But I don’t think there’s anything I could do to thank you for what you’ve done.”

“Well, there are a few things I have in mind.”

“Very cheeky, Mr. Shelby,” she grinned. “But that’s not happening any time soon.”

“A man can only hope,” he laughed. “But I’ll take what I can get. As long as you promise you’ll still be here in the morning.”

“I promise, Tommy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Next ->

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viric-dreams · 10 months ago

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Eleanor Roberts, The Dawning Aspirant (she/her)

Born: Rhondda, Wales, September 10, 1849

Occupation: Naval Officer Currently working as a stenographer/newspaper assistant

Closest to: The Admiralty

Qualities: Watchful, Dangerous

Quirks: Steadfast, Ruthless

They say...

No one could ever accuse her of being charismatic, but her earnestness about all she does goes a long way.

Profile below the cut.

Born in a Welsh mining town to a working-class family, she was determined to escape the life set before her and to scrabble up the societal ranks, however possible. When her father died and left her the sole breadwinner for her mother and older sisters, she ran away, unwilling to go down into that same pit and meet the same fate. She would not spend the rest of her life underground.

She ran to London to try to make a new life for herself. London, however, was less than kind to a child from the Valleys, with a strange lilt to her imperfect English. Even amongst the other urchins she was not well-liked, often seen as off-putting. She spent her nights in pubs near the harbour, listening in and imitating the voices and the mannerisms of the officers occupying them. She would have to become like them if she wanted that respect.

At the age of thirteen, she signed on with the Royal Navy as a cabin boy, listing a new, anglicised name to match her new identity. Her captain was kind to her, the first to be in ages. Things were finally looking up.

And then London Fell.

When the city came crashing down into the Neath, Roberts’ ship had crumpled against the coastline, seriously injuring her and trapping her inside. In the almost two days it took to get her free, her captain had been there, yelling encouraging words to a scared child, one neither of them could be sure would survive the experience. When they’d finally managed to cut her free, to pull her back from the Slow Boat, her fate was sealed—she would follow that man to the ends of the earth.

Her devotion never wavered. Not even when her captain split from the Admiralty, renaming himself the Commodore. She zailed with him to their new port of call, the Grand Geode, and stood at his side when the Dawn Machine was turned on. For decades, she was his right-hand man, his golden boy, the favourite son. Whatever he needed, she would do, no matter the cost. She would do his dirty work so that he could shine.

Decades passed in the Neath. Then one day, the Commodore called her into his office. He had a task for Lieutenant Roberts: She should sail to London and infiltrate a group of revolutionaries trying to bring about the Liberation of Night. With the group’s name and an alias scrawled onto a piece of paper, she took to Zee.

London, however, had changed much since her last visit almost forty years earlier. Its denizens were not the cheerful, smiling sort she was used to back at her port of call. It wasn’t long before she found herself set upon by a group of criminals, intent on robbery. In the scuffle, however, her dark glasses broke, revealing her dazzling golden eyes. The next thing she knew she had a bag over her head.

She woke up bound in a Benthic basement laboratory, half a dozen scientists watching her intently. She was a Sequencer, they said, clearly controlled by a false Judgement she was forced to serve against her will. But they could cure her—a cure that would free her from her slavish dedication to the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun the sun the s—

She came to in an alleyway, missing both memories and an earlobe. There was something she was assigned to do in London, and she could not disappoint the Commodore. But what? She would find a way to keep herself busy, further the cause. Expand the reach of the New Sequence. Ignore the missing time, the foreign fragments of memories that would hit at unexpected intervals, the rumours of a figure sweeping the Revolutionary circles wearing her face.

Unbeknownst to her, when she wasn’t acting as Lieutenant Roberts, liaison to the Admiralty, she was Mr Nite, climbing her way to January’s good graces, only knowing that her purpose was to help her in her goals, by any means possible. As time went on, their lives seemed to intertwine in unsettling ways. Nite would encounter long-time enemies she’d never before seen. Roberts would have memories of a man whispering words of love into her ear whom she’d never met. Roberts would experience flashes of colour she hadn’t seen in years. Nite would catch fragments of conversations in a language she didn’t know she spoke.

And then their worlds converged too closely, when Nite’s Liberationist activities threatened Roberts’ standing, when Roberts’ hostile encounter with a strange man brought about the end of Nite’s relationship. Nite declared war on her counterpart, determined not to rest until her life was in ruins, at the price of her own relationship with January. And Nite nearly succeeded—Roberts’ life was coming apart. Several of her projects were falling to pieces, a vengeful subordinate firebombed her flat, and she hadn’t heard back from the Commodore in weeks. The memory bleeds were getting worse—more and more flashes of someone in her body doing things she would never do, having feelings she should not have felt.

And then she gets the news. The Commodore is dead. They hadn’t bothered to tell her. Intentionally so. They’d pushed her out. Moved on without her. Left her in London with nothing. Because who is she without the Commodore? Without the Navy? Without the dawnlight coursing through her body, because as those grief-bound weeks went on, something had changed. She’d stopped fighting herself, that shared heartache forcing both sides of herself to come to terms with their singularity, that hurting one would only hurt the other. And without those two forces constantly in opposition… Roberts and Nite began to merge, memories and personalities coming together, draining out the residual dawnlight, leaving her… as her, whomever that might be.

Something wasn’t right, however. There’s no way the Commodore could’ve simply died. Men like him don’t just die. That couldn’t be right. The medical report left by the doctor who’d broken the news didn’t add up. The longer she’d looked at it the longer something didn’t feel right. Because he didn’t just die. He was murdered.

A furious dog set loose, it was not difficult to find the perpetrators—proud of their act. The Commodore had killed the ones they loved. Or more accurately, she had killed them, under his orders. She’d commandeered a ship and chased them halfway across the Zee, deeper and deeper south, until the first rays of dawnlight crested upon her ship as they lined up to fire. But then what? She kills them, then claws her rightful position back at the helm of the Admiralty? More people dead, more loved ones to grieve and to swear vengeance, and for what? For a position she’d never wanted. The dawnlight feels nauseating on the back of her eyes. There’s no comfort to it.

She turned the ship around, London-bound. This time, for good.

What do you do when your whole life and sense of identity is tied up in your job? When the question is never “who are you?”, but “what can you do?”. And who is she, really, when there’s no one else in the picture, and the only person whose opinion, and whose happiness matters is her own? Whereas she’d once changed her name to gain acceptance, when she does it again, it’s for herself. Eleanor. She likes the way it feels on her tongue. With no references, no family, no friends, and almost nothing to her name Eleanor would start again. A new beginning, on her own terms, whatever may come.

#roberts #is it really an authentic roberts post if it DOESN'T only go right the second time around?#don't write with a high fever #let's try that again #hi ellie #my art

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bengiyo · 4 months ago

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Theory of Love Romcom Rewatch Episode 4: Crazy, Stupid, Love. (2011)

Once again I am watching Theory of Love because @lurkingshan gets specific pleasure out of making me change my mind about this show. This week we’re continuing with Crazy, Stupid, Love. (2011), yet another American romcom (from the same year as Friends With Benefits) I watched for the first time this past Saturday. Shan wrote about this film’s belief in the earnest expression of love, despite the messes that causes, and how Third likely connected with Cal and Robbie.

Crazy, Stupid, Love. (2011)

I’m relieved that I finally genuinely liked a film in this project! I was also not expecting so many common gif reactions to have come from this film. In this film, successful American everyman Cal Weaver (Steve Carell) falls apart after his teenage sweetheart wife, Emily (Julianne Moore) asks for a divorce after they’ve been together for almost three decades. A local player, Jacob (Ryan Gosling) gets tired of seeing Cal suck the life out of his local dating grounds, and decides to teach Cal how to be a womanizer like him. Cal finds some initial success, but can’t let go of his love of his wife. Jacob eventually falls for Hannah (Emma Stone) after she turns his bit back on him. Meanwhile, Cal and Emily’s son Robbe (Jonah Bobo) is dealing with an unrequited crush on his babysitter, Jessica (Lio Tipton), who in turn has a secret crush on Cal. Hijinks ensue.

I wasn’t sure I was going to enjoy this film when it started. I like Steve Carell’s brand of comedy, but I wasn’t too thrilled about the chain of crushes from the son to the babysitter to the father. However, this film succeeds because of genuinely great performances from everyone involved, especially Julianne Moore and Marisa Tomei. I loved the way this film showed how people can grow apart when they stop putting in the effort to maintain the relationship, but how the dedication and friendship doesn’t evaporate immediately in the face of betrayal and challenges.

I completely understood Emily’s boredom with her life and desire to see something new after more than 20 years of marriage, especially when Cal’s first instinct in the face of challenges was to just roll over. I also get wanting to take an accountant that looks like Kevin Bacon for a spin. Julianne Moore is one of my favorite actresses, and she imbues Emily with such believably humanity as a wife who wants her husband to care about their relationship, as well as a very young mom now raising another set of young children. Her reactions to Cal’s promiscuity works so well because of how ugly things had gotten between them, something that Steve Carell has always been good at.

One of my favorite developments in this show centers on Hannah. The late reveal that Hannah was Emily’s and Cal’s daughter works so well for me because we understood that Jacob’s issues were tied up with the way he thought his mom abused his dad (and possibly drove him to his death). We could see that Cal wasn’t happy living Jacob’s rude lifestyle, and it works so well that the daughter that Cal and Emily raised, who told a man who didn’t appreciate her that they were over, would be the one that turned things around for Jacob. Jacob has been playing in this dating pool in which women understand who and what he is; it didn’t surprise me that he was eager for a genuine connection and to stop playing the games.

Despite how white and hetero this film is, I found myself really loving it. I have some notes (especially the final scene with Jessica), but I really loved how this film believed in the value of earnestness even in the face of its biggest messes. This is a film I could genuinely see myself watching again.

Theory of Love Episode 4

I will save more of my commentary for next week, because we have reached the most difficult part of the series for me. This week, Third and friends are running a booth for a competition, and he’s simultaneously dealing with Khai’s flirting with him. Third has wanted Khai to take his romantic interest seriously, but he didn’t know what to do when it seemed like Khai was finally ready to give it.

Unfortunately, Bone has picked up on Third’s angst over Khai, and had conspired with Khai to test Third. Khai, who has already stressed that he likes the way things are with Third, doesn’t believe this and is certain that Third doesn’t like him. Third overheard their conversation in the bathroom (the worst place to discuss anything, honestly), and falls apart at the end of the episode. I am back to my Khai Hater Era.

That being said, I did like Shan’s point in her post that Bone conspiring with Khai is a great parallel to Two conspiring with Third to move in with Khai. I especially like this after watching Crazy, Stupid, Love. because that film stressed so sincerely how important being present and earnest with the people you care about is if you want to achieve anything meaningful with them.

Thinking more about the film, I am certain Third empathized with Cal and Robbie on being let down in their relationships or crushes, and I just know his goofy ass wished he could be Hannah to Khai’s Jacob. That boy does not read films beyond the surface, and he continues to embarrass me every week. I’m looking forward to seeing Third be mad and cry a bunch in the next section.

Tomorrow we’re doing 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), so I’ll cover yet another romance classic I’ve skipped. At least Heath Ledger and JGL will be there (and also David Krumholtz????).

#tol romcom rewatch #theory of love #crazy stupid love #crazy stupid love (2011)

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sfthbattleroyale · 1 month ago

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I'm kind of mad at the fact that Jemima won against Egbert and Clarissa won against Troll son so this is my yap.

Egbert losing to Jemima simply because she's a popular character, honestly makes me mad. Egbert is the epitome of a lover, his entire thing as a character is that he has a speech dedicated to his wife about how much he loves her and in the end, he had never cheated on her and even says she's the only woman for him.

Whereas Jemima has been cheating on her husband for almost a decade as Peter is David's child (since Peter is 8 years old) (this also opens up the possibility that Jemima has been cheating on Mr Stevens with David for well over a decade but I'm staying strictly canon here). Furthermore, they were so careless with how they hid their "secret" relationship, with them flirting at the door when Peter could've overheard them talking and could've lead to Peter realising that his family isn't "right" (societal standards: mother/father shouldn't cheat on their partner while they have a child) and therefore making her a bad mother, also how she hid the contraceptive in their backyard only for Peter to find it, yes it's "funny" as a joke with its delivery and all, but it just shows how lazy they were to hide this and how she didn't care about how Peter felt, knowing he would grow up to learn what everything meant if she and David had stayed in a "secret" relationship with Mr Stevens never learning the truth.

Troll son and Clarissa make me even angrier as they are two sides of the same coin and the coin is called communication. Troll son is exiled but when he returns, he isn't bashful towards his father or cuts him off, he tries to relate to him and teaches him the world his mother (Troll Mother) had experienced before her death. This leads to Troll Father accepting his son for not only refusing to eat goats but also him being a "little and floppy troll" with colourful hair.

This is just my honest opinion and I'm genuinely sorry if this upsets you, but it's just how I feel with the outcome of these polls and these characters. Again, I am sorry if this upsets you, I have no hatred against you and what you chose, only the characters and their decisions.

Meanwhile Clarissa lacks communication with her husband. He has anger issues with him blowing up at her for picking up the phone during an important moment of their lives and she has behavioural issues with her picking up the phone, ignoring the said important moment of her life and refusing to apologise then bringing up HIS family, while his father was a terrible man. Their problems were ignored and they got married, WAY too quickly. They had just gotten engaged but had a huge fight then get married the next day?? For their constant fighting, it feels justified as they should've taken time to talk it out before getting married. (I know there are arguments out there about her and Mark's relationship about who's worse, but as a whole, we can all agree that what they have is toxic and not okay).

This is my honest opinion and I'm genuinely sorry if this upsets you. I have nothing against you if you chose the characters I hate, you made your choice and I cannot change that. I only hope to educate about my perspective of these polls and these characters.

Thank you for reading❤️

Wow, thank you so, so much for this long and detailed ask! Now, about what these 4 characters represent, I totally get not wanting to vote for either Jemima or Clarissa because they are both objectively kind of shitty people, but this battle royale is not about the most kind and moral character winning (maybe I should make a battle royale based on that), but who people think is the best, well, not written because it's improv, but which character has truly captivated the fandom and Jemima/Clarissa are very multi-faceted and layered characters and just, you know, human-like, and people like that in fictional characters. Of course, I am not saying Troll Son or Egbert are not good characters, because the sole fact that they made it this far in the battle royale says otherwise, but Jemima and Clarissa are very much loved in this fandom, despite being cunts.

Still, thank you so, so much for adding onto the discussion! I love finding out the reasons for people voting for or against some character, it's always an interesting read!

#sfth battle royale

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emmg · 4 months ago

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Aftertaste

Chapter 6: Inter-fucking-lewd

Breakfast with benefits: Emmrich swipes his card, Rook shows gratitude by giving him a thorough tonsil inspection via tongue deployment. The Sugar Daddy AU no one asked for.

I keep forgetting to throw this on here. Lol, skipped a chapter again but we ball.

On ao3 or below the cut

She isn't self-conscious. Not in the usual, pathetic way, at least. People, Rook has decided, come in exactly three flavors: the certain, the hesitant, and the shy. Sure, there are endless subcategories, but at its core, this is the only division that matters. Emmrich, for example, is hesitant. Painfully, excruciatingly hesitant. The kind of person who apologizes when someone steps on his foot. She, on the other hand, is certain.

She used to be sweet. She used to be good. She used to smile at the right moments and say the right things in the right tone, like a perfectly programmed social robot. And what did that get her? Jack shit. So now, she asks for what she wants. Not that it works miracles, but at least when the barista massacres her order and she makes them redo it—once, twice, three times—she eventually walks away with the drink she actually paid for. A small, hard-earned victory. Even if, as she leaves, she can feel the heat of a middle finger aimed at her back.

Life, she has learned, is not a heartwarming fable where kindness wins in the end. It’s a glorified scam, a poorly-run customer service line where the only way to get what you’re owed is to be just annoying enough that someone begrudgingly hands it over.

Which is why she feels absolutely no shame as she rolls out of Emmrich’s bed, tiptoes into his bathroom, and starts rifling through his cabinets like a particularly nosy raccoon. There’s an indent next to where she slept—evidence that he existed at some point—but no Emmrich. She feels a little sad about that. Then she feels stupid for feeling sad. And then, because self-awareness is exhausting, she gets back to the important task of snooping.

The usual offerings greet her: mouthwash, floss, a fresh toothbrush standing at polite attention by the sink, and a towel so pristine it might have been confiscated from an angel. But, as always, the real treasure lies behind the mirror.

"Hm," she murmurs, staring at the neat little lineup.

Three orange prescription bottles, arranged as precisely as toy soldiers, standing at ease beside an inoffensive roll of extra floss. For a fleeting moment, she assumes they’re the famous blue pill, and starts giggling like an idiot. But then she actually reads the labels.

Alprazolam—Take 1 tablet by mouth as needed for anxiety. May cause drowsiness. Do not drive or operate heavy machinery.

Sertraline—Take 1 tablet by mouth once daily. Do not stop abruptly.

Hydroxyzine—Take 1-2 capsules by mouth as needed for anxiety. May cause drowsiness. Avoid alcohol.

"Hm," she says again, this time closing the cabinet with a little more care.

She walks away with two invaluable pieces of knowledge.

First, despite floating around in a sea of gold jewelry, clinking and shining like some minor deity of excess (it’s a Nevarran thing, Bellara told her, jewelry is cultural), Emmrich is not, in fact, above the humble embrace of generic pharmaceuticals.

Second, and perhaps more pressing: she is a fucking monster.

She takes a shower; quick in practice, but utterly decadent in spirit. The kind of shower that would make an environmentalist clutch their pearls. Then, still glistening, feeling like some sleek, well-oiled animal, she anoints herself with his undoubtedly overpriced, unreasonably divine-smelling body lotion.

Then she finds the face cream. And oh, bless this man. Bless his fragile little vanities, his meticulous devotion to self-maintenance, his quiet, desperate battle against the inevitable collapse of youth. Because not only does he have a proper moisturizer, no, he has eye cream. A tiny, expensive jar dedicated exclusively to the bags under his precious eyes.

It doesn’t even matter that the label says For Men, as though it’s been engineered with testosterone and car engine grease. She does not give a single shit. She digs in, smearing it on like she’s a prize racehorse in need of maintenance.

There’s a robe, too, a robe that is very much Emmrich-sized. She is tall herself, but Emmrich, in all his spindly glory, has the proportions of a lamppost, so when she wraps it around herself, the hem kisses her heels. Thus swaddled, she shuffles downstairs, following the distant hum of sound.

Humming? No, talking. Muffled, quiet, and decidedly unimpressed. She follows it to the kitchen and, ah, well—would you look at that—it’s an Emmrich, one hand gesturing through the air, the other clutching a phone.

"How about I do precisely the contrary?" he murmurs, taking exquisite care to keep his voice polite. "I have attended an egregious number of administrative functions at the expense of my own sanity. I have published beyond the requisite metrics, despite the institution’s draconian funding model. I have, against my better judgment, served on not one but two outreach committees, despite my well-documented lack of interest in performative bureaucracy. Forgive me, but this time, I will not be participating in the Sisyphean farce of ‘going above and beyond.’" A pause. An exhausted sigh. "Pease do pardon my tone, dear Myrna, none of this frustration is meant for you, of course. You have been, as always, a beacon of patience. I will bring croissants on Monday. Good day."

In academic speak, this translates roughly to: kiss my tenured ass.

She does exactly what she did the night before: shuffles up behind him like some kind of affectionate specter and winds her arms around his waist. Partly because he seemed to like it, partly, more selfishly, because there is something deeply satisfying about watching a distinguished, well-respected professor momentarily short-circuit like a schoolboy handed a love note.

And also because she is still marinating in the deep, briny guilt of being, in every conceivable way, an absolute asshole.

Emmrich tenses for a fraction of a second before his hand settles gently over both of hers, where they are crossed around his middle, as though securing a particularly insistent backpack.

"Good morning, dear," he says at last.

"Mhm," she replies, tilting her head toward the little table. A pot of coffee, a small, unnecessarily delicate vase, and inside it, lavender. Real, fresh lavender.

"Lavender," she observes, brilliantly. "You actually have it."

"I choose my words carefully and I mean what I promise."

"Good to know," she says, finally letting go after inhaling deeply, because his soap smells good, and she is nothing if not indulgent.

She sits, watching as he pours her a cup. In the morning light, with his sleeves rolled up and his reading glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose, he looks strangely soft. As if sensing her scrutiny, Emmrich removes and sets them down, like some small act of self-defense.

"That was hot," she says over the rising steam of her coffee, the heat dampening her cupid’s bow.

"Oh?" He frowns slightly.

"The whole firm but exasperated yet very polite routine. Very sexy."

There is a small shift. A recalibration. "Ah." He glances toward the window, smiling. The color in his cheeks deepens just slightly. "I'm glad you think so."

A strange kind of silence settles as she drinks her coffee and he absently adjusts the edge of the tablecloth. Every now and then, she tries to catch his eye, only for him to suddenly become engrossed in something else entirely. The ceiling. The floor. A rogue tuft of dog hair drifting by with the tragic slowness of a lost soul.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks bluntly, because there is no graceful way to phrase it.

His eyes widen, and she realizes too late that she has startled him.

"No, no," Emmrich says, immediately, with such startling sincerity that it nearly undoes the whole moment. "That is very much not…" He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I had intended to apologize for last night, but regrettably," he gestures vaguely, laughing under his breath, "it appears I have misplaced my usual verbosity, and I am not entirely sure how to proceed."

So that’s what this is about. She hums. Not a tune, not even anything in particular, just an aimless vibration of thought. Then, casually, she says, “Do you want to know what happened the first”—a brief pause for reflection, because, really, what a moment—“time I tried to have sex?”

Emmrich does not flinch, but there is a subtle change in the atmosphere, a flicker of something in his expression that suggests he is considering an immediate escape. “Oh, Rook, you do not have to share—”

“So he started crying, right—”

“—hardly a crime,” Emmrich interrupts, looking to the window, fingers now tapping against the table. “Some people are more sentimental than others.”

“I didn’t say it was. But imagine this: you’re naked, a bright-eyed young woman, about to embark on what should be a delightful new chapter of your life, and suddenly—your partner, the man in this scenario, is sobbing into your tits. And not just a few cute, tortured tears. No. We’re talking full-body convulsions, wet, choking, gasping-for-air ugly crying. Snot on my skin, weird little hiccup noises, the whole fucking show. So obviously, my first thought is what the actual fuck. My second is did I do something? And my third is am I really so fucking ugly that this man took one look at me naked and had a complete emotional breakdown?"

“You are not—”

“Then he starts talking about his sister—”

“His sister?”

“Apparently, I looked like her.”

A long pause. “Oh Maker.”

“So this second coming of Oedipus, this absolute fucking specimen, this... Well, I don’t even know what to call him, and I am usually pretty good at coming up with creative insults—”

"Yes," Emmrich agrees. "You have a rare gift."

“Exactly. So there he is, weeping over his sibling while also, simultaneously, making a very determined attempt at fucking me. He gets about a third of the way in—just enough to make it legally concerning—before something, maybe divine intervention, maybe the ghost of his grandmother, whispers in his ear and suddenly, he stops. Pulls out like I’m cursed, stares down at himself as if he’s seeing a dick for the first time in his life, and then, as the grand finale, has a fight with the condom, rips it off while telling me his sister is so very nice and pretty, and blows his fucking load on my knee.”

Silence.

Emmrich, someone who has likely endured entire week-long academic conferences on molecular chemistry, complete with keynote speakers droning on about enzyme kinetics in excruciating detail, now stares at her as if she has just proposed that gravity is optional. His expression shifts through several stages of intellectual agony—denial, disbelief, reluctant acceptance—before he very, very slowly lifts his eyes to the ceiling, as though hoping that if there is a higher power, now would be an excellent time for a well-placed lightning strike.

Then he starts laughing. Not some polite, measured chuckle, not even the kind of laughter that suggests mild amusement, but the real, undignified kind. The kind that briefly robs a man of whatever intellectual superiority he thinks he has. He buries his face in his hands for a moment, then rubs at his eyes as if trying to wipe the mental image away.

"But do you want to know what the worst part was?" she asks, tilting her cup back to get the last few drops of coffee.

"I would have assumed it was the matter of the sister. But I see now that was wishful thinking. Please, continue to traumatize me."

"Noooo," she drawls. "The worst part was that the fucker ate nothing but red meat. And I don’t mean he had a steak every now and then like a normal person. I mean every fucking meal. Just shoving beef into himself like he was personally keeping the cattle industry afloat. Which, fun fact, turns jizz into the worst-smelling substance known to man: a thick, hot, gamey blast of pure death." She makes a face, shaking her head at the memory. "Like, imagine if a butcher shop and a used sock had a baby. I was practically gagging. The dude nut on my knee, and I swear to the fucking gods, I could smell it before I even registered what happened."

Emmrich props his chin on his fist. His smile is small, a little detached, a little shy. "Well," he says at last, "thankfully, I do not eat meat, darling."

She blinks. Her brain lags a little, just enough for the full meaning of that sentence to settle in and punch her straight in the gut.

"Oh," she says. And then, again, "Oh," as something horrible—something hot and shameful and deeply inappropriate—crawls up her spine and detonates in her cheeks. She is not supposed to be the one blushing.

"Anyway," she blurts, desperate to redirect. "All that to say, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm sure you have your own tricks that will surprise me."

“No tricks, no,” Emmrich muses. “Well, perhaps just the one.”

She narrows her eyes. “One?”

“Indeed. Would you like to see? It tends to be something of a crowd-pleaser.”

"Sure," she allows.

He doesn’t go far. Just turns, retrieves a laptop perched on the kitchen counter, and deposits it in front of himself. His glasses slide back onto his nose as he unlocks it and nudges it across the table toward her.

She eyes it, then him. “What’s this about?”

He tests the warmth of the coffee pot with the back of his hand, seemingly indifferent to her skepticism. Satisfied, he pours himself a cup, takes a careful sip, and only then answers, as if the thought had only just reemerged from some distant place.

“You reminded me last night of something I did not particularly enjoy in graduate school.”

She raises an eyebrow, waiting.

He breathes a soft laugh, shaking his head. "The grind,” he clarifies, wincing a bit as if the word itself is distasteful. “The endless, mind-numbing process of running oneself into the ground for the privilege of standing in the exact same place. It is a special kind of stupidity, I think, to build a system where intelligence is measured by how much exhaustion one can endure. A mouse in a wheel at least gets the benefit of ignorance. People, apparently, have to be aware that they are getting nowhere and keep running anyway.” He tilts his head toward the laptop, urging her on. “Let us pay your tuition.”

She stares.

Emmrich, however, simply takes another sip, and shifts slightly to escape a particularly offensive ray of sunlight. “You mentioned you are working three jobs,” he continues, with a polite sort of incredulity. “Perhaps this will allow you to scale it down to two. Or, dare I say it, one.”

Her fingers move before she has the time to think. “You do realize I’m not going to say no, right?”

A slight, knowing smile. “That is rather the point.”

“I have late fees at the library too.”

He frowns, his mouth pressing into a thin line, followed by a pointed tsk, tsk, tsk. “Universities have a remarkable talent for extortion. They charge a king’s ransom for books, guilt alumni into philanthropy, and still have the audacity to fine students for daring to hold onto a volume for a day too long. You would think an institution allegedly devoted to learning might have more interest in providing knowledge than hoarding it like a miser.”

She is already in the portal, already typing in her password. “You know,” she says, watching the page load, “this is how you get taken advantage of.”

A quiet chuckle. He swirls his coffee. “That is not how I see it.”

Her name, her address, tuition staring her down. Just one step left. “Then how do you?”

A pause. The faintest crease of his brow. He makes a contemplative sound, like someone tasting a dish they can’t quite identify. “Less about being taken advantage of,” he finally decides, “and more about taking care of someone. Right now, for instance, I would very much like to take care of you.”

Now she feels a little sheepish, mumbling, “I need your credit card,” like a grifter who suddenly has to confront the mechanics of grifting.

Because she, much like Emmrich, has a tragic inability to shut the fuck up, she keeps going, determined to personally escort this moment straight into the gutter. “You shouldn’t do that for someone you just met,” she adds, helpfully, like an absolute idiot who has no idea how to accept generosity without immediately trying to light it on fire.

“Allow me the dignity,” he says mildly, “of deciding what I should and should not do.”

He slides the card across the table. No hesitation. No need to fetch his wallet. No moment of deliberation.

Interesting.

This means he had already decided. Before this conversation, before she even woke up. Sometime this morning—perhaps while buttoning his exquisitely pressed shirt, perhaps while staring pensively into his overpriced mirror—he had apparently thought, Ah, yes, let me deepen my commitment to reckless philanthropy. Let me turn my casual acquaintance into a full-fledged tax deduction.

She wonders who in this sordid pas de deux is the greater object of pity: him, solemnly presenting his credit card like some banner of surrender, an apology for what he appears to consider a disastrous campaign in the coital theater (something, something, let me financially compensate you for last night’s tragic case of whiskey dick) or her, contemplating the thing with the twitchy, covetous gaze of a sewer rat glimpsing a discarded éclair.

Well.

Far be it from her to stand in the way of such noble self-destruction. She has, after all, just enough self-awareness to recognize when the universe drops a solid gold horse into her lap and suggests she take it for a leisurely gallop. So, suppressing whatever misguided instinct she has to earn things, she grabs the credit card with the dignity of a pickpocket swiping a wallet in broad daylight—slightly clammy-fingered, vaguely ashamed, but absolutely taking it.

He watches her take it, something unbearably kind in his expression. “Remind me,” he requests, “how did Bellara describe me?”

She doesn’t even look up as she enters the numbers. “Smells good.” Expiration date. “Rich.” Security code. “Lonely.”

“Touché,” he murmurs, setting down his cup with a small, satisfied clink. “But let us be thorough. Add ‘lacking good sense’ to the list.”

The portal flashes an acknowledgment in a smug little strip of green. Payment processed. Accepted. She has, in the eyes of the institution, paid her dues.

She keeps looking at the screen for a moment, then past it, through the window, before her eyes land on his laptop wallpaper: his dog, sitting obediently in front of a flower bed, looking irritatingly photogenic.

She wants to kiss him. To say thank you. To do something appropriately grateful for a moment like this. But, unfortunately, she is not sentimental. Or rather, she isn’t sentimental anymore.

Sentimentality turns you into a dreamer, and she is no longer in the business of dreaming. Because when you’re a dreamer, you dream, and when those dreams don’t materialize—when they give you a wink, steal your wallet, and skip town—you’re left standing there like a dumbass, wondering how you got scammed by your own imagination.

Also, there’s the unfortunate fact that kissing him right now would look alarmingly like she is handing out physical affection in exchange for goods and services. Which—well. Technically. But also, no. She might have questionable motives, a flexible sense of morality, and a general disregard for order, but she likes to think she is at least one step above that. At the very least, if she’s going to kiss him, it should be for the right reasons. Like, for example, the fact that she wants to.

"Thank you," she says, deliberately avoiding his eyes and focusing, instead, on his shoulder, which has suddenly become an object of great fascination. A truly remarkable shoulder. The pinnacle of fine fabric and bone structure. A shoulder so riveting, so compelling, that it is absolutely necessary she study it in detail rather than acknowledge whatever this moment is trying to turn into.

She doesn’t want him to think too much of it. She also wants to do it anyway.

So, with great finality, she shuts the laptop, sealing away the dangerous possibility of sincerity, and tiptoes toward him, suddenly acutely aware of the cold tiles beneath her feet, the way every step lands just a little too carefully, as if she’s trying to sneak past her own mawkishness.

"Thank you," she repeats, and, before her brain can interfere, she takes his face in her hands, tilts it up, and kisses the corner of his mouth, light and quick.

His hands close around her wrists and, of course, he begins to speak.

“As I have already said,” he starts, and oh, here it comes, the intellectual dissection of his own inadequacies, “I am quite aware of my limitations, and I do not imagine myself to be the kind of man you would naturally consider. However…” A pause. A dramatic little inhale. “Perhaps I can offer you stability.”

She needs him to shut up. Immediately.

She does not want to blush, does not want to feel warm and tender and whatever horrible, unacceptable, mushy thing is currently trying to jelly-up her spine. She refuses to be some meek, trembling thing, undone by his ridiculously well-articulated generosity.

So she kisses his cheek, then his lips, and if he insists on continuing, he can do so inside her mouth.

The good thing about kissing someone you just shared coffee with is that you don’t taste it; two equally caffeinated forces canceling each other out. What she does taste, however, is his tongue, which is, inexplicably, soft. Softer than she remembers. Suspiciously soft. The kind of soft that suggests he not only brushes his teeth but also, without a doubt, scrubs his tongue. Just like that, mid-kiss, she is struck with the realization that she should probably be doing the same.

Eventually, Emmrich stands, and just like that, the dynamic shifts; no longer is she leaning over him, keeping him captive in his chair; now he’s the one towering over her. The kiss drives her back, step by step, until her thighs bump against the table. He gives her a small, wordless tap, a silent suggestion, and she obeys without thinking, hopping onto the surface blindly. The cups protest with a delicate clink-clink-clink as the impact shudders through them.

He pulls away, and she takes in the details: the flush of his lips, the slow blink of his eyes, the way, almost absentmindedly, he lifts a strand of her hair to his nose, breathing her in before tracing a path of kisses up her cheek, to her ear, to the very tip of it.

"Do you want to pick up where we left off yesterday?" she asks, and for once, for the first time in her sorry life, she wishes she could inject some actual emotion into her voice.

Normally, sounding like a soulless cunt is a feature, not a bug. Keeps expectations low, deters unnecessary social interaction, and, much like a well-deployed resting bitch face, acts as an industrial-strength shield against men who think a smirk and a you’d be prettier if you smiled counts as flirting.

But right now, she is, tragically, attempting to be sexy. Or something in that general category. And yet, against all odds, she still sounds less like a woman seducing a man and more like a weary call center employee offering him one last chance to extend his car’s warranty.

Emmrich kisses her cheek again, humming against her skin. Murmurs, ever the gentleman, "If you would be amenable."

She snorts. "I would be amenable, yes." Who could resist such an old-world proposition?

Her hands find his belt, tugging him closer. He steps between her legs, and she tips her head back, offering up her neck like some sacrificial lamb—one that is, admittedly, rather enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. He takes the invitation immediately, kissing a slow path up and down, his hands wandering from her back to her waist, to the front of the robe, pausing briefly before sneaking inside. Skin meets skin, his palm cups her breast, and when she sighs, he does too; his melting into hers, hers swallowing his.

He lets out a high, lovely little sound when she grinds against him, half yelp, half moan, entirely pleased, before pulling her toward the edge of the table. Not roughly, not even urgently, just effectively, like adjusting the position of a beaker in a lab.

"May I?" he asks, absurdly polite, as if requesting permission to adjust the tilt of a painting. His fingers hover near the tie at her waist, patient, careful, prepared to wait an eternity if she so much as hesitates.

She nods, quick and jerky, because language has officially abandoned her. Heat crawls up her neck, floods her ears, spreads down her chest, pooling low, deep, hot enough that she swears even her knees feel it.

And now she understands why he wanted her half-hanging off.

Emmrich sinks down, positioning himself between them until his mouth is at her thigh. His lips press there, just lightly, just once. Chaste, if it weren’t there. His breath is warm, the tip of his nose barely brushing, a ridiculous, insignificant little thing, except that it isn’t.

Inevitably, with no grand announcement, no hesitation, his mouth settles against her cunt. She gasps, a short, humiliating thing, because there is no preparing for it, for the way his lips catch, for the heat of him, for the way he seems entirely undisturbed by the fact that he is currently kneeling on the kitchen floor between her legs while she clutches the wood grain of the table like it’s about to launch her into the fucking stratosphere.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth, and, with a frankly heroic level of restraint, manages to say, "Oh gods," instead of screaming it, instead of yanking at his hair, instead of shouting, holy shit, this is actually happening, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Then she feels his fingers. A touch up the inside of her thigh. Higher, higher, a little higher still, pressing lightly against her, sliding through her slick and swollen folds, gathering everything, coating themselves completely before pushing inside.

She claws at his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to come back up, and he does, rises, leans in, smiling, kissing her chin. She tilts her head for him, unable to say anything, just panting into his mouth as he kisses her again, as his fingers stroke, curl, move.

She fucks herself on them the way she did last night, except this time she doesn’t have to be quiet. This time there’s no one to hear them. But she doesn’t know how to be loud, how to moan and sigh and keen in a way that’s attractive, so she just moves, just shivers, just thrusts against his hand, presses her face into his neck when he shifts his wrist, and—

Oh gods—

"Let's move," she rushes out, too fast, too sharp, because, unfortunately, an absolutely tragic cramp is forming in her ankle, and she refuses to let a minor muscular rebellion ruin this.

Another kiss. Hurried, fleeting, just a punctuation mark between her hopping off the table and their mindless trek back to his room. Just long enough for her to taste herself on his lips.It makes her giggle, high and a little unhinged; it’s hardly the most depraved thing in the grand scheme of debauchery, and yet, somehow, it still is.

This time, when he lies over her—kissing her, being kissed in return—it's all lips. Wet, then dry, then chapped, then wet again, teeth occasionally knocking. And this time, she feels him. Feels the outline of his cock through his trousers, the warmth, the shape of it. She reaches down, presses her palm against him, and smiles when he shivers. Does it again. Each time, he rocks into her hand, helplessly eager.

"Rook, Rook," he gasps, catching her wrist to stop it. Sheepish, he adds, "A little slower, darling, or it will be over much too quick."

"Ah," she says, mercifully relenting. "I don’t care, I don’t care." Why is she saying it twice? Who knows. "It'll still be miles better than the clusterfuck I told you about."

At this, his eyes immediately lurch to the left.

"There has been," he swallows, "no one since?"

"No one," she confirms.

And now his eyes dart hard to the right. At this rate, they might just pop out of his skull entirely, and then she’ll have to deal with the awkward logistics of catching them mid-air and pressing them back into their sockets.

"We can, we can," he stammers, "take things slowly."

The way he says can has a distinct whiff of should, and frankly, she is not in the mood for whatever moral crisis he’s about to spiral into. Emmrich is perfectly free to disassociate or have a deep, introspective moment about the sanctity of human connection—on his own time. But not here. Not now. Not when she is finally, finally about to get laid like a normal, functional adult.

So, no. Absolutely not. And she tells him as much—"No."—before shoving her tongue down his throat like she’s trying to personally realign his moral compass through his tonsils. Just to really drive the point home, she gives his cock another thoroughly encouraging squeeze. For posterity.

He clearly takes care of himself; lean, tall, the kind of body that suggests an active lifestyle but also a healthy respect for good food and a decent mattress. Still, he’s older—not old, but older—and she sees it in the slight narrowness of his chest, the soft give of his stomach as she undresses him. It’s endearing. It’s real.

He sits back to finish peeling off the last of his clothes, and she shrugs off her, well, his, robe, watching as whatever remained between them falls away. When he moves to settle back over her, she shakes her head, presses a hand to his chest, and pushes him back down.

She climbs over him, kisses here and there. The dip of his sternum, the stretch of his throat, the slight protrusion of his Adam’s apple. Traces the faint trail of hair down his stomach, following it lower, lower, between his thighs, all the way down to his knees. Biscuit knees, her mind helpfully, uselessly supplies. The kind that would absolutely shatter on impact if he ever fell. Then again, given his height, it would take him a solid three to five business days to actually hit the ground, so maybe it’s a non-issue.

She strokes his cock, careful not to squeeze too hard, which is already more strategic planning than she usually applies to anything. She even attempts some fancy little wrist maneuver; something she thinks she saw once, something that looks very professional in theory, but immediately cramps up like a fucking amateur.

But that’s fine. She has two hands. And she highly doubts Emmrich, currently sprawled out in front of her, will object to her switching tactics. Now, now she actually feels it. The weight of him, the heat, the way the veins on the underside swell under her palm as he thickens, blood rushing in, skin growing taut and flushed.

She leans down, takes the head into her mouth, licks the salt and musk from his skin; clean, warm, threaded faintly with soap. Gathers spit and lets it drip down his length, then strokes him again, watching the slickness ease the motion, watching the way his hips jerk, his cock pushing eagerly into the tight, wet tunnel of her hand.

She does it again. Once more. Loosens her grip, then constricts it, watching the way the blood surges through him, the way the head reddens, leaks more freely, twitches under her touch. And when she leans once more, swallowing him until the blunt head of him brushes the back of her throat, she barely has time to register the fingers threading into her hair before he’s pulling her off. Not forcefully—Emmrich is nothing if not maddeningly careful—but enough that she knows to stop.

She relents, dragging her mouth off him with a slow suction, admiring the slick sheen of her spit stretch between them before finally breaking.

He settles back over her, and for a while, he just strokes her. He doesn’t even need to wet his fingers; she’s already slick enough that they slide inside easily. But patience is not her virtue, and soon enough, she’s shifting, pressing, urging him on.

He exhales, soft yet jittery, then withdraws just long enough to search the nightstand. His fingers shake—barely, but enough for her to notice—as he pulls out a condom, struggles briefly with the wrapper, lips pressing together in the slightest show of frustration before he finally rolls it down his cock.

She doesn’t wait. Yanks him back in, suddenly way too eager, her blood running way too hot. His cheeks are painted pink, and for some reason, she really, really wants to lick them. Or rather, the cheekbones specifically. High, protruding, and—what’s the word? Aristocratic.

So she does. Just drags her tongue along the bone and, immediately, laughs, breathless, right into his cheek.

"You smell so, so good," she murmurs, voice hazy, pleased.

It would probably read as corny in a novel, she thinks. The way his thumbs brush over her cheeks, the softness of the kiss that follows, how everything is patient, unhurried, careful. His hand moves between them, wrapping around himself, guiding his cock to her entrance.

She feels it before anything else—the smooth, warm press of him against her clit, the slow, teasing glide downward, the subtle shift in his grip as he angles himself just right. And then—pressure. A steady push, inch by inch, stretching her open. It isn’t pain, not exactly, just a deep, foreign ache, something unfamiliar, something to adjust to.

Above her, Emmrich shudders, exhales hard against her skin, his face buried in the curve of her neck.

"Rook," he breathes, then again, and again, voice unraveling, a lovely, little litany against her throat, Rook, Rook, Rook, like her name is something essential.

He finds a rhythm, and now—now—it really starts to feel good. The steady drag of his cock inside her, pushing deeper with every roll of his hips. He’s whispering something, words she barely catches, low and breathless, something sweet, something kind, though it barely registers past the heat pooling in her stomach. One of his hands moves over her, palms her breast, fingers pinching lightly at her nipple, sliding down, lower, pressing over her stomach like he’s feeling himself inside her before slipping between her legs.

A slow stroke over her clit, then another, massaging, circling, his pubic bone grinding into her with every thrust, a perfect friction, a sharp little pulse of pleasure each time his hips press flush against hers. Her toes curl, a smile forms. The sound that slips from her mouth is more desperate than she wants it to be; a mewl, something high, something needy, and he hears it, because it has an effect on him.

His hips snap harder against hers, the rhythm shifts, deepens, the sounds between them getting louder, and it’s good, fuck, it’s good, until suddenly it isn’t. A sharp pressure, too much, too deep, something inside her clenching in a way that isn’t pleasure at all.

“Hold on, hold on,” she gasps, legs tightening around his hips to stop him from pushing any further. "Just... Can you not move for a second?"

He stills instantly, breath hot against her skin, his cock buried deep, his body held in place by the tight grip of her thighs. "Did I—?"

"You're sort of..." she begins before cutting herself of. How do people say this sexily? Seductively? In a way that doesn’t make it sound like she’s filing a noise complaint? She gives up. Goes for bluntness. "Long."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, a tad hoarse, moving to pull out. "I'm sorry."

She doesn’t let him. Her arms tighten around him before he can go anywhere, legs wrapping firmer around his hips, holding him inside. She arches, moves against him, slow, rolling little circles with her hips so his cock isn’t thrusting so much as gliding, caressing her from the inside.

She gasps as she finds the spot he’s already rubbed raw, the one that made her thighs tremble when he had her spread open on his kitchen table. Heat surges through her, another rush of slick rolling around him, and he groans before settling into a slower, more controlled pace.

"Is this all right?" he asks, bracing himself on his forearms, shifting his weight to one side long enough to ease a palm beneath her head, fingers weaving into her hair.

"All right," she echoes, a smile tugging at her lips, too wide, too much, barely able to contain the sheer rightness of it. "So, so all right."

It doesn’t take long before she feels it. His breath catching, his hips starting to stutter, the rhythm breaking into something messier, inconsistant. A shudder travels through him, down his spine, his body pressing flush to hers, a quiet, choked noise escaping his lips as one hand finds purchase beneath her knee, pulling her closer.

"I'm afraid it has been a while," he admits, breath hitching between ragged little half-moans. "I will not be able to—"

"Come," she interrupts, fingers threading through his hair.

She moves with him, against him, tilting her hips to chase every last bit of friction she can get, feeling herself clench, flutter around him, sighing in time with the erratic jingle-jingle of his bracelets, the sound intertwining with the pulse between her legs.

She feels the heat of his release, the way his breath stutters into a quiet, helpless whine as he rides it out, still moving, though his thrusts grow slower, lazier, his body gradually yielding to exhaustion. She feels the steady, insistent thud of his heartbeat—against her chest, inside her, everywhere—before he finally stills, the weight of him pressing down for just a moment before he lifts himself slightly.

He kisses her, languid and deep, the kind of kiss that lingers in the space between wakefulness and sleep, his eyes drifting shut as if he could rest right here, against her. Without opening them, asks, "How would you like to finish?"

"What?" she says, dazed, the word barely formed as he kisses his way down her neck, over her breasts, his tongue dragging, teeth catching, lips closing over every sensitive inch he can reach. It’s a stupid question, made even stupider by the fact that she has no idea what she’s even asking.

His hand curls around her knee, pushing it outward, widening the angle until the muscles in her inner thighs stretch, taut and trembling. Then his mouth is on her, lips raw from all the kissing but quickly slicked as his tongue glides through the heat of her, lapping up the mess between her legs.

A sharp jerk in her thighs, the involuntary arch of her back, the sudden, helpless stutter of her breath breaking apart into something that is almost a keen but not quite. Just a strangled sound she doesn’t have the presence of mind to control.

Two fingers spread her folds, slick and flushed, pulsing with every aching throb of blood beneath her skin. His thumb presses down on her clit, firm but careful, at the same moment his tongue pushes inside, slipping past the entrance, licking up everything his cock dragged out, pleasure wet and tacky and slippery.

The heat of his mouth moves with purpose; his tongue curling, stroking, fucking her open between warm breaths and the quiet vibrations of his humming, the sound sending little sparks of sensation straight through her. Praise spills from his lips, soft and slurred and half-formed, slipping between flicks of his tongue, as though every slow, wet drag is a conversation, a promise, a confession whispered straight into the slick, trembling heat of her cunt. Good, lovely, darling—words lost between the obscene suck of his mouth and the way he eats her, like he means every syllable, like he wants her to feel them inside her just as much as his tongue.

Her breath wheezes, her legs tense, her slick drips down over his chin as she grinds helplessly against his mouth, overstimulated, wrung out, gone.

It's the praise that finally pushes her over. It’s not earth-shattering. It's not the kind of orgasm that tears through her in some great, cinematic crescendo. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t see stars, doesn’t arch like some desperate, pornographic thing. No, this one is different. It creeps in slowly, melts her from the inside out, something deep and final, something that leaves her limp and spent and done.

Maybe, just maybe, this is what a proper one is supposed to feel like. Not leaving her restless and ready to go again, but making her tender, sweating, like even the brush of a hand against her ankle would be too much.

He keeps working her through it, lets her ride it out as long as she needs, until she’s limp and tired, nothing but heat and pulse beneath him. Only then does he finally ease away, planting one last kiss against the inside of her thigh before moving back up, his mouth slick and shining, cheeks flushed.

He says something, but she doesn’t catch it before he slips away. The sound of running water drifts from the bathroom, and when he returns, it’s with a damp hand towel, which he presses between her legs, cleaning her up before setting it aside.

"Thank you," she breathes.

He makes a sound, not quite a word, more of a hum, something deeply pleased. If a smile could be heard, that’s what it would sound like. Then he leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead, and climbs back into bed beside her.

It’s morning. They should probably get on with their respective days, but she has no interest in leaving the warmth of the bed just yet. So, instead, she pulls the covers up over them, settling deeper into the cocoon of lingering heat.

"How early did you get up?" she asks suddenly. "You weren’t here when I woke up."

"A quarter past five," Emmrich says, and there it is again—that small, almost bashful glance as he takes her hand. She rolls into him, content to leech off his warmth.

"Criminal," she declares. "But at least that explains why you weren’t there."

"Oh, I wasn’t beside you at all, I’m afraid. That would have been Manfred. He refused to be displaced."

"Ah. Hence the mouthful of hair."

#Thedas has breathing exercises #but the modern world has anxiety medication #and emmrich needs all of it #rook's a rat and she knows it #but even rats deserve to have their tuition paid #this one is ahem smutty so yeah #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #as a side note I can't believe we made emmrich smut a widely used tag lmfao love that for us #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age emmrich

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ca-suffit · 1 year ago

Note

sorry how long this is, but this fandom is pissing me off so much and I need to rant a little before I explode lol.

-- madeleine (nonchalantly) says of sleeping with a literal nazi, "I was inviting a frightened boy to cradle my tits," and then when louis turns her we see this as a pleasant memory, and I'm supposed to believe someone who could take pity on a nazi (even if he "wasn't dedicated to the cause") and remember him fondly isn't going to be racist? so I'm the weird one for finding claudeine to be a gross ship and being exasperated by seeing edits of them flood my dash? and every time I talk about this on ANY platform, I mostly get ignored and the few people who do interact w my posts are denying it and saying she had to do it to survive, as if she didn't also literally say she grew up rich like 30 seconds prior.

-- a decent chunk of the anti lestat crowd insists he participated in the trial as an act of revenge and can't say his name w/o talking about how they hate him (bc his racism + abuse), and these are the same people going apeshit over ben daniels saying that santiago was gay and in love with armand, as if he isn't one of the most antiblack characters we've met on the show bc he was quite literally eager to put on the trial solely bc he hated louis for falling asleep during one of his performances. and don't get me started on his monologue about claudia's ashes. and yet ppl are excitedly eating ben's interview up. 🙄

-- the narrative literally showing us that lestat has changed since the attempted murder (going off script on the trial in defense of louis & claudia, taking accountability for his abuse, staying silent about the fact that he was the one to save louis & letting him leave w armand when we know how terrifying being alone is for lestat, spending decades living in that shack and eating rats to punish himself vs the hedonistic & decadent lifestyle we saw him living in s1) and the anti lestat crowd claiming this is just him being manipulative and are furious that the writers had louis forgive him. like normally I agree that it's in very poor taste to paint an abuser as sympathetic, but the thing about this show is that these characters are immortal and have all the time in the world to change. like this isn't the writers sweeping it under the rug, they're explicitly acknowledging how horrific lestat's behavior was and there are literally canon glimpses showing us that lestat has become a better person (and I'm sure this will be fleshed out more next season as we'll get his pov) and, like, isn't it a good thing to see an abusive character realize the error of their ways and alter their behavior and become better????? like it's fair to not want to see that, but this is the wrong show to be watching if you can't handle seeing abusers change their ways & being forgiven by the people they've hurt (especially since it's pretty much confirmed armand/daniel is going to happen at some point and given I'm sure they'll be circling around each other, I feel confident that louis will eventually forgive armand too)

ur fine, u can rant! I have a lot in my inbox but I try to get to it all eventually in whatever way.

idk how much u wanted me to comment on anything or not, but I'm gonna add comments and u do whatever u want with it.

a) ur never going to have an easy time criticizing a white woman in fandom. it reflects too much of what fandom is usually made up of and ppl will usually tell u it's misogyny to judge these characters if u ever try (most of the time it's not, but that's a convenient excuse to shut down convos).

the show intentionally makes everyone do p questionable shit, especially the white characters. it doesn't tell u how to feel about it, that's up to u. that makes ppl uncomfortable. it goes further too when it is someone like madeleine, who is otherwise seen in positive ways. it's reflective of real life and that's what scares ppl the most. nobody ever fits in a box of only "good" or "bad." a lot of what the book for IWTV asks too is what defines that anyways? and S1 also said "are we the sum of our worst moments?" so it is constantly asking u that and it is for u to decide and reflect on.

b) white, gay stuff is also gonna be popular in fandoms. ben daniels is also gay irl and his husband just died so there's crossover from that to praising his character bcuz ppl feel sympathy for him. I also think ppl detach more from his actions bcuz he's not romantically linked to the characters he's torturing. ppl also just honestly dgaf about antiblackness anyways so for most ppl it's easy to overlook. which is how we get posts like this.

I mean, u can also like whatever characters u like for any reason. some ppl like characters not bcuz they support what they do, but bcuz they're just enjoyable to watch in performance or connection to the plot or whatever. I think examining santiago after what ben said about his performance is something ppl should be able to do, and again it circles back to the stuff I wrote for madeleine. where does ur (general u) discomfort lie and why? as u said, if it's ppl who dislike lestat then it's worth looking at that too, why are the characters different then?

c) there's sort of 2 things happening for this part. the first is that 2x8 did have pacing issues, for whatever reasons. a lot of ppl felt like it flattened the plot and characters for the sake of making lestat look the best (over armand) and rly shoving it in out of nowhere. the second part is what u said about the themes. I've always figured they were going to explore forgiveness and personal growth, but I also know it isn't going to be easy for ppl to follow. hopefully the full seasons coming do a better job of this but for 2x8 there were a lot of reasons ppl felt crazy about the way it was shown to us. I also agree that other characters will have these journeys with each other too. it was just such a sharp turn for S2 to end on highlighting the white character we've otherwise seen as being p horrible and suddenly saying "it's the brown character who rly did the worst!" I don't think they intended to come across like that but it's how it landed for a lot of ppl. it doesn't mean ppl have an issue with the concept of forgiveness and stuff otherwise. we'll have to see how it goes. but ya there's 2 things going on there for this rn.

#asks #interview with the vampire #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #amc iwtv #iwtv 2022 #madeleine eparvier #santiago #lestat de lioncourt

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copias-juicebox · 2 years ago

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It's a Sin Chapter 2

Part 1 | Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x fem! Reader Words: 5144 Genre: romance, angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, SLOWBURN Warnings: explicit languge, violence, abuse, age gap, smut (in the upcoming chapters blabla)

Notes: so i finally got to write down the next part. I am sorry it took so long. Been procrastinating for ages. I was very insecure to write this but i actually found a very sweet soul here to help me. This is why i have decided to dedicate this chapter to the lovely @fishwithtitz. Literally an angel (or demon idk) sent from up or down. However she helped me soooo much writing this and without her you would not be reading this now. So huge kudos and all the love and appreciation for this amazing woman. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 (you should check out her works she is such a wonderful writer.)

18 years. It had been 18 long years since the night you ran away. The last time you were in your hometown was nearly two decades ago. And now, you are back.

It was so long ago, you barely even remembered the night at all. In your mind, there was just that awful night that resulted in your parents sending you away to learn the discipline they tried to beat into you, mentally and sometimes even physically. The dreadful day you wanted to forget so badly. Remembering that day and the following consequences had a shiver run down your spine. It left you with many scars mentally and you avoided thinking about it.

The school your parents chose for you was a few hours away from your home. It turned out to be an all girls school, run by catholic nuns that would enforce their teaching in only one way. “The way of God“ they always said.

You and all the other young girls had to learn what the nuns taught. The school followed the curriculum like any other school. Mathematics, language arts, science (even if many scientific facts were altered to fit the catholic beliefs), social studies and fine arts. Of course they taught everything from a catholic root and some of the subjects were taught in a very traditional way. Special courses in Bible work and Latin were forced on the students every afternoon. Even the fine arts like music and visual art they kept to a stern regulation. Any indication of „unholyness“ in the themes would be followed by extra bible lessons and hours spent in prayer with the Sister on duty. Nonetheless, your parents would not have sent you here if it were not run by catholic women in service of God. Like all the other girls, you had to obey the many arbitrary rules they set up. If you did not, they made sure you and everyone else were punished in quite severe ways. The nuns could be harsh and unforgiving. One time, a group of girls were found outside after curfew and they had to face the stick and had been locked away for a week.

In the beginning, you had a hard time— but you learned fast and they rarely found you breaking the rules in your later years. That did not mean you just rarely broke them, of course. You just had to be clever about it. Luckily, you were intelligent and learned to maneuvre your way the world. As they say “learn to swim, or you will drown.“ It was hard of course. You honestly tried to be a good girl. You told no lies, and that was when it would become very hard for you to stick to the teachings of the church since the nuns would ask you if they were suspicious of your actions. You always told them half truths. Enough to please them but never telling them nearly enough because that would get you hit with a paddle, your dinner forgone for days and hours of disciplinary work with the nuns to make you find your way back to God. The irony behind their words was never lost on you, only making your and everyone longing for freedom from God stronger.

As a girl, living in a world ruled by men and women acting in service of mankind, you had no say in your future. Your career was chosen long before you could even imagine working at some time in your life. So as soon as you settled into your new school, a nun called Sister Angela would ask you to help her in the infirmary. You were supposed to learn everything from a young age to later become a nurse. Sister Angela was an old and very strict sister. But you found she was actually very kind and warm inside. She was the closest thing you got to a mother figure in your new life so far away from your home. She taught you everything you knew. Everything about the school and the church that ruled over it.

She was very understanding when you were in your teenage years and even helped you once in a while when you were close to facing punishment for not doing your assigned chores in time for the 3rd time in a week. Without her, you might have ended up in a way worse condition than you luckily did. Some nights she was your rock in the waves, supporting you when you needed someone.

Luckily, your new occupation became a passion. You had always been happy to help anyone in need. No matter how. As long as you could help, you would nearly do anything to make other people’s lives easier. A people pleaser. That earned you a lot of praise in the later years from the people in town who got to benefit from your goodhearted nature many times over the years. That was the best feeling in the world — to be appreciated for your work filled you with happiness and it made your heart swell with pride.

After you graduated, you chose to pursue volunteer work on the streets. Helping others in need felt like your calling, and your parents were very happy about it. Working there for a few months gave you time to meet new people, and one day, a man came to you. He explained to you that he was working for a non profit organisation, and if you were interested, he could help you find a job. He would just need to know what your conditions were, and he would try to find a place that would be in dire need of a nurse.

You had been very grateful since you were in need of a job soon anyway. The volunteer work filled you with contentment, but you had to pay bills and your savings were wearing thin. You contacted him and told him that you would like to work somewhere for a church. You told him that you were not too picky, as long as you got your own room.

A few days later, he called you back telling you he found one place that was in desperate need of a nurse and under good conditions as well. It was an old church in a secluded area. They were offering to cover your living expenses, housing, food was inclusive, and they would pay you well enough. One extra perk they offered was that you could take courses in literature or arts for those who liked it. You were pleased to see that the church was located in the very same town you called your home, and since it was a church, you knew your parents would be supporting you to work there. „The Emeritus Church“ was what the guy on the phone said. You‘d never heard of that church before, but you figured it was a place of retired church officials and since you knew the older generation was not fond of electronic devices, you did not think too much of it when you did not find their website mentioned on the list of official catholic churches in your hometown.

You happily accepted the offer and tomorrow was the big day — the day you would start your first day as a nurse in the church.

You stood in front of the train station now. You could no longer live with your parents since they had moved away to another town 40 minutes away and a Sister, Sister Hannah from the Church with whom you had been writing, told you there would be a car to escort you to your new workplace. You were never that nervous in your life. Sister Hannah told you it would be a black Mercedes. She would be there waiting with the driver, and after a short period of time, you spotted a black S-Class rolling into your view.

The car came to halt in front of you and the door on the passenger side opened. A beautiful woman got out of the car. She was about your age you assumed. She wore a black habit and a big smile. As she approached you, the first thing that caught your attention were her shining grey-coloured eyes.

„Hello there. I am Sister Hannah. You might just call me Hannah if you like. You must be our new nurse — and a pretty one at that.“ She started with a warm smile, already fully aware you were the newest member in the ministry. When she stood before you, she extended a hand for you to shake. You smiled at her and took her hand giving her your name.

„It is nice to meet you, Sister Hannah. Yes it is me, I guess.“ you responded with your own smile.

„Wonderful. I am so glad you are here now. Let us not wait for too long here and get your stuff inside the car then. I want to show you a lot today.“

You nodded and began to lift your heavy bags off the ground when Hannah stopped you. „Oh no love don‘t do that I can let the Ghoul carry your stuff you need not to worry about it.“ She was already back at the car speaking to the driver.

You stared at her a bit lost. Did she just call the driver a ghoul? Poor guy might not have an angels face but surely there as no reason to call the poor thing a ghoul was it? Before you could think about it any longer a man opened up the door and walked in your direction. You stared at him wide eyed, not moving an inch when you saw he was actually wearing a silver mask that covered his whole head. The mask had little horns on top and underneath he seemed to wear a black balaclava that covered up his whole face so you could not even see his eyes. Just the mouth was free and he stopped right in front of you, tilting his head to the side.

Sister Hannah was next to you in a heartbeat. „So, this is our new nurse, Swiss. You better behave around her, yeah? Don‘t want me to complain about it to Papa again, right?“

The masked man in front of you turned his head sharply to Sister Hannah at that and just as sharply he looked back at you giving you a big teethy smile, motioning for your bags. You had not realized, but you were holding your bags in a death-like grip. The whole situation was so bizarre.

You gave the odd guy whose name was Swiss your bags. „Oh no, they are quite heavy, you should not carry them all at once.“ He took the heavy bags like they weighed nothing and carried them to the trunk of the car. That was impressive. He did not look like a specifically muscular guy, but you decided to brush it off when Hannah spoke up next to you.

„Perfect, so then let us get going, yeah?“ You followed her to the car and slid into the black soft leather seat behind the passenger where Sister Hannah sat down. The car was very expensive you could tell. The interior was very clean and stylish and the upholstery was not too hard and not too soft. It was very comfortable. This church was very well off you thought.

„So, tomorrow is your first official day, so today we have enough time to get you settled in. I am going to show you around the ministry and maybe we can even get a glimpse of Papa before you officially meet him tomorrow,” She exclaimed, giving you a wink.

„Ah yes that sounds wonderful. I‘d love to see the place and get used to it a bit before I have to put all my energy in the job. But uh..“ you hesitated a bit not sure how you were going to ask her.

Hannah felt your hesitation „Before I forget. Please feel free to ask me anything ok. Or if something is bothering you I am always there with open ears ok?“

You contemplated her words. „Okay uh.. you know, I was just wondering, you mentioned Papa?“ you asked with confusion in your voice.

„Oh you know Papa Emeritus the Third, sweetheart! This is actually his ministry. Even though the Cardinal runs the place mostly. But surely you heard about it.“ Hannah added.

„Uh, no, I actually don‘t know any of these people you‘ve mentioned.“ you muttered.

At that she turned around in her seat, facing you with a questioning look in her eyes.

„Oh you don‘t? I am sorry but how..?“ She contemplated for a bit. „Wait, are you..?“ She stopped mid sentence. „I need to ask you this now. You are a sister of Sin right?“

You locked eyes with her and furrowed your brows. Did she just say ‚Sister of Sin‘? The following silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. None of you spoke, yet none of you looked away. That silence was only broken when Hannah started laughing out hysterically. „Oh Satan this is good. I mean oh I don‘t mean to be rude but this is probably the funniest thing to happen all year.“ You could not help yourself but start laughing along. Whenever there was something utterly ridiculous you could not stay serious. Doesn‘t matter how significant and bad a situation might be if it was just all too crazy you couldn‘t help yourself.

„Oh my God are you actually serious?“ you giggled.

„I mean, yeah. Ugh, this is so funny.“ she still could not contain her laughter. After a moment she calmed down and began again. „Okay sis, so here is the thing. I will get straight to the point: we are the ministry of Papa Emeritus the Third. I am a declared Sister of Sin and we are worshiping Satan.“

Her words left you speechless. You visibly gulped when you heard her speak of a satanic church. The church you were going to work in. It all left a bitter taste on your tongue and you were uncertain of your choices now. Was it all a bad idea to come here? Should you just run for your life? You were lost and remained still.

She gazed at you unsure of your reaction. „I hope you are not too shocked to hear that your new workplace is literally a satanic church, but I can assure you we are not what you have heard about us. There is no cruelty or sacrificing animals or whatever horror stories are rumored out on the streets. And I deeply hope that you are not going to quit now that you know about our beliefs.“ She begged and looked at you with puppy dog eyes. „I mean, we really need you sister. And we are actually very nice people, you know. I know our reputation is bad, but we believe in equality and justice. Our beliefs are truly well intended and I hope you can at least try and see for yourself, right?“

You just stared at her bewildered, still processing what you‘d heard. You were shocked to hear that. All your life you had only ever heard about them. They perform dark rituals asking for selfish powers. Committing sins, doing the devils deeds, and harming others while doing so. Corrupting every innocent soul out there with immoral beliefs.

But you swore to help others, no matter what side they stood on. Your calling was to help others, and so far, Sister Hannah was actually very kind and nice to you. She made it easy to speak to her and she was very open with you, and you appreciated that. Plus, the offer was just too good not to at least give Satan a chance you thought.

You blinked once or twice, completely overwhelmed with the new piece of information you just got. Hannah waved her hand in front of your face. „Girl, are you still with us? You better not suffer from a heart attack. I don‘t know how to deal with that, you are the nurse and Papa will be mad if I kill our new nurse before she starts her official first day.“

Her words brought you back to the car and Hannah was still looking at you expectantly.

„Ah, well, that really is something new to me, but if you promise me that everyone is nice there and there won‘t be any sacrifices, then I will take a look at your ministry and make my own opinion about it, I guess.“ You decided not to tell her that you were raised strictly catholic. It would only make things more awkward if you did, and since you no longer lived with your parents, you had not practiced your religion as your parents thought you did. In fact, most of the teachings that the nuns and your parents repeated endlessly you did not agree on. They sounded wrong to you and you never understood how in this time so many believed in them. When the nuns told you to always listen to your husband no matter how nonsensical it would be because he was in charge of the woman. When they spoke of God's grace, and yet, he is the one who murdered thousands of innocents just to prove a point or punish one man who did something to anger him. It all made very little sense to you. They were preaching how to be, how to act at all times, that you should always go to church and carry Jesus in your heart. If you did not go to the masses, you‘d face punishment. They forced you and the other girls into a way of living you had not asked for. Of course you could never let anyone know you had doubts. That would only harm yourself more than it could help.

„Oh yes. Thank you. I knew right away you were a good one.“ Hannah cheered. „So now that I know where we stand I should warn you. The ministry probably looks a little intimidating to you. I don‘t know how open you are towards the dark and macabre. We are headed to the woods right now. I know what you are thinking, but really I swear on the Dark One that you have nothing to worry about.“

The road was heading to the outside of town, nearing the woods as Hannah explained to you. After a few minutes more you arrived at a huge rusty and weathered gate.

The heavy wrought iron gate was opened by another man wearing similar clothing and mask as your driver when you came closer. Behind the bars, you caught a glimpse of a huge dark coloured mansion-like building. Nearing the front gate of the main building, you watched in awe as you took in the massive, dark and brooding facade. The heavy stone bricks and intricate decorations established a gothic look of an aged, magnificent architectural house. Thick spines of ivy crawled up the sides of the stone indicating the old age of the whole construction.

The limousine stopped in front of the door and you finally got out of the car. Sister Hannah and the driver got out, and while Hannah led you to the entrance, the driver went to the trunk, pulling out your bags.

„Welcome to the ministry of Papa Emeritus the Third.“ Hannah announced cheerfully, „Swiss love, could you bring the bags inside? I will be showing our new friend here the grounds so she won‘t get lost tomorrow.“ she beamed at you and grabbed your arm linking hers with yours in the process.

As you walked to the entrance, she started explaining to you about the „chain of command“ in the ministry. „I mean, there is not really a true hierarchy. You are still very free to do whatever you want, and if you don‘t want something, you don‘t have to. But Papa is our highest ranking official, and usually we do what he asks of us. I can promise you that he would never ask you to do something you are not willing to do. He can be considered to be our ‘Pope,’ if you will…just better. Oh, and don’t fret when you see Papa for the first time. He has a uh... how should I say... ‘special’ look.“ she smirked, opening the door.

„So, this is the atrium. From here, you can get basically anywhere in the main building.“ She continued leading you around, starting from the cellar, showing you where the kitchen is located, should you ever feel the need for a late night snack, to the main floor where all the official rooms were placed. All the time she informed you about the happenings and everyday life in the ministry. Everyone was tasked with different assignments. The rotation was usually planned by the Cardinal. As the nurse you would not have to do the housework like the Brothers and Sisters of Sin since your job was far more complicated and important than theirs.

She even showed you around outside. The grounds were huge and beautiful. There was a greenhouse located at the far end of the property. Right next to that a big garden bloomed in the sunlight with pretty flowers. Most of them were dark red and black roses.

„They are Primos favourites,“ Hannah informed you when you stopped to take a closer look. “He is very fond and proud of them. So, you better not pick any, or if you do, you better not get caught.” She winked. “The lovebirds here sneak out at night and do all the nasty, sinful things in the garden, and they like to pick a rose after that as a reminder you see. Primo gets mad every time.” Hannah giggled.

The sun had begun to set and the last warm rays of sunshine warmed your skin. It was a truly magical place. You admired every old stone of the walls, every green leaf and every particle of light that cascaded down to the old walls. But like everything in this world, the day was coming to an end, and Hannah suggested you retire for the day.

“We better get you back inside now. I can show you the rest later if you like, or you could roam around on your own.” With that you both made your way back to the main building.

So far, there was nothing too unsettling about the place. The dark decorations with pentagrams and skulls everywhere would be a bit off putting if deep down you didn‘t appreciate the dark. It was one of your biggest ever secrets, but the dark, mysterious, and morbid interested you. It always had.

You and Hannah stood in front of the staircase now. „So, upstairs are the living quarters of the Brothers and Sisters, and yours would be located at the very end of the hall. I will escort you. You must be tired now, and I don‘t want to overwhelm you more than you already are.“

When you reached the top of the stairs, you saw two figures conversing with each other. One of them wore a white dress shirt under a black coat with a crucifix sewed onto the fabric on the left side of his robe. He was wearing dark dress pants accompanied by black and white shoes. The most significant visual effect he had on you was his face. He wore black and white face paint that made him appear to have a skull like head. His pitch black hair was combed back and his piercing eyes made you breathe in sharply. His left eye was white, in stark contrast to the one on the right, which appeared to be greenish. You stared at him, but he was not as unsettling as you would have imagined him to be.

Your gaze met his mesmerizing eyes as you came closer to him, and he kept his eyes on you this whole time. When both you and Hannah stopped in front of the man, she was the first to speak.

“Good evening Papa,” She bowed her head. “Cardinal?” She turned her head to the second man standing there in greeting.

“This is our new nurse. Picked her up by myself from the train station this morning. I was showing her around our ministry.” Then she turned around to you. “This is Papa Emeritus the Third.” She gestured to the man with the skull make-up and you extended your hand to him.

The hypnotizing man turned his whole body to you now, looking down at your hand and then back up into your eyes, catching your hand in his and bowing down to kiss it, all the while holding eye contact.

“La mia bella signorina. Piacere di conoscerti. You must have been sent by Lucifer himself to grace our insignificant church by your beauty.” He almost purred. “You can call me Terzo, bella.” His deep voice sent pleasant shivers down your spine. He was smooth and elegant in a way you were not prepared for. Especially considering his appearance, you were surprised to be treated so gently.

“Thank you. Papa Terzo,” You responded by giving him your name as well. That earned you a smile from him. You had no idea what the first words he spoke to you meant, but they didn’t sound harsh or distasteful. He gazed at you and kept your hand in his for a moment longer than necessary. This action had you blushing slightly. You were lost in his eyes.

Your moment was interrupted when Sister Hannah spoke up again. “And this is Cardinal Copia.”

The movement on the side broke you out of your daze and you looked to the other man. When your eyes found his, you noted they looked similar to Papa Emeritus the Third’s eyes. The left eye was alabaster, while the right eye was a soft emerald. He also wore black makeup around his eyes. He appeared to be a middle-aged man with sideburns and a pencil mustache above his lips. Scanning his face, you noted that his upper lip was also painted black. He wore a black tight cassock and an accompanying black biretta.

He fidgeted around when your eyes skimmed over his appearance for a moment and you gave him a smile. When you held out your hand to him to shake it, he hesitantly grabbed it and gave it a small shake.

“I am also very pleased to make your acquaintance,” The Cardinal muttered in a low voice, bowing down slightly. He could not hold eye contact while speaking to you, and his movement was a bit awkward. He looked down to his feet and when he came back up, his eyes were back on Terzo.

“Now, if you’d excuse us, our new nurse is very exhausted from the day and would like to retreat to her chambers to get some sleep before she officially starts tomorrow.” Hannah said in a sing-song voice and you two walked to the end of the corridor, vanishing behind the door of your new chambers.

“What a pretty flower. Satan must be very pleased with us, don't you think Cardinal?” Terzo rejoiced. “I just fear that our dear brothers and sisters will fake injuries now or intentionally hurt themselves to have her take care of them, sí?” He laughed.

Copia just nodded his head in response, stunned by the beauty of you. His head was going to be occupied by your gorgeous smile for a while. He could not help himself. Something about you seemed so familiar, but he could not pin it down and decided to brush it off for now since Terzo was still waiting for his answer on whether he was getting his mini fridge or not.

You and Sister Hannah entered your new quarters. The room was not outstanding in size or decoration but occupied everything you needed. In fact, you had some extras granted to you that the regular brothers and sisters did not have. First, you got your own rooms that you did not have to share with anyone. Your bed was significantly bigger than usual and you had your own bathroom.

“Oh my lord, you are such a lucky girl.” Hannah squealed right after she closed the door behind you. “You just met Papa, and oh Satan, isn’t he just wonderful?” She swooned. “You made me a little jealous there, not gonna lie to you. But let me warn you. Papa is very flirtatious. You shouldn’t let him get to you too much. Unless you are down for it, of course. Then ignore what I said.” She smiled. “He is very horny too, so I am just trying to inform you before you find out the hard way.” After a moment she realized how that sounded. “Oh, not that he would force himself on you, or whatever, no but his innuendos are very straightforward sometimes. I reckon that can be quite shocking.”

You sighed, plopping down on the bed. “Oh my God, this is all so much to process I feel like my brain is going to explode.” You were still very much in a state of shock and wonder. The whole thing was just so ridiculous. At some point, you thought it was all a dream, and when you woke up none of this would be real. But you knew better and this place just felt far too real. Not even your messed up mind could conjure such an odd scenario.

“Oh sis, I understand. I will leave you to yourself then. Have a good night's rest. I will pick you up tomorrow at 7. Your clothing should be in the wardrobe over there. And I think you’ll get by here in your chambers just fine, yeah?” She was already out the door when she stuck her head back inside. “By the way, sis, I am very glad you are here.” She gave you a soft, sincere smile and closed the door.

You decided to relax for the rest of the evening. After spending about ten more minutes on your bed contemplating everything that happened in the past few hours, you got up and started unpacking the necessary items from your bags. After all, you were not sure if this place was for you. Your friends would give you questioning looks if you told them where you worked, your parents would be mortified. You let out a laugh imagining them coming to the ministry with crucifixes and bottles of holy water to cleanse this place and rescue their sweet little child. No, you could never tell them.

You prepared everything for tomorrow and went to bed with a book to ease your mind. Tomorrow was going to be an eventful day.

If anyone would like I could offer to make a taglist so you would get notified for updates on this. Just let me know yes?

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shenrickyz · 10 months ago

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ARE YOU READY SPACE CADET 𖤐 ᵎ

setting 1 2 3 🪐 ─── WELCOME SPACE CADET to your new intergalactic journey! now i know it might all seem intimidating at first glance but i swear you'll get the hang of it! are you ready to save the neighboring galaxies from impending doom? .. okay.. maybe i overdid it, i'll take it easy on you, newbie things and all. you will be joining the intergalactic space team STARLIGHT CRUSH! cute name right? now don't worry about the members or if they look like they wanna kill you or if they try to punch each other in the face, it's their way of showing off their affection! woo.. okay, enough of my talking, you are now . . . CADET #094

time to blast off 🚀 ! ─── STARLIGHT CRUSH! ( スターライトクラッシュ) is a currently inactive japanese girl group debuted in 2002 by KANNEZAWA NANAMI as apart of record label gekkō collective! consisted of four very dedicated space cadets, the group rose to prominence in the early to mid 2000s for their unique concept. fighting off alien invasions and saving neighboring galaxies with their catchy tunes. the quartet, consisting of: HIMENO EIMI, NOSAKA YUINA, ASAO RYŌKA, and MAEDA HIMIKO dominated their time as a group. they carried presences that completely destroyed everyone around them, they all might seem intimidating at first glance, but they can all be harmless, just don't steal their accessories or they'll make sure it turns physical.

the group made their formal debut on march 22 2002 with the mini album ‘THE FIRST LAUNCH!’ and the single ‘LOVE REVOLUTION!’, making quite the name for themselves the moment they stepped into that studio. the girls knew what they had to do, and they did it effortlessly. having no sign of a graduation system or even signs of a contract ending in the next decade, they continued their years long journey of success, saving the neighboring galaxies with their irresistible dance tunes, wielding the stars in their palms. over the course of almost two decades, the group held their spot on the oricon charts, just up until their announced hiatus in 2021, just a year before their 20th anniversary.

now let's meet your fellow space cadets! you're going to be stuck with them in the endless void of space either way!!! am i making this better? i definitely do think i am, this is how i introduce all the newbies! so anyway CADET 094! do you think you're ready to take the challenge? will you chicken out? i can only wish you the best of luck!

WELCOME CADET 078 !

IF you know EIMI in real life, you probably either hate her or can't even comprehend that someone with such a thought process can exist. it's a well known fact that she isn't exactly the easiest to get along with, there's no single strand of hair on her head unturned, no part of her face wrinkled, not one piece of cloth left unironed, but of course, not everyone is perfect.

It was a breezy evening in November 1981 when Himeno Eimi was born to your regular working class family in Morioka, Iwate Prefecture. Life wasn't exactly terrible, it wasn't bad. Dad and mom kept smiles up enough that everything seemed fine, her younger siblings were annoying and insanely nitpicky, but she didn't exactly mind. She focused on school, trying to find her calling, trying to be something more. It wasn't fame that immediately appealed to her, it was more of.. being something. Her mother was unhappy with her life, she'd always wanted to be something more, so maybe she could be that something for her.

The idol life was never meant to be it, but as said by one of her teachers, she seemed to ‘have a face for fame’. Eimi really had no idea what she was doing when she took the long train ride from her hometown to Tokyo in May 1998, but she was given an opportunity, one she couldn't waste. Did you think this was the idol audition? So soon? Oh no! She auditioned for this cute little show named LOVE+ that totally stayed a cute little show (it actually became a national sensation), and in the blink of an eye, she was a national superstar. Apparently, she indeed did ‘have the face for fame’ as she suddenly was plastered everywhere, billboards, magazine covers, lotion bottles, you really couldn't escape her face.

Eimi played the ‘innocent actress’ role terrifically, guess she did get the job done. She charmed everyone, her male costars, interviewers, the people of Japan, even people outside of Japan themselves. She was a cultural phenomenon, even if she felt a bit undeserving of the iconography. She didn't know how to talk to anyone after the persona shut off, when she went back home after a long days worth of plastic smiles, she had no idea what to do. She still felt as if something was missing, even with the added fame.

The fame would come in the form of idolatry. You see, after she starred in the musical A Summers Rain in 2000, people learned she could sing, but only the right people decided to take advantage of a certain fact. She would be reached out to by Gekkō collective! and asked to audition for their upcoming group. She decided that it would be better to change up the scenery a bit, so she turned down upcoming acting jobs to audition for this 'weird group'. Well, you know how the story goes, she passed with flying colors! She was then placed in a dormitory with three other strangers until her eventual debut in 2002.

Now if you were to ask Eimi, she doesn't prefer either idoling over acting and vice versa, but if you know Eimi, she's also a huge liar. It was clear that, between singing and dancing on stage, in comparison to acting in cheesy romantic comedies, there was one she was particularly passionate for. It isn't to say her time in the group was perfect, because.. well, what would we be talking about if it was? We're here to talk about these girls weird lives!

Having been chosen as leader, Eimi was pretty condescending towards her members for her time in the group. She was probably over confident, she fought with everyone over stupid things such as curling irons, misplaced clothes, and stolen accessories. She was hard to get to on an emotional level if it didn't include her being drunk, she wasn't exactly the biggest partier of the group, but it didn't mean she wasn't getting up to things with other people, even if she's only ever harbored feelings for one certain person.

Eimi never really liked her fellow male idols, she was once called out by an interviewer for her ‘strange friendships with her fellow female idols’ and it really made her overthink everything about herself. Under the idol spotlight, the only way she got to explore her sexuality was barely under the watchful eye of crazy people. She could play the part on screen, but in real life? Oh she really had no idea if she liked men at all. She only survived through her whole sexuality crisis was.. and you better believe me, having a borderline relationship full of hate sex with her groupmate. She swears she doesn't like Yuina like that, no, she never liked her that. They fought about literally everything, they only liked each other for sex, there was never anything more there.

..but you should probably take those words with a grain of salt, because she still believes her feelings are unrequited. She never talks about it, and don't ask her about it, she has fists, she'll throw a fucking punch. All that aside, Eimi is a boss, so maybe don't cross her, and remember, don't stare for too long! The beauty will cause for your brain to melt!

｡。the profile !

BIRTH NAME HIMENO EIMI ( 姫野えいみ )

DATE OF BIRTH NOVEMBER 29, 1981

PLACE OF BIRTH MORIOKA, IWATE, JAPAN

NATIONALITY JAPANESE

ETHNICITY JAPANESE

HEIGHT 165 CM ( 5'5 )

BLOOD TYPE B

PORTRAYED BY NAKAMA YUKIE

WELCOME CADET 029 !

YOU can easily describe YUINA as a partier, but she is also so much more than that. she's a listener, she remembers everyone, she's always there as a readily available shoulder, she'll be a voice for you if you can't find your own. though on most cases she's hard to get through, in times of vulnerability, she's always there.

With snow decorating the ground a pure, clean white, Nosaka Yuina was born in February 1982 in a broken home nestled in Utsunomiya. Luck was never really on her side it seemed, and it seems that luck never shows up when it's meant to. Dad and mom never liked each other enough to get married, they only liked each other because they both had something they wanted from the other, it was never meant to be children, but then they forgot to wear protection once.. hence, Yuina. Unfortunately this dynamic would come to foreshadow most of her future relationships, but we really aren't there yet.

Dad left and never looked back, so ultimately, her mom was all she had left, but it wasn't exactly the best thing in the world. Her mother was suffering with a terrible alcohol addiction, an addiction that shaped most of Yuina's childhood. Her mother wasn't around, not in a present sense anyway, she got used to the mundane days where she would be passed out on the couch, she got used to staying at school until five in the afternoon because her mother forgot she even had her. She got used to do doing things herself, she got used to making excuses for her mother when she knew all too well what was happening with her.

The desire to be an idol came from the desire to be seen. She had gotten into music after her music teacher had let her borrow a guitar, performing was the only thing she could think of which would make it all better. She found comfort in her many anime posters and Akina Nakamori songs, music was her coping mechanism when her mother stayed passed out on the couch late into the night. Yuina let the music comfort her until she would find herself old enough to cop a shot in the music industry.

Yuina would be the first member of the group to audition at Gekkō collective! in 1998. She hopped on the train with her mom knowing absolutely nothing of it, not that her mind was even in the right, she probably lost her memory at that point. She auditioned with one of her favorite songs ever “Haru No Arashi” by Taeko Onuki, and passed with flying colors. Out of her mother's house and all the way in Tokyo, her life got a little better. She spent her days in school, then her evenings endlessly in the studio. She mostly got along with her two other members, but then there was Eimi, they could just never find common ground.

The debut in 2002 brought the desire to be known, she easily outweighed her members in terms of popularity, and the whole time, her mother remained oblivious. There were times when, even with the added fame, she couldn't help but want her attention in comparison to everyone else's. Getting ignored by her own mother, the one person who shouldn't have been ignoring her at all, really put a stain on everything in her life that should've been perfect. Her mother still had a larger attachment to the alcohol than she did to her.

So Yuina began slowly picking up her habits. Spending nights endlessly drinking at parties with people who loved her. People loved her. It made up for her mother's lack of love or attention (it really didn't, she just pretended it did). She was the life of the party, everybody loved her. She could get through to anyone if there was enough drinking involved, the bonds she made while drunk seemed much more real than the ones she was forced to make when sober.

The consistent drinking didn't stay the norm for long, but the sex did.. well, with only one person anyway. Yuina could never describe what it was that caused for her and Eimi's relationship to become what it was, maybe she still feels something for her, but it'll all probably come to nothing anyway. They would either fight till one of them lost their voice, or one of them would shout so loud the other would cry. When they had their soft moments, they had their soft moments, but those were incredibly rare. They don't talk about what they are, Yuina definitely strays away when conversation comes up.

Yuina is one of the more understanding members. She can seem scary to approach, but she will genuinely try when it comes to anyone. The members (though Eimi is still a strange case) can always go to her for something, and even with their extended inactivity, she's around if they need her. She has questionable feelings about the idol industry, but for now, she's content in her place.

｡。the profile !

BIRTH NAME NOSAKA YUINA ( 野坂ゆいな )

DATE OF BIRTH FEBRUARY 19, 1982

PLACE OF BIRTH UTSUNOMIYA, TOCHIGI, JAPAN

NATIONALITY JAPANESE

ETHNICITY JAPANESE

HEIGHT 169 CM ( 5'6 )

BLOOD TYPE AB

PORTRAYED BY AMURO NAMIE

WELCOME CADET 041 !

IT'S pretty clear that the only reason the group has lasted so long is because RYŌKA kept their reputation from bursting into flames. she holds the moral high ground in comparison to the rest of the members, she could even be considered the actual leader of the group. she's clearly the easiest one to talk to, a rule follower through and through.

Born to clearly leave a mark on the world, Asao Ryōka was born in July 1983 in the busy Shibuya City. She was the heart of her family, at the center of it all, she was their golden child. From a young age she had a passion for dance, eager to pursue the types of dancing her older brothers found themselves interested in. She begged for her parents to let her get the same lessons, but she wasn't allowed to do hip hop like them.. it put her in a terrible place growing up, she thought she didn't have the potential to excel like they did.

But she could do something else with her time.. ballet! Yeah, not exactly the most exciting thing in the world. Ryōka wasn't as into ballet as her parents wanted her to be, but pressure has it's way of getting to people. She joined this crazy ballet academy that totally fucked her up for the rest of her life, though she found ballet enjoyable in certain aspects, she struggled.. a lot. She had terrible teachers, classmates, and developed an eating disorder barely four years into the dance.

Ryōka stayed in ballet for a good five years, but then she was pulled out of it by her older brothers when they noticed her deteriorating mental health. She thanks them for that every single day, she probably would've taken her own life if they didn't go against their parents wishes and take her out of ballet. Though she was out of ballet, she didn't stop with her love of dance. She still wouldn't be able to enroll into the dance lessons her brother was doing, but she could get into music. She mastered the piano, then when she was done with that she mastered the violin, then the guitar, then before she knew it, there were a ton of instruments up her sleeve.

She never thought being an idol was possible with the way her parents monitored her life, they didn't even let her practice dance styles they didn't seem "feminine", how was she going to convince them to let her sing and dance on a stage? They wouldn't even think she was worth such a thing, they never directly said it, but it's obvious they never expected for her to be the most successful of all three of their kids.

Despite having said to possess no potential, Ryōka wouldn't exactly give up so easily. She began taking vocal classes without her parents' knowledge, then she began taking dance classes without their knowledge, it's not like she was preparing for her future idol life, she simply just found herself interested in the whole thing. There was no way she was going to become an idol without her parents knowing, so she just let the dream fester at the back of her mind. She pretended she didn't dream of the big stages as her parents continued their utterances about her getting into medical school.

But of course, you know how the story goes. In 1999, without her parents knowing, Ryōka decided to enter a singing competition held by this company called Gekkō collective!, which was being held in Shinjuku City. With her parents assuming she was at one of her many extracurriculars, she placed second in the competition, right behind one of her future members. She was then offered the opportunity to join Gekkō collective!, and by proxy, the opportunity to debut in their upcoming group.

And again, she kept it all under wraps. Her parents knew absolutely nothing of her 'new' extracurricular activity. Considering she lived in Tokyo, it was easy to go to the label every day without suspicion. Life was barely steady, as having to keep up appearances with her parents, then also manage school, then also continuously training to become an idol, the stress almost completely got to her, but she managed. She managed for the next three years until her debut, still somehow able to keep it from his parents.

Her parents only found out in 2002.. the year of her debut, and they weren't exactly happy. They completely ridiculed her after her debut stage, embarrassing her in front of her fellow members and leaving her in tears. She would slowly cease communication with her parents over the years, but she pretended it all didn't matter, she simply put on smiles and went on.

Her debut with STARLIGHT CRUSH! brought her responsibility she didn't exactly expect, keeping all of the members out of trouble. You could call her the actual leader of the group, she was the one making sure the other three kept their hair out of the news. Eimi and Yuina would spend nights partying or were caught out at shitty motels, and Himiko was found smoking so many times there more concern for her lungs than there was outrage. Ryōka quite literally became the only member without scandal, she was their saving grace, the groups moral high ground, their real leader. She accepted the awards, remembered every one of their slogans, and gave all the important speeches.

But even with that, Ryōka still had her fair share of issues. She was just too nice, it was another dating rumor every week because she was simply magnetic. She could be friends with anyone, which got her a lot of flack because of her barrage of male idol friends. She pretended she didn't mind, but it all really got to her head. She worked hard as an idol, she got many endorsements because, in her managers words, her face was ‘to die for’. There wasn't a day before 2021 that she didn't work 24/7, it was simply idoling all day for Ryōka, she would have to be forced into breaks by her fellow members or her managers because she just couldn't stop herself, she felt she needed to prove she deserved the fame to everyone, if not her own parents.

She then sunk back into an unhealthy eating habits, her body image slowly becoming more and more distorted as time went on. Ryōka pretty much became a shadow of her former self as time went on, she didn't exactly like how she looked, and it all circled back into her feeling insecure over her weight. People always commented on her body, and it got to the point that she began skipping meals much more frequently, feigning ignorance to her members.

Again, she never gave herself a proper break until she was forced to. Up until the groups ‘long hiatus’, she was the most consistent member in terms of activity. She finally stopped her lifelong working obsession and sat back to do absolutely nothing. Ever since the group initially went inactive in 2021, Ryōka has been seen less and less by people of the public. She went from being the most active member, to being the member who people can barely even find. She's since gotten therapy, and she's considering leaving the idol industry altogether, but for now, it's all up in the air.

｡。the profile !

BIRTH NAME ASAO RYŌKA ( 浅尾リョカ )

DATE OF BIRTH JULY 17, 1983

PLACE OF BIRTH SHIBUYA CITY, TOKYO, JAPAN

NATIONALITY JAPANESE

ETHNICITY JAPANESE

HEIGHT 171 CM ( 5'7 )

BLOOD TYPE A

PORTRAYED BY IIDA KAORI

WELCOME CADET 015 !

THE lengths at which one has to go to get through to HIMIKO are a challenge, and it's even an enigma as to how she managed in the group when she could've easily gone solo as she desired. there's a lot she could say, but she keeps it in the recesses of her mind as to not cause conflict, the last time that happened.. well the group almost fell apart.

With fate practically carving a path out for her, Maeda Himiko was born in August 1983 in a small town named Inuyama. From the beginning it was difficult, there was no sight of a father figure, and though her mother tried her best, she could never just take care of her on her own income. She again moved in with her parents and had them raise her as she spent her days working several odd jobs to provide for her daughter. The first thing Himiko ever noted about her mother was that she was.. struggling, whether physical or mental, there was always something there making sure she didn't succeed.

Growing up alongside her grandparents in her mother’s childhood home, Himiko learned of her first real passion, music. Before she met that pathetic excuse of a man, before adulthood settled and responsibilities gripped her by the throat, she wanted to be a musician. Singing, singing brought her joy, singing brought her a sense of solace nothing else really could, and naturally, like mother like daughter. Himiko took up her passion as if it was passed down to her, busying herself rereading the song lyrics her mother had scribbled into her old middle school journals, then rewriting them and bringing them to life with her guitar.

She learned how to teach herself her own endeavors, beginning with covers of citypop songs, which then became her own voice over original instrumentals. She became infatuated with her mother's former passion, pretty much obsessed with the idea of becoming a singer, to be the one who would be able to live out her dream. She felt guilty in a way.. it was her fault her mother couldn't become a singer, so she felt she had to become one for her.

The efforts would be strained for a while, mostly because her mother was afraid of what she would face if she tried to enter the music industry. Himiko didn't want to be held back, though, she would persevere with her dream of becoming a musician and she would make her mother proud (she had already done that with her perseverance, she just had no idea). She had no idea how she was going to do it, she just knew she was going to do it. Maybe if music didn't work out, she would simply give it and get on with something else, but until she knew, she wouldn't give up.

The time would eventually come, when, in 1999, Himiko entered a singing competition being held by Gekkō collective!. In a feat that wasn't completely planned, she placed first, even if her sixteen year old jitteriness made her seem a bit off in comparison to the rest of her much more exuberant competitors. After winning a cash prize, she was offered an exclusive opportunity, one that would make all of her dreams come true. She could become a solo artist in the following year, she could make her mother proud.

..but for some reason, Himiko felt as if something else was up. She used the excuse of wanting to finish her studies as use to wait for a few more years, being an idol whilst also trying to manage high school would be hell, so she decided to wait until she finished to attempt her break in the music industry. Again, she wasn't exactly sure if she wanted to be alone in that break, even if it meant being stuck with three other strangers.

So when her debut finally rolled around in 2002, it also rolled around with some terrible news. Only two months prior her mother had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, which put her in a tough spot for beginning promotions, it also put her in a tough spot with her members. She was the least introverted of everyone, she preferred her alone time, Ryōka and Yuina tried to reach out, even Eimi tried to reach out on occasions! But she kept most of everything to herself. She spent her time with her headphones on, volume blasting, jotting down lyrics in her journal.

Her mother had passed away the following year, and it sent Himiko down a spiral she doesn't know if she'll ever truly recover from. The fast paced idol life paired with the complications of grief were a terrible mix, so smoking came into everything. Originally, it became a habit she developed during exam season, away from the prying eyes of her mother or her professors, but it became much more regular as late night partying became much more regular. She never liked alcohol, but she loved cigarettes. The over exaggerated caricature people made of her wasn't as fake as she pretended it was. She had no idea how to cope, so she destroyed her body, she slowly let her life slip away as she couldn't even go a day without smoking a pack.

She never got the whole 'love' thing, there was this girl once, she was apart of another group at the time, but she never worked up the courage to tell her anything, their friendship fell apart after their first kiss. She kept herself busy pouring her creativity into lyrics and production, her lungs suffering, but her façade particularly strong. She was one of the more popular members because of her ‘honesty’, but even then it was merely a front. She was there to tell jokes when the time was right, then retreat back into herself when the cameras shut off.

For at least three years, none of the members knew much about Himiko, it wasn't until she began participating more in outings that they realized she was so much more than the rude character she posed as. Though her honesty was usually needed, it was also a pretty deadly weapon, seeing as how some of her words worked up Eimi and Yuina so much that the two went without talking to each other for a whole month, their lack of cooperation putting promotions behind for a good few weeks. It only made her sink back into herself more, as she felt that she was to blame for everything going wrong.

She began getting close to Ryōka after a specific while, but it was more the other doing the talking whilst Himiko laughed at her off sounding jokes. It was easy to get through to Yuina too, she became the older sister she didn't know she needed in life. Her problems with smoking continued, but she was mostly able to keep it under wraps as she.. tried to form some kind of friendship with Eimi. Again, she was pretty difficult to find common ground with, but they had their moments, occasionally, it'd seem like they had been friends for years, but the eldest has always been a wild card. She knew to never push her buttons, remembering the whole fiasco that happened last time.

The life as a musician she envisioned turned out to be less of a dream than it was a nightmare. Sometimes, she cusses at herself for even making this decision, but then she would think back to her mother, and she'd simply continue, all of it to fulfill a dream she died much too early to fully witness. Himiko was never loud, but actions speak louder than words, she practically crafted the groups music from her own imagination, she's basically their musical genius. Maybe she wasn't exactly all about the idol life, but she cared deeply about her group and her members, even if she didn't really show it.

BIRTH NAME MAEDA HIMIKO ( 前田卑弥子 )

DATE OF BIRTH AUGUST 22, 1983

PLACE OF BIRTH INUYAMA, AICHI, JAPAN

NATIONALITY JAPANESE

ETHNICITY JAPANESE

HEIGHT 174 CM ( 5'8 )

BLOOD TYPE O

PORTRAYED BY NAKASHIMA MIKA

THE success of STARLIGHT CRUSH! was the kind of success unseen in.. well, forever really. strange japanese pop groups aside, the group also had a knack for producing music videos that were pretty much feature length films in their own right. the concept of ‘saving the world from alien threats with catchy dance pop songs’ was one that wasn't exactly unique, but it didn't mean it wasn't a serve for interest. zooming past the galaxies in a spaceship aptly named ‘THE LUMINARY 76’, the imagery of their concept, paired with the members complete magnetism made for a great group that made a hefty amount of profit for their home label.

it was a pretty lucky case, ‘LOVE REVOLUTION!’ was an immediate hit the day of it's release in march of 2002. the storyline of the music video (which was watched on tv channels at the time), paired with the members irresistible acting, it was a smash success. the group stole the oricon singles chart, keeping the number one spot for seven consecutive weeks, they were practically taking over the world. to this day, their debut album, ‘THE FIRST LAUNCH!’, holds the spot for the fourth best selling album ever on the oricon album charts, selling 4,603,009 sales in total. even from the beginning they knew exactly what their goal was, to save the coming universes and snatch up all the awards there were to snatch up.

the quartet dominated their decades long journey across the many galaxies, and they captured the hearts of the public. they pretty much had everything. figurines, tshirts, blankets, sweaters, yeah.. they had a fashion line. hey! don't laugh! those exclusive blankets are rare! they sell for practically $7000 today! if you can even find it with how many people decide to gatekeep.. along with all of that, the group also had their manga series, which eventually became an anime series after a couple of years of backed up progress.

first it was the manga series ‘ACROSS THE UNIVERSE WITH SC!’ released in 2005 that spanned ten volumes. the series was put together by three fans who had heard of RYŌKA's love for old manga series, she once said herself that she hoped for the group to get their own one day, as she believed their concept was a good idea for one. the story sold exponentially, with characters that "briefly" imitated that of the members, it was a huge success, but you could honestly throw their name on anything and it would became a huge success, so this wasn't exactly a surprise.

then, the anime came around a few years later. though it was originally supposed to be released in 2008, there were a few production issues in the beginning. directly taken from the manga series, the members participated in voice acting the characters for the two seasons the show ran. it was, pretty unsurprisingly, a smash hit, taking from the stories in their music videos, you would shoot across the galaxy along with the intergalactic space team STARLIGHT CRUSH!, and maybe the anime got much too realistic at times (portraying EIMI and YUINA's real life arguments to a t). though only lasting for two seasons, it became one of the most watched anime's of the year, clearly, everything the group touched turned into gold.

STARLIGHT CRUSH! had a good nineteen year run, eventually going into inactivity right before they were able to celebrate their twentieth debut anniversary. the members haven't all disappeared, but being an idol for almost two decades straight with minimal breaks will do wonders to a person. currently, the group is inactive, not disbanded, simply inactive for the time being. EIMI has again been active in the acting industry, where she originally made her name, both YUINA and HIMIKO have participated in the production of their own solo music, making sure to keep up updates semi regularly. RYŌKA is the member whose been the most silent since their immediate inactivity, barely updating her social media and barely even seen anymore. she keeps in contact with her members, though, who all continue to stress that she's doing fine, she just needed a long break.

their group bond can definitely be described as.. strange. though there's only four of them, there is a lot we could say about all of their relationship dynamics. they all love each other some (YUINA & RYŌKA) more obvious than others (EIMI & HIMIKO). it'd be a lie to say that they all hate each other, but it would also be a lie to say that they always get along. though they know when to keep it civil, sometimes they can't help themselves. STARLIGHT CRUSH! have often been described as ‘a strange phenomenon’, but one thing we can all agree with, is that they won't ever lose.

#˖﹙ 🚀 ﹚it's a love rev ! ─── sc : profile #fictional idol group #idolverse #female idols #jpop girl group #jpop idol #japanese idol oc #fake jpop oc #female oc #original characters #jpop original characters

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ch4rryc0smos · 9 months ago

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⊹ eighteen — a. donaldson.

synopsis — marion misses him dearly. how she always does, but she doesn't expect to see him, until he decides to reach out first, and who is she to deny? one thing lead to another, and eighteen is happening all over again, but this time, he promises to be hers.

genres — friends to strangers to lovers, tension, mutual pining, requited yearning, admiring, best friend's (ex-)husband, domestic angst & fluff, unrequited to requited love, hurt/comfort.

pairing — art donaldson x friend!self insert, art donaldson x mutual friend!self insert.

warnings — mentions of medication, and insomnia, that's about it.

word count — 2.7k.

author's note — hurt/comfort now. my friend wanted me to, plus i needed some happiness sprinkled in here, so i'm doing exactly that. i'm pretty stressed, so i reckon i need something nice, i hope everyone's well out there!

masterlist.

Nerves consume her body. Her movements are jittery, the pills making no difference. Her hand on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, shaky. Marion hasn’t bothered checking her phone today. She doesn’t want to. Even if there might be any messages from her manager, she’ll get to work in a few minutes. A few minutes of scolding won’t take her already non-existent morale down that much anyway. Music blares in her ears, the radio is off, but she has her headphones on. When she arrives, she’s quick to lock her car and start walking speedily towards her building. People brush her shoulders, she ignores some whistles. Are any of these people from her past? Are these any of the students she might’ve passed at her campus over a decade ago? It would’ve been wild if they were.

But she doesn’t figure that out. She watches the glass doors leading into her workplace slide open, her reflection greeting her like a phantom, a rather unappealing one. She blinks the thought away, trudges forward. Some people chirp hellos at her, she smiles at them, holding her head low as she continues to her office. On the way, she runs into her manager.

He glances at her, and when she looks up at him, he stops mid-sentence. She doesn’t like that.

“Take care,” is all he says, and he suddenly leaves. Departs. Doesn’t even bother to look back.

By the time Marion can find the energy to ask him to finish his actual point, he’s left and she’s reached the door into her office. So, she doesn’t bother. She walks in, closes the door behind her and sighs. Another gruelling day of losing her fight to the scoliosis she probably has now, and to capitalism. She already wants to slump her back against the wall, and stay there.

She doesn’t though, she finds her seat at her desk, starts going through her heaps of emails and paperwork. Nothing is there to disturb her for some reason, but she supposes it might be for the better. It seems to be, until she hears a ping. She turns towards her phone, expects a message from just about a few people, but none of them are who she thought they’d be.

She stops breathing when she reads the name, it’s not Tashi. Not any coworker who’s too scared to talk to her in person. It reads Art Donaldson. Well, not quite. She hasn’t changed the way his name appears on her phone since the time she’d first met him. It’s still Artie, with a smiley face next to it. Whatever eighteen year old Marion was going through, thirty one year old Marion still hasn’t moved on from. But that doesn’t matter, because she hasn’t messaged him since the time of Tashi’s injury. At the start, they’d just do whatever they had to in person, then it turned into Art dedicating most if not all of his time to Tashi, and then everything stopped.

The first few years, it hurt, it really did. He’d become such a staple in her life, so when she had to go through the turmoil of her twenties, and when she thought he’d be there but wasn’t, it truly did hurt.

But just when she thinks she can finally do it, go through her dreadful life, he walks back in? He walks back in, and he just expects to be accepted? (He will be accepted, even if Marion says she can’t). Even if her mind tells her to not tap on the message, she does. She reads it over, thinks it might’ve been sent to the wrong person. Why would Art Donaldson send her a text going ‘hey, are you free tonight?’.

She stares at the words, they start turning into things they aren’t. She’s waiting for them to disappear, but they don’t. By now, she’s completely out of it, doesn’t care what influx of emails are left, her phone is the centre of attention.

What should she do? What should she—What is she—Panicking isn’t going to change it. Her immediate instinct is to type a yes. It’s true, she’s pathetic, she’s always free after work. She doesn’t even bother going on Tinder, doesn’t bother trying to get someone. They deserve someone who actually wants to love them, but she’s stuck. A few minutes pass as she sits still as a statue. And then her hands shake as she types yes. She’s free. She asks why. She expects at least a few minutes of silence, thinks she can try to calm herself down in the few minutes it might take for a response to come in. But it takes just a few seconds, and something about it makes her feel a type of giddiness that she can only identify as what she felt back in college.

‘just want to talk’ reads the message. And then a location pops up.

Marion smiles.

She asks him when he’d like to meet up. She knows this most probably won’t go well. He could just be drunk—But no, he wouldn’t. He’s got training, surely. He’s got work. It’s literally just scraping the horizons of the afternoon. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing though, because he says seven in the evening.

Marion agrees. It feels great. It does for the first few minutes. Because first, she’s somehow managed to have a conversation with the man that she’s loved for over a decade, and second, she’ll see him in person, for the first time in a while. Honestly, that one was on her, she’d avoid him like the plague, even though she could’ve seen him at least a few times a year. She just decided not to. For a while, it kept her peace intact, so she couldn’t complain, but at some point, the yearning did win over. It sure did. She’d then spend nights awake, thinking the weight of her sheets are him.

Which was stupid.

It doesn’t matter, though. She’ll meet him in a few hours time.

And she can tell him how much she’s missed him. Their friendship. Everything they could’ve been were.

Her issue is that she doesn’t realise how fast the hours pass when she’s busy drowning in work. When she says it’ll be a few more reports, it can’t take that long, but it does. It takes her well over five hours. But by that point, she’s already meant to clock out.

When she stands up, she’s sure she’s aged a few decades. She can’t care less though, she switches off her desktop and makes her way to the door. She cracks it open an inch, glancing out and glad to notice that no one is there to question her. She steps out. She can hear distant chatter, but it doesn’t seem to be approaching her. Her bag swinging at her side, she weaves her way through the winding building.

Surprisingly, it’s rather devoid of life. Usually, it’s not this quiet when she’s clocking out. When she’s at the lobby, she meets at least five people, but there’s not one. That unnerves her. She can hear her own breathing and tries to brush it off as she finally steps out onto the pavement.

Then her eyes catch on the black jeep in front of her. Waiting, on the pavement. It could be just any jeep, of course, but it isn’t. It has that one specific scratch that Art mentioned but couldn’t afford to get fixed. While she’s eyeing it and getting ambushed by a tide pool of memories, the window rolls down. Neat strawberry blond hair is peeking out. Her muscles tense under her shirt. It feels tight, it probably looks horribly wrinkled.

He smiles and her heart can’t help but skip a beat. He places his arm out, glances at both sides, and beckons her closer. Marion watches him silently as he unlocks his door and steps out. His smile widens. She doesn’t want to wait. She doesn’t wait. With a few quick steps, she’s only a foot away from him.

“Hey,” he starts.

He doesn’t get to say anything, she reaches a hand forward, out of instinct, to brush his shoulder. But then she stops herself. This isn’t college. This isn’t the night after the parties. She can’t do that. If he intended to say anything, he doesn’t. He stops, frowns softly.

Shit, she hates that she wants to wipe it off his face.

“Art,” she breathes his name. His eyes flicker up to meet hers and they stare there, for just a second before he’s scanning the entirety of her face, drinking in every detail. Like he might commit it to memory. As if he already hasn’t. His hand reaches for her. When their fingers touch, her hand almost jerks back, but she doesn’t let it. She lets his hesitance wash over, lets him intertwine their fingers, press his palm into hers.

It feels wrong, but so right. She knows he’s married, but this is what she’s wanted for way too long. He tugs her closer, almost has her stumble into his chest, into his warmth, but then he leads her to the passenger seat, opens the door for her.

“My personal Uber?” She grins. Even if it’s been a few years, she’ll always take the chance to tease him, to joke. That is one thing that’ll always feel natural with him. He seems to melt into her words, he nods, smiling all lopsided, but still appearing as charming as ever.

“As always,” he says, holding the door open and waiting until she’s situated so he can close the door and find his place in the driver’s seat. When he sits down, and shifts the gear, Marion can’t help but stare at his hands, at the veins that seem to be ever more visible now. Her face grows warmer, and she looks away.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers. He doesn’t have to be quiet, but of course he is. That does something to her. She can’t help but turn to look at him, he’s smiling softly, like she can fix all his issues. “I miss you,” he says.

Not I missed you. I miss you. He’s missing her, even though she’s right here. She wants to hold his face, but she doesn’t.

“I miss you too, I missed you,” she replies. Her voice shakes. This reminds her awfully of when they were eighteen, and couldn’t see each other for a few days. She remembers the way they clung onto each other the next time they saw each other. Whispering ‘I missed you’ and refusing to let go. They rocked back and forth, paying no mind to the outside world. This feels oddly like that.

But Marion doesn’t mind that, she likes the feeling of nostalgia that washes over her.

“I know I’m a bit early for seven.” Art laughs, scratching the back of his neck as he’s driving through the city. “But I just couldn’t wait.”

Friends don’t say that kind of shit about each other. Marion blushes anyway.

“Of course not,” she says.

He pouts at her. “You aren’t excited to see me?” he asks.

She laughs, “of course I am, dumbass.”

His face breaks into a smile. Most of the ride is spent in silence. He hums under his breath and Marion stares out the window, drinking in the sights she just never had the time for, and didn’t want to see previously. At some point, Art’s hand finds its way onto her thigh. She feels the guilt immediately.

She lets a few minutes pass. “What about Tashi?” she asks then. Her voice is shaking far too much for her liking, but she can’t stop it. Art squeezes her thigh. He’d always do it when he knew she was nervous. How has he not forgotten?

“We’re…” he starts, stops to inhale, and looks down, they’re parked on some backroad. Marion looks at him, tilts her head to the side. He shakes his head, laughs sadly. “Getting a divorce.”

Marion gasps. “No…” she says, not able to believe it.

“Yes,” Art affirms, turning to face her, his lips trembling.

Oh. Marion doesn’t care anymore, she reaches out, cups his face, and shifts so she’s closer to him. He melts into her hands. She rubs her thumbs over his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I’m so… sorry,” she repeats the apologies. As if this was caused by her.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t working out, anyway. She’s goal oriented and she’s here to do things, to achieve heights. I’m past my prime. I just want my family… and to retire.”

Marion smiles, even if her heart breaks a little.

“Oh, Art,” she says, presses her forehead onto his.

“Missed you so bad,” he whispers. Her heart skips a beat.

She nods. “I missed you too.”

“You know,” he starts… His hand finding the nape of her neck. Her eyes are caught on his. She stares into the endless pits of cerulean. Oceans that swirl wildly, that glisten under the warm glow of the sun. She nods, asking him to continue. “I miss eighteen. I miss us, what we were. Then.” He breathes, inhaling deeply.

His warm breath brushes against her face. She feels the gooseflesh erupt all over her skin.

“We’re not that young anymore, Art,” she says. Both of them know this very well, but they don’t care. It’s like when he mentioned that he’s getting a divorce, whatever restraint either of them were holding fell apart. They look like they’re two seconds away from kissing each other, relearning each other’s taste after over a decade of nothing even close to touch.

“I know, but I want us back.” His fingertips are warm, they weave their way into her hair, letting her horribly loose bun fall apart. He cards his fingers through, detangling every knot gently. Just how he used to, when they were eighteen.

It’s like they’re messy teens all over again, sitting in this very same jeep, giggling in the middle of the night after he almost dropped his ice cream all over him. Marion leans closer.

Art doesn’t move back. He smiles. His eyes drop to her lips. And she has to gulp to stop herself from inhaling sharply. His smile widens.

“God, I love you so much,” he whispers, grazing his lips over hers for a moment. He shifts in his seat, getting even closer. It’s a miracle they aren’t kissing already. But Marion doesn’t waste any more seconds. She’s so sick of all these years she spent away from him.

She presses her lips onto his, the warmth making her feel all dizzy. His lips are soft, they’re warm, they kiss her just the same, just a bit more urgently now. “I love you, I love you too.”

“I…” he pulls away for a second, smiles at her while their foreheads are still pressed against each other. His hair, despite being short, is still tickling her forehead. She giggles softly. “I was such a fool for waiting, for not taking the chance at eighteen.”

“You were.” Marion smiles. If she’d been feeling any bitter feelings, they’re pushed to the back of her mind. Right now, she just needs to bask in his warmth, in the fact that he wants her again. At how right this feels to her heart. She can think about anything else later.

“I promise I won’t do that, ever again,” he whispers against her lips, diving in for another kiss, another peck to the lips. “I’ll give you everything I could’ve at eighteen.”

“Will you?” she asks. She knows he can, and that he will, but she still asks. The fear that flickers in her eyes for just a split second makes him frown. He kisses her again, finding that it’s just as addicting as it used to be.

“I promise. On everything.”

Marion smiles. “I better get what I’ve been waiting for the past thirteen years.”

“You will.”

Art is holding her so tenderly, he’s holding her like he just wants to make up for everything. For not choosing her when he should’ve. He kisses her like he’s going to show her that he’s learnt. That he’s better. He kisses her like she’s the oxygen he’s been deprived of for so long. But, he kisses her just how he used to. He’s just her Art.

He always will be. At eighteen, and at thirty one. That’s a fact that won’t change. He won’t let it. And Marion doesn’t want it to, either.

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theomenroom · 1 year ago

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thinking a bunch about Tangent getting absolution

Philosophically, I see something like this:

A weakness in a system isn't brought into existence by someone finding a way to exploit it. Instance and Tangent didn't, in four years, create a way to destroy all life on Vertumna. They found a weakness in the way the Gardeners managed the ecosystem that could be used to destroy it. If humans are going to be dependent on the Vertumnal ecosystem, then it's untenable for humans to leave that weakness existing. The Gardeners have to know about it, so that they can protect it. It wasn't even particularly well-hidden. Two scientists with hardly any lab equipment less than three decades old and much of it meant to last for a much shorter period of time, kept alive only through dedicated and extensive maintenance, managed to find it. A dedicated research group, should Earth send one, could find it more efficiently. Nor was it the only destructive weakness that two ships worth of humans were able to uncover in that time. The next intelligent species, human or otherwise, to find Vertumna could find and exploit the same weakness. The existential threat to all life on Vertumna is the weakness, not the ones who exploit it.

I'm imagining, like, she's spent a week in a medbed after her most recent heart attack, and she says something like that to a gardener, maybe Sym, maybe Dys, keeping her thoughts vague. Or maybe Sol takes something like that to them, leaving names off.

or maybe it's sooner. Maybe the earth fleet really is coming, and Sol is urging the Gardeners to shore up their defenses. It doesn't matter what commitments the Strato-Helio colony has. Stopping them from developing the plague won't stop the earth fleet from following the same path.

and Tangent is able to, like, face someone who would have been destroyed by the thing she almost did, and tell them what she (almost) did and how she did (would have done) it, and maybe they can, in turn, use it to protect themselves.

if she's really lucky, if Sol's really persuasive, she finally gets to trade in the limitations of her human form for another set of limitations, to spend an eternity doing science to find ways Vertumna could be destroyed so that the Gardeners can protect against them.

this even gives her, like, a chance for a fuller reconciliation with Dys. all those years where she was the "smart kid" and pushed him away, and now he's the leader, the one who knows things she doesn't, the one to whom thinking in a way adapted to their environment comes naturally. They've reconnected, but now she can follow him.

It does require a very forgiving Overseer, though.

#I was a teenage exocolonist #tangent exocolonist

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balladofchloe · 6 months ago

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Chloe Hyland and Luke Hemmings Are Officially Engaged! The Drama Behind Their Heartfelt Proposal Revealed

Entertainment News | June 16, 2021

In a move that has fans across the globe swooning, Chloe Hyland and Luke Hemmings have officially announced their engagement! The beloved couple, who have been through their fair share of ups and downs over the years, shared the exciting news on social media earlier this week, sending waves of excitement through their dedicated fanbase. But behind the joyful announcement lies a deeper story of love, second chances, and overcoming past drama.

A Decade-Long Journey to ‘I Do’

It feels like it was just yesterday when Chloe and Luke, both budding stars in their own right, met as teenagers in 2010. Their whirlwind romance began as young love—innocent, yet electric—but their relationship was far from smooth sailing. After years of dating, breaking up, and reconciling, many wondered if Chloe and Luke were truly destined to be together.

But the couple has proven the doubters wrong, surviving years of turbulence and proving that their bond is unbreakable. From their breakup in 2012 during the height of 5 Seconds of Summer’s rise to fame to their dramatic fallout in 2013, it seemed like the two could never quite catch a break.

The Proposal: A Moment Years in the Making

Fast forward to May 2021, and it was clear that the pair had overcome their past issues. Luke Hemmings, the lead singer of 5 Seconds of Summer, proposed to Chloe in what can only be described as a dreamlike moment, one that fans had been hoping for after years of speculation and teasing.

According to insiders, Luke spent weeks planning the proposal, ensuring that it would be a moment they would both cherish forever. The location was intimate, somewhere quiet and secluded, far from the prying eyes of the public and their infamous past drama. “It was just them, in their element,” a source close to the couple shared exclusively with us. “Luke had been talking about proposing for months, and when the moment came, it was everything Chloe had dreamed of.”

The Engagement Announcement That Stunned Fans

Chloe, who had been relatively private about her personal life in recent years, took to Instagram to share the happy news. In a heartfelt post featuring a photo of her and Luke, she wrote: “Forever with you, Lu. My heart is yours.”

The announcement has since been flooded with love from fans and celebrities alike. Taylor Swift, who has known Chloe since their 2013 Red Tour days, posted a congratulatory message on Instagram, writing, “Couldn’t be happier for you both! I love you two so much!”

But the most heartwarming responses came from 5 Seconds of Summer’s fans, many of whom have followed Chloe and Luke’s relationship since its early days. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since 2010. They’re meant to be,” one fan tweeted. Another posted, “I can’t believe it’s finally happening. Chloe and Luke’s love story is everything!”

The Drama That Led to This Moment

(R-L: Luke Hemmings & Chloe Hyland circa 2011)

Of course, the engagement announcement wasn’t without its fair share of drama. The couple’s journey to this point has been far from easy, and some fans couldn’t help but reminisce about the rocky road that led them here. From Chloe’s high-profile relationships with Justin Bieber and Dylan Minnette to her public falling out with Luke and the rest of 5SOS, it seemed like the couple’s future was uncertain.

But those who know Chloe and Luke well have always said their love was something special—something that could weather any storm. Their 2017 reunion marked the start of a new chapter, one where both of them leaned on each other for support as they navigated their individual careers and challenges.

“Chloe and Luke have been through a lot, but they always find their way back to each other,” a close friend of the couple shared. “Their bond is undeniable. It’s no surprise that after everything they’ve been through, they’re finally here.”

What’s Next for the Happy Couple?

As Chloe and Luke begin planning their wedding, fans are eagerly awaiting more details. Sources suggest that the couple is keeping the wedding plans very private for now, focusing on their upcoming projects. Luke, who is set to release his debut solo album, and Chloe, who continues to build her music career, both have hectic schedules. But it’s clear that nothing will stand in the way of their happiness.

As for Chloe, she simply added in an interview, “I can’t wait to marry my best friend. He’s been there for me through it all, and now we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

With a wedding on the horizon and a lifetime of happiness ahead, there’s no doubt that Chloe and Luke’s love story is one for the books. After all the drama, heartbreak, and public scrutiny, they’ve proven that true love—and a little bit of patience—can lead to the most beautiful happily-ever-after.

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eyesteeth · 2 years ago

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fionna and cake e6 spoilers + thoughts on the endgame for this series

firstly, on ice prince: i think it's good for simon's development that he got to see this. but it could also be very bad if he doesn't allow himself to ruminate on it. ice prince spends most of the episode making simon feel like shit, because ice prince apparently conquered the madness of the crown out of sheer force of will, will that simon apparently lacked. and ice prince is living the life, having everything simon wishes he could have - the benefits of the crown with none of the downsides.

except, that's a lie. it's only until the very end of the episode is it revealed that he was actually broadcasting the madness of the crown into bubblegum, showing that this ideal cannot exist. the fun magical simon everyone claims to want is a falsehood. you cannot have the magic without the sadness and the madness.

what i find very curious about this universe is that it seems to run very similar to ooo. all the candy subjects are present, albeit mutilated by bubblegum's crown-influenced mind, and we even see a young ice marcy with the same axe bass ooo marcy has. so the simon of this universe had to have gone down nearly the exact same path as ooo simon, with a few exceptions:

he somehow had the thought to beam the madness away from him, implying he had help or some level of cognition or malice ooo ice king never had.

he and marcy are no longer on speaking terms (why recreate a person if you can just talk to them).

he's not obsessed with betty.

the last one of these is the one that stands out the most. the (outwardly) most functional simon we've seen so far does not care about betty. she died and he got over it. which leads me to my main thought about the ending of this series:

i don't think simon and betty should end up together.

their story is very much one of cycles, a loop of loss and finding and being lost again. simon has been grieving betty for decades, given how much finn's aged, yet simon never seemed to get out of the third and fourth stages of grief - he's cycling between depression and bargaining and seems to have been for a while. this is definitely not helped by being a normal man in a world full of magic when that magic can't even bring back the person he wants.

and if he does find her in the other multiverses, it wouldn't last. either she wouldn't be "his betty", or he'd become an anomaly just like fionna and cake, and would end up wreaking havoc anyway. he needs to accept that the woman he loves is gone. even if he somehow made his way to golbetty, betty's wish in the AT finale was to keep simon safe. golbetty is NOT safe, that's why she left so quickly during that battle. if he approaches her, there is no guarantee that she'll stay put. she could even boot him back to ooo.

much like his desire to get the crown and be magical again, his desire to find betty is founded on the falsehood that everything will be fine if he just has this one thing.

now, granted, this doesn't mean i wouldn't like to see him try. he is so dedicated to this line of thought that it's very likely he could end up regressing into ice king if they do manage to find a crown. that's the point of this kind of narrative, seeing the protagonist struggle and fail before eventually coming to the final realization. it's a story of grief and addiction, and those are never linear things. we still have four episodes left, and a lot could happen.

which, to that point, i think the marceline episode is going to be in the next batch, either e7 or e8. i am fairly confident this will be a world where either a) simon did not find the crown and died in the bombing, b) simon briefly spent time with marcy but died in an attack, or c) simon left marcy earlier and she ended up falling in with the vampires. her manner of dress in the trailer and promo image seems to suggest that this is a marcy who was either raised by her father and proudly wears the crown of vampire queen, or was raised by the vampires who were killing humans after the bombs. i believe this could only happen under those three circumstances.

this is going to be especially important for simon's development on two fronts. firstly, it shows that simon's time as himself was worth something. marceline is much better off having had his help during the years right after the bombing. even though he left in the end, what he did to help her prevented her from becoming whatever she is in this upcoming episode. and, secondly, it's a reminder that the marcy back at ooo is still someone he can talk to. just because she has a girlfriend/wife now doesn't mean that he's unwelcome in her life. it's the classic depression isolation, and maybe this realization will get him to break out of it somewhat.

also for future episodes, betty shows up in the trailer, and i'm willing to bet(ty) that this is going to be either e9 or e8, depending on how long simon's going to sit on this interaction and process it. i can see it being in the next batch if e9 and e10 are going to be the climax and resolution, but i can also see this betty scene happening in e9 and pushing him into regression and a mental spiral in e10, which is mostly him having a horrible time and the world of fionna and cake shaking up as a whole.

it's snowing over there now. maybe they get some earthquakes as foreshadowing to the breakdown simon's about to have. truly, who knows? we just gotta wait. but it will be interesting either way, i think.

#adventure time #adventure time fionna and cake #simon petrikov #theorizing

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cas-readsandwrites · 7 months ago

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Nile: A Life Running Forward

The final piece of my imaginings of what-ifs and what-happens-nexts for Nile and her family - both mortal and immortal. A slice-of-life dive into the characters’ lives, following Nile’s 3rd-person POV. Set immediately after the end of the movie and stretches a few decades into the future. Rating: We’ll stick with the movie’s R for language, canon-typical action/violence. Word count: 3.9k Series homepage AO3 link

When you live, by daylight With angels at your side In order now, bestowed by The light of the sunrise … Just running forward, alive like wires As I see the past on an empty ceiling I play along with the life signs anyway But hope to God you don't know this feeling Yet in reverse, you are all my symmetry A parallel I would lay my life on So if your wings won't find you Heaven I will bring it down like an ancient bygone -Sleep Token, “The Night Does Not Belong to God” and “Euclid”

Forty years in the future

On a Midwestern steel gray November evening, Nile will arrive in Chicago. The UK passport for Nadia Franks is stamped at O'Hare and Nile lets herself be carried by the flow of travelers towards baggage check and the transportation lines.

Nile has made it a habit to observe how crowds en masse behave. It was the best way to fit in, and changes in the collective consciousness of the group was often the first sign something was amiss. Despite millennia of civilization Nile has learned about from her team, and decades observed first hand, she believes that humans still carried an interest in self-preservation and had the collective good of their fellow man at heart. It was how she had started seeing civilization after a few years, when the feeling of loneliness and separation started to set in, and what guided her moral compass as an eternal warrior. She believes that she and her team were protecting this greater good, this self-preserving majority, from the aberrant evil that fell away and sought to destroy the good.

For now, in this streetscape and greenery, terminals decorated with "Chicago through the eras" decorating the walls (Nile smiles lightly at her decades of the 1990s and 2000s), there is only a collective fatigue with an occasional spark of excitement from travelers who still have energy after their international flights.

Despite her British passport, the fourth held with various names and nationalities, this was once home, nearly a half-century earlier. Nile has kept her promise to Andi and avoided Chicago. She never returned after dying in the Afghanistan desert. It was too risky for twenty-one-year old Nile to reappear too close to her family, friends, or community within a few decades of her death.

Until a few weeks ago when she had gotten an update from Peter, Copley's assistant, that she had been expecting for several years. She and the whole team had gotten it, actually, since he had told her while everyone was at Copley's house. She had never straightforwardly told Nicky and Joe about her request to Copley to follow her family's development, but they hinted that they had guessed her plan. They didn't make a fuss, and since Nile didn't have imminent plans to change her actions, she didn't say anything to deter them, and so they had all let it lie, one of the first of many silent nods of trust.

They had been standing in front of Copley's wall of immortal history, next to the shelves of bound ledgers where he had finally, with Andi's blessing, started asking the team to fill in and typed in others himself. The wall was much more organized now, organized by century with dedicated color threads for each of them, plaited together or zigzagging separately or in pairs. Copley was seated next to his desk, refusing his wheelchair unless he was going down the hall or outside. He liked to point with his cane now and had been tapping Joe on his arm while they debated the geopolitical cause and effect of a job in New Palestine that the team had been involved in the year before. Peter had looked up suddenly from his workstation, his face drawing suddenly. "Nile-"

Nile had been seated next to Nicky on the couch across from the wall. She loved Nicky and Joe both dearly, but Nicolo di Genova had become something of a kindred spirit to her in her new immortal life. When she heard Peter's voice, she turned, leaning forward, and without needing to say anything, Nicky's hand was reassuringly on her shoulder.

Everyone stopped and watched Nile and Peter. She gleaned what she had been dreading from his gaze. She broke the silence, choosing to let everyone know. "It's my mother, isn't it?"

Peter nodded, and glanced hesitatingly at Nicky and across the room to Joe. "It's ok," Nile said quietly, standing up to face Peter. "Tell me," she added, with the compelling straightforward tone she had gained in her years, a tone that made their foes question why such a young woman had such confidence and made innocents follow her commands without question.

Peter read off the monitor in front of him. "An emergency call from your brother's home in Lake Forest. An ambulance and paramed crew responded. They just arrived at New Northwestern Emergency Care with your mother. I'm watching the hospital data in real time now." He glanced at his watch. "Your brother called at 7am local time. It looks like she had a stroke."

And suddenly - memories rushing back like this didn't happen often anymore; she had gotten quite good into slipping into a meditative state over the years. But now she felt like she was in a wind tunnel. She could feel - almost see - an alternate timeline rushing past her, where she was getting a call from her brother, both of them now in their sixties, meeting him and their elderly mother at the hospital. Calling work, maybe arranging childcare, sending word to Pastor Mark, or whoever had taken over by now. Nile felt Nicky stand up behind her and rest his hands on her shoulders. Joe walked over and placed one hand on Nicky's and reached for one of hers. "Nile," Joe said soothingly, in his deep voice, low and smooth with his native accent.Nile took a deep breath and willed herself out of the rush of what-if’s and what-could-never-be’s. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, leaving Nicky and Joe behind her.

Humans had been living and dying for all of history, almost all except for the select few in this room and portrayed on Copley's wall, and she had known this moment would come and this moment would go and she could choose to lose herself in the river and break her first immortal promise to herself to not be lost in her grief. Or she could choose to face it, to be brave and be fully immersed when it would be so easy to step away and watch the crowds of civilization pass by.

"Is she gone?" Nile asked, ready to wade into the rapids.

Peter shook his head. "No, vitals are stable, but there's definitely going to be concerning next steps. You know I hesitate to diagnose-" but Nile cut him off. "An educated guess," she prompted. Peter had been completing residency at one of the London hospitals and aiming for a fellowship in genetic research with a special interest in community and population traits, when Copley and his ex-CIA and MI6 affiliates had discretely approached him about a unique opportunity.

Peter nodded and continued. "We know your mother is a very healthy woman. It's too soon to tell, it's possible that she could regain some or most function, but it's also very possible that she may not have any meaningful recovery." He paused and gazed gently at her. "Your brother would then need to make a choice for her." He tapped the translucent screen. "Now that she's registered, I can see her power of attorney and medical decision making guides. She doesn't want to be kept alive on any machines or be put through a strenuous rehabilitation. Based on what I'm seeing from the data and this document, it's only a matter of time. How much time, I don't know. Very soon or possibly weeks to months."

Nile breathed out, unaware she had been holding it in while Peter spoke. She had been following her family peripherally for so long now that she realized she never thought about what to do when there inevitably was a change. She simply stood and nodded her head in the middle of the room. Finally she spoke, keeping it simple. "Thank you, Peter. Will you keep an eye on it for me, please? I'm going outside for a bit."

She turned, Joe catching her eye and Nicky talking half a step forward. She lightly held up a hand and walked past, softly assuring them in Italian, now second nature to her for brief comments and low assurances like this. “No grazie, starò bene.”

And she would be fine, she thought, as she left Copley's office and walked down the hall to the back staircase and out to his garden. She stood for a moment with her hand against one of the trees, then sat on the bench between two of them, framed by the granite boulders ringing the trees like guards, one each for Lykon, Quynh, and Andi. She just had to think about what to do.

She allowed herself to step cautiously into the memories without being swept into the wind tunnel. She imagined being in a waiting room with her brother, and probably his wife. Even in her what-ifs scenarios, Nile had never imagined herself married. They would likely be seated, tense, quiet, waiting. There would not be any tears yet. Nile realized with a jolt that her alternate reality actually was happening. She was seated here, quite, tense, while her brother and his wife were doing the same halfway across the globe. This made it easier to bear. She left the memories behind and brought her mind back to this garden, seeking a meditative step to allow her mind to sort this out in her unique perspective and let the next steps naturally reveal themselves.

After she went home with Nicky and Joe, she could sense them over her shoulder, imagining them wordlessly gesturing back and forth, you talk to her, no you talk to her, what do we say? what’s the right thing to say?

“OK,” she said, whirling around, seeing them freeze in place just inside the doorway, Joe reaching for Nicky’s hand. “You can stop doing the silent bonded-for-life communication thing, I can basically hear you anyway.”

“Only forty years in and she’s already developing superpowers,” Joe quipped in an aside to Nicky, earning him a nearly identical eye-roll and a stern look from both Nicky and Nile.

Nicky took Joe’s arm. “Look, Nile, we know your mother is important to you, and it’s been a long time for you-”

“Forty. Years. Nicky, I know. And I don’t care about me, it’s been a long time for her. We at least got my dad’s body back, but she doesn’t know… she never knew, she’ll never know what happened to me.” Nile paced down the hallway that led to the back garden. She thought she was doing so good at this, separating her old mortal life from her new one, kept back behind Copley’s computer screens and Peter’s diligent following of her brother, nieces she had never met, cousins she would never see again… “It just doesn’t seem fair. She’s waited all this time not knowing about me. I never broke that promise to Andi that I would let them go. I wish there was a way to let her help me go.”

“Nile,” Nicky said in that soft way that only he could, “being immortal does not stop the inevitable from happening. It does not mean that you should not allow yourself to feel it, too.”

With their blessing she did not realize she had needed, Nile left for Chicago alone. She planned to keep it separate from her immortal life, she rationalized to herself, though she did tell Nicky and Joe this time, and agreed to keep in communication with Peter. Her new family in London was insistent they weren’t going to let her shoulder it alone.

~~~

Nile makes her way from the airport to her brother’s home, prepared to stay in the city as long as she needs to. Her brother's home has a guest suite behind the garage where their mother has lived for the last several years. For her hospice room they have chosen to use the combination living room/study that overlooks the lawn leading to the Lake Michigan shoreline. Nile watches the house and is able to go in briefly as her mother sleeps. Her mother's eyes flutter open. Nile keeps the sliding door open that she came through just enough to make a quick exit and steps softly to her mother's bedside and kneels down.

Her mother's eyes flutter open and Nile is unsure if her mother is truly seeing her, until a light trembling hand brushes fingertips across Nile's face, the same face her mother last touched on a Navy base over forty years ago before Nile and her fellow Marines left on their second deployment. Nile presses her warm hand against her mother's cool one, leaning her face into her mother's palm. Her mother merely gazes for a brief second and says softly, "I knew you were always there, Nile." Her mother smiles and closes her eyes as a tread sounds on the stairs just outside the room. Nile hastily kisses her mother’s fingers and tucks the hand inside the blankets, smoothing her mother's forehead as she stands. Her mother’s eyes open again and catch Nile's and Nile backs away to the sliding door.

Nile can't believe this is happening. She presses one finger to her mouth in a shhh gesture and slips out the sliding door. The last thing Nile sees before she turns away is a tiny, satisfied smile on her mother's face. Nile closes the door as she closes the door and quickly turns sideways to creep around the corner behind the bushes, away from the lake view and towards the hedges lining the yard.

Nile crouches quietly, listening as the chair next to her mother's bed creaked. The horizon over Lake Michigan lightens and she needs to move from the yard before she is seen. After a few more moments, Nile dashes across the yard through the hedge. She winds her way down the neighbors’ drive to the street. Taking off her dark jacket to reveal the bright yellow running shirt underneath, she ties the jacket around her waist and jogs down the road to the park where she had left her rental car, her cover for being on foot in the neighborhood. When she reaches the park, she watches the sun rise as she texts Peter. She also checks on the listening device she had planted on the outside of the window she had been sitting under. She hears her brother and a woman, maybe his wife or their cousin, in conversation, something about the hospice nurse coming.

Nile decides to go back to the hotel to get some rest. She hasn't acclimated to the time change well and in fact had accidentally flip flopped her sleep schedule. But it is midday in London now and Peter would listen to the comm she had planted and call her if there was any change. Nile hesitates, then texts Nicky and Joe. Joe responds quickly -good to hear from you, do what you need and take care. He must have handed the phone to Nicky because another message appears from the same number - take care, you are missed, come home soon -n. Nile smiles and pockets her phone.

She sleeps soundly all day and wakes up confused, disoriented. She takes a shower, dressed again in a running outfit under dark clothes, picks up coffee for the night, and drives back to the neighborhood. She turns on the audio from the listening device and hears her brother speaking. It takes her a minute to realize she is only hearing his half, so he must be on the phone. His tone is more worried, and it sounds like their mother was struggling today. His tone changes and he resumes conversation with someone else in the room. It will be tonight, Nile knows.

She had seen that one house had stayed dark for the past several days and seeing the pile of newspapers by the mailbox, she now hopes this family is on vacation. She backs into a spot next to their garage, where she could drive straight through the lawn if needed. She cautiously steps to the end of the drive and walks around the perimeter of her brother's house again. She can hear unfamiliar voices and chances a peek in the window, seeing two nurses in scrubs, one putting her coat on and giving report to another. Both nurses stepped to the other side of the room, heads bent over a screen or a monitor. Nile slowly steps in front of the sliding door again. Her mother's eyes are open. Seeing Nile, her mother puts her finger to her lip as Nile had done last night, and smiles. Nile blows her mother a kiss, something silly she had done often in high school, then waves and melts into the shadows. Her mother does not seem surprised to have seen her daughter again, and Nile's instinct is that her mother knows that she is there, out of sight.

Nile sits against the wall of the house overlooking Lake Michigan, the dark of the night slowly lightening to gray, orange, pink, blue. Her mother's hospital bed looks towards the view. Side by side, separated by the brick wall and by immortality's choosing, Nile and her mother watch a sunrise, similar to so many others which Nile has seen around the globe and that her mother has watched from this house. This morning is different though, as Nile's mother finally closes her eyes just before the sun lifts above the horizon, finally leaving her mortality behind to forever be in the sunrise.

~~~

Four days later, Nile presents Nadia Franks' passport at the London airport. "Welcome home," the international agent greets her. Nile smiles and nods, hefting her backpack and walking through one crowd and following the wake of another to the exit. She hails a cab, making sure to still have her British passport in hand so the driver will know she is not a tourist and not hassle her. She gives their home address and suggests a route through the motorways. Seeing her fatigue and familiarity with the area, the driver barely says another word.

Later, longer than she would like, the car stops outside the gate to their London home. Not the townhome from their first time, but a rambling cottage on a stone foundation almost as old as Nicky and Joe. The late afternoon light is dim but comforting as she steps up to the door. She hardly has a chance to turn the handle when it is already being opened and she can look up into Nicky's comforting eyes.

She drops her bag heavily and leans into his embrace, feeling everything about mortality and pain and loss in that moment. From here on out, she will be the girl whose mother has died. She tries not to, but starts to cry. She hears Joe walk up next to them and feels one strong arm across her back. She allows Joe to steer her to the sofa in the living room overlooking the garden. She plops down ungracefully and Joe drapes a blanket over her shoulders. Nicky brings them all tea and splashes a small amount of whiskey into each of their cups, an uncommon occurrence for them. He and Joe sit on either side of the Nile.

Nicky raises his teacup and says something in Latin, then translates himself to English. “Eternal rest grant unto her, Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.” Across from him, Joe raises his teacup and intones in Arabic and then English, “Verily we belong to Allah, and verily to Him do we return.” Nile sighs and raises her teacup, running childhood prayers and immortal mantras through her mind, before finally saying simply, "Amen." The three gently clink their cups and sit quietly, sipping their drinks. Nile's eyes begin closing and she feels another blanket added to her lap. She vaguely feels the two men move away and help her stretch out on the couch, before she gives in to sleep.

She wakes suddenly the next morning, back on track with London Greenwich time, but feeling a little worse for the wear for sleeping on a lumpy sofa on a cool British night. She stands up and rolls her shoulders, feeling her body already healing the knots in her shoulders. Nicky is outside in the garden already, pacing and looking at the plants. Nile knows he likes to recite whatever he has been reading, maybe Latin, maybe new poems. Joe is in the kitchen and brings her a cup of coffee. "I told Copley you were back. He sends his condolences." Nile nodded.

"Joe." Nile starts. "I've been so caught up in this for myself, I never asked- I know for Book, but- well," she stops, starts again. "Have you or Nicky ever lost anyone? What...how did you get through it?"

Joe sighs. "It's been a very long time, Nile. I suppose we had to get through it, we did not have a choice. I will not lie, that we were able to be there for each other," he pauses, looking out the window at Nicky, before turning back to Nile and continuing, "but we are here for you, too, Nile." She nods. He continues, "I am not sure why, but neither of us had a desire to follow our families as you do. We were chosen by our families to join our respective royal armies, unlike your own personal choice to join your American military. It was expected that noble or ranking families sent their sons to the church or mosque, or to be soldiers or to other noble endeavors. Perhaps we knew if we had not died that day and not found our immortality and each other, then we would have died another day and that would have been that." He sips his coffee, his eyes following Nicky's figure in the garden. "Perhaps...it was not the best. We were so confident in having each other, we forgot who we had before."

Nile understands, Nicky and Joe's story was unique amongst their lineage of immortals. She hears Joe say, "I think it took us a while to reconnect to humanity again. Do not lose that, Nile. You have a gift given to you by your family. This is why we protect the world, for families to be able to live their lives and experience all they should. Honor that."

Nile nods, rotating the mug in her hands. "Thank you, Joe. I know it must be hard to think about that time."

Joe shakes his head. "Only because I do not remember much anymore.” Together through a misty window they watch Nicky. “But I think you will be different,” Joe says, nudging Nile with his arm. “All of us are together now, and you will never be alone in this.”

---

Thank you for joining me on this exploration of Nile's story. <3

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Prayers for death and dying sourced from:

USCCB & UK Islamic Relief

#cas writes #the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #nile freeman #sleep token #euclid #tndnbtg #i wonder if this will find the sleep token fans #or if they are even on tumblr #i listened to those two songs on repeat the whole time

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