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roseskiesandbutterflies · 4 years

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Pain Is So Close To Pleasure (Platonic!Reader x Modern!Queen)

Summary: As a recently promoted Soloist for the Royal Ballet, you move closer to Covent Garden with your four-year-old daughter, Rose. But your new neighbour turns out to be the last person you'd expect to pop up on your doorstep.

A/N: Fun fact, there is a woman called Elizabeth Harrod who is a soloist for the Royal Ballet, has a 4-year-old child and once played the character mentioned. All by coincidence. And she is married to Steven McRae who was the inspiration for the fic I was hugely inspired by. Fun times guys. I used to dance ballet once or twice a week for about 5 years but stopped 4 years ago. And I may or may not be regretting my decision to quit. Oh well. I really hope you liked this, do leave feedback if you don't mind and perhaps a like or even a reblog? I have at least 3 more ideas for this but if you think of anything then please please please let me know! Stay hydrated kiddos!

Warning(s): swearing, mentioned arguments, crying, mentioned nightmares, reader is female btw

Inspiration: Brian May’s instagram, Incandescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Modern Times Rock N Roll by @rhapso-kei on Tumblr and AO3, Outed by @platawnic on Tumblr

Word Count: 7.2k+ (it’s a big boi lads)

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26 @bijoukitty

Ask to be on my taglist if you want!

Never in a million years had you ever expected moving to a new house to be this fun. For it was only carrying boxes into the house repeatedly for hours at a time. Right?

Wrong!

It turned out that the opportunities for games increased tenfold when you have a child. The child in question had barely even stepped out of the van when she suggested that you compete against each other to see who could carry the most boxes into your new house. Given that you had actual professionals lifting the heavy stuff – chairs, tables and so forth – racing would actually speed things up with getting the smaller boxes in the house.

Small footsteps increased in volume before a similarly small voice asked, “What next, Mummy?”

You looked up at you daughter from where you were awkwardly crouched inside the delivery van, shockingly ungraceful for a ballerina, just for one moment amidst all of the chaos that came with moving to a new house. All wrapped up in her khaki green coat, her nose and cheeks were tinted with the pink of harsh January mornings. Her eyes were the same colour as yours, the most beautiful shade of (Y/E/C), and were always alive with excitement; today was no exception. She was almost the perfect likeness to you: the same skin, the same nose, the same lips. Her hair was more like that of her father’s, but she was beautiful all the same, and more importantly your precious girl.

You dragged yourself out of your daydream and passed a relatively small stack of books to Rose, “You got it?” you asked uncertainly, images of newly-ruined books spilt over the floor flashing through your mind for a second.

“Yup!” she was already running into the house and up the stairs by then and you chuckled despite yourself. You dragged a transparent plastic box from the back of the van to where you had now positioned yourself. This one was full to the brim of dead pointe shoes, each pair decorated with paints and lace and beads and whatever you had in the house at the time; one even had uncooked pasta stuck to it. You were sure that you were going to find more boxes like these considering how many pairs you had worn over the years.

It had become a sort of tradition for you, to decorate each pair of pointe shoes once they died, never quite being able to let go of them. You wrote their date of ‘birth’ – when you wore them for the first time - and their date of ‘death’ – the day they finally broke – on the sole of each shoe in gold paint and a fine brush. Often, they were the same date, which was evidence of how hard you worked. You liked to decorate the wings and the vamp using a random theme, usually shows you had performed. The ones you had oh-so-carefully picked up however was Tangled-themed, chosen by Rose when you had had a lack of inspiration. You placed it back down and swapped it for another, this time a Swan Lake pair. You smiled to yourself at the memories attached to that particular pair; it had been your first ever professional show, when you were still in the Royal Ballet School and the company had merged with the school for the first time since your arrival. You looked at the dates on the soles and almost gasped despite yourself.

16.12.2012 ~ 23.12.2012

Just over 5 years ago.

Those shoes were almost an entire year older than Rose. You couldn’t quite believe that you had been involved with the Royal for so long. It felt like mere days, weeks at the most. The only thing convincing you otherwise was the sheer number of shoes in the box and the combined weight of them all, seen as you went through upwards of 100 pairs every season. Fortunately, ballet wasn’t just turns, leaps, plies and wearing gorgeous costumes, it required a great deal of strength so carrying the box into the house was hardly a problem.

From a stranger’s glance, your new home appeared to be a house, Georgian with bricks the colour of coffee, immaculately painted and symmetrical to every other house in the immediate vicinity. But this was London, more importantly this was central London, and that meant you’d have to be a multi-millionaire in order to afford an actual house. It also meant that the whole block was once something that could only be described as a miniature mansion, and had been split up into houses and now, several flats. One of which you were now the proud owner.

You had spent a long time saving up for this flat; you had needed more space for you and your daughter for a while now and you had been long overdue a change from that studio flat in Camden. So, when this flat came up for sale, you felt as if all of your prayers had been answered. Compared to your previous home, this one had buckets of space, you had a bedroom each for a start. It was a mere twenty-minute walk to the Royal Opera House, making it so much easier when you had late performances or overrunning rehearsals. Or when you accidentally forgot your leg warmers or spare pointe shoes, incidents that happened more often than you would like.

You climbed the staircase to your first-floor flat; you supposed that that would take some getting used to, especially after long days of back-to-back classes, rehearsals and shows. You pretty much dumped the box of pointe shoes on the floor of the living room and turned around to leave only to have Rose collide straight into you.

“Sorry, Mummy!” she giggled, as sweet as ever, and blew you a kiss as a form of apology.

“That’s alright, darling, it was only an accident,” you blew her a kiss back, “Now, where did you put your books?”

She grabbed your hand and tugged you incessantly to your bedroom, “Look!” she pointed proudly to the stack of books on your bed, which looked as if it could collapse at a moment’s notice, but a stack, nonetheless.

Your heart broke slightly when you realised: she still thought you had to share a room. You crouched down to be eye-level with her, “Rose, why don’t you put them in your room, instead? They’re your books, sweetie, not mine.”

“But they are in my room,” she frowned, head cocked to the side in confusion.

“No, this is Mummy’s room. Your room is next door,” it was your turn to lead her into her own bedroom, a tad more gently than how she’d done it, and her eyes opened wide with wonder.

“I can have my own room?” her voice filled with disbelief and your heart ached terribly.

“Of course, princess. This flat is much, much bigger than our old one.”

She squealed with excitement and threw her arms around you, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, before running off to grab her picture books. You stood up, shaking your head with a chuckle before returning to the van. You grabbed another box, this one stuffed with Rose’s toys, “Rose! Can you come and bring this one in?”

She catapulted down the stairs, forever a tiny hurricane, and snatched the box out of your hands. You made your way to the front door with another box in your arms for about the hundredth time that day but stopped dead in your tracks in the middle of the pavement.

Rose was wandering down the street, box of toys long forgotten and left on the stairs, heading straight for the busy road perpendicular to your own. You dropped your own box on the pavement and broke out into a full-on sprint to stop her, heart pounding with fear. She was reaching the end of the pavement, completely oblivious to the cars speeding along to her right, and to the car that was indicating to turn left. For a fleeting second you thought the reckless driver was going to hit her, when a man suddenly ran out f the pharmacy at the end of the road and swept her up into his arms. You scowled, endlessly grateful that she hadn’t been hurt, but more than slightly annoyed that a complete stranger had the audacity to pick up your precious girl. Your maternal instincts went into overdrive and, once you reached them, you snatched Rose back from the man.

“Get your hands off my child,” you glared at him. Now you could get a far better look at him, you could tell he definitely wasn’t young, his white hair and beard gave that away instantly. His eyes were masked by sunglasses, confusing you slightly; it may have been sunny that day, but it was only January. Something about him was strangely familiar to you, it was hard to describe but you were sure you recognised the overall aura he had about him. You shook off the thought for now, you could ponder over it long after Rose had gone to bed and you finally had some time to yourself. Speaking of Rose, you shifted your focus to her; she seemed unharmed, if a little shaken up. You placed her on your hip and she instinctively tucked her head into the crook of your neck and looked at the man curiously.

“Well, I did just save her life, you could at least say thank you,” the stranger muttered, his voice gruff but somehow light.

Your gut dropped; you recognised that voice. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, but that voice was way too unique to be anyone else’s. He must have seen the cogs turn in your head for he smirked slightly.

Internally, you were freaking the fuck out because holy shit you think you just met Roger fucking Taylor, but externally, you attempted to keep your composure because it didn’t matter who he was, he still grabbed your daughter and he was crazy if he thought you were going to let that slide.

You were frantically trying to think of something, anything, to you say when Rose felt the need to come to your rescue, “Are you Santa?”. When no one said anything because you were both, quite frankly, too stunned to reply, her excitement just grew, “Mummy, look, it’s Santa! Santa saved me!” she turned to look at him and put on her sweetest voice, “Thank you, Santa!”

He sighed, knowing full well he was about to break this poor girl’s heart, and said, “No, I’m not Santa, he lives a long way away.”

She pouted before finding something else that entertained her, “Why are you wearing sunglasses?” she giggled, holding out a hand to try and rip them off of his face and nearly falling out of your arms in the process. You placed her back on the pavement, just to be on the safe side.

He reluctantly took them off and gave them to her, and she grasped them excitedly. She tried to put the sunglasses on, but they were far too big for her, so they just kept sliding off, amusing her to no end.

You forced yourself to look at the man, now you were definitely sure it was Roger and fucking hell you hadn’t expected your day to go anything like the way it had. He raised an eyebrow and you only just clocked that he was still waiting for a reply. “Thank you for stopping her,” you said somewhat sheepishly; now you’d had the chance to think over what he’d actually done, you felt a little guilty for berating him like that. You’d naturally assumed he meant to cause harm somehow, but if he had had such intentions then surely, he wouldn’t have waited for you. He could have run off with Rose, but he didn’t. Naturally, you were still a little wary but while Rose had been interrogating the man over whether or not he was in fact Father Christmas, you had come to the conclusion that he was probably harmless.

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

By around lunchtime you had actually carried in everything that you could, so you’d decided that the rest of the day could be a well-earned lazy day. As you expected, Rose had had no objection to that whatsoever, seen as lazy days more often than not meant Disney marathons. You were making a light lunch, knowing that you’d need to save room for sheer amount of popcorn you’d bought from the corner shop, while Rose was picking out a film to start with.

“Mummy, I got one!” she called as you brought your sandwiches into the living room. She was sat by the TV, surrounded by DVDs with one in her hand. She squinted hard at the blurb of the DVD she was holding, as if she was trying to read it, which made you chuckle to yourself. “What are you laughing at?” she looked at you quizzically.

You shook your head slightly, not wanting to burst her little bubble, “Nothing, sweetheart. Which one did you choose?”

She stood up wobbly, coming incredibly close to falling right back down again but only just regaining her balance, “Zootropolis!” she had to say the word very slowly; the word was very hard to say for a four-year-old, even you struggled with it sometimes.

Zootropolis was one of her favourites at the moment, second only to Tangled, so you weren’t all that surprised by her choice. This would have been the fourth or fifth time watching it so far that month alone, and you were only about halfway through January. The joys of having a child, you thought wryly to yourself. Not that you’d ever complain to Rose. Besides, you’d much rather Zootropolis to Frozen, which you didn’t think you could ever watch again after being subjected to hearing Let It Go every day for weeks and then much longer in your head.

“Ah, good choice,” you said as she thrust the DVD in front of your face. You put the sandwiches down on the coffee table and took the DVD from her, “Why don’t you go and get a couple of your toys to watch the film with us while I set it up? Maybe you could get Nick and Judy.”

Her eyes positively lit up at the idea and she raced off to find them. You’d gone to Oxford Street just before Christmas to see all the lights and Christmas decorations, which then turned into going to the Disney store, which led into incessant begging from Rose to get one of the Zootropolis plushies. You’d ended up compromising, meaning she could get two of her choice, but she couldn’t play with them until Christmas. So now, any excuse to play with them was a good excuse and was guaranteed to keep her entertained for hours on end.

You had just put the disc in the TV when you heard the buzz signalling that someone was at the door. You were a little puzzled; you’d only just moved into this flat, how on earth did someone already have your address? You made your way to the door and held the button on the receiver, allowing you to talk to whoever was there, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this (Y/N)?” an unfamiliar female voice asked, only adding to your confusion.

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

“Well, my name’s Sarina, I think you met my husband this morning?”

A few minutes later, Sarina and Roger were sitting on your sofa with a cup of tea each, with you on the one-seater in front of the window, rhythmically pointing and relaxing your toes, a habit from dancing ballet pretty much every day for about fifteen years. It was around then when you started thinking about how weird this day was turning out to be. First, Roger Taylor saves your daughter’s life, then you give him your address even though you were sure you had no memory of that, and then him and his wife turn up to your flat for no apparent reason other than to have a chat.

You heard Rose’s obnoxiously loud footsteps run down the corridor and once she got to the living room, she stopped dead in her tracks. She had her arms full with soft toys but dropped them all when she noticed your visitors, “Mummy, look it’s not-really-Santa!” she pointed, face lit up with glee at meeting her saviour once again. Then she noticed Sarina and pouted with confusion, “Who are you? Are you not-really-Mrs-Claus?”

“Darling, we told you he’s not actually Santa,” you lightly chastised her.

Rose just looked at you as if she was trying to be patronising, “I know, that’s why I said, ‘not really’!”

Sarina only laughed and said, “My name’s Sarina, I’m Roger’s wife.”

Rose just looked even more baffled than before, “Roger? Who’s Roger?”

Roger waved awkwardly, having not said anything the whole time he’d been there.

A quiet ‘ohhhh’ came from Rose, but her attention quickly returned to her dropped toys, which she promptly rescued from the floor and popped onto your lap. You raised an eyebrow at the pile and looked back at your daughter, “That’s quite a few toys, darling.”

Rose grinned cheekily, “Well, I got Judy and Nick because they’re in the movie but then I thought that my other animals would be sad that I left them out so I got Dumbo, Minnie and Mushu and then I got Rapunzel because she’s my favourite and she loves Pascal and he’s a chame-,” she stopped, understandably struggling with the word.

“Chameleon,” you whispered to try and help her out.

“Yeah, that,” she giggled, not even trying to say it. You put it down to having new people over who she wanted to impress so you made a mental note to help her with it later on.

You turned back to your guests, forgetting momentarily that they were even there, something which you often did while talking to Rose, “Sorry, we were just about to watch Zootropolis as a sort of ‘well done’ for moving all of our stuff inside in one morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt or anything, we just wanted to, well, welcome you to the neighbourhood, I guess. We live just down the road from here,” Sarina justified, and suddenly their surprise visit made so much more sense. You were infinitely grateful as even though it wasn’t like you had no friends at all who lived in London, it couldn’t hurt to have some close by.

“No, don’t apologise, it’s really sweet of you both, thank you so much,” you smiled at them both.

Roger then decided to speak up for the first time since he got there, and you were still wondering why he was being so shy, “Listen, is there anything we can do to help you out at all? I know moving house can be a pretty big deal so if we can help you with anything then do say.”

Your instant thought was to say that you were fine, that you’d be able to manage. You weren’t one to ask for help unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, it was difficult for you. But once you considered it for a moment, you remembered that you had a full day of classes and rehearsals tomorrow, Rose didn’t start at her new pre-school until next week and you hadn’t booked a childminder or a babysitter. You looked at the couple on your sofa, kind and eager to help, and finally opened your mouth to speak, “I have work tomorrow. Is there any chance you could look after Rose for the day?”

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

“I promise I’ve almost got it; I just need to get the footing right after the grand jete,” you reached for your water bottle, “I’m not sure why I can’t land properly.”

“I think it’s because you’re making the chaines more aggressive than they need to be. If you take a gentler approach, then you can put more energy into how you jump and then how you land,” Samantha, the ballet mistress of the company, suggested.

You pulled your fuchsia leg warmers right up to the tops of your legs and tried again, this time taking Samantha’s advice. You landed perfectly flat on your right foot, unfolding straight away and placing your arms in fourth on impulse. You pointed your index fingers as part of your character’s variation which, as it differed from the traditional ballet hand, still took some getting used to.

The Sleeping Beauty would be your first performance since being promoted to a Soloist, and you had received the role of the Fairy of The Golden Vine, meaning you had your own solo in the prologue. You obviously wanted to do really well, you wanted to prove to both the audience and to the other dancers that you deserved the role and the position in the company, despite the little gremlin back at home who was also known as your daughter.

You absolutely adored the name you had chosen for your angel. Rose. The flower thrown onto the stage at the end of a performance which more often than not ended up in a vase on the kitchen windowsill. The colour of the leotard you rehearsed in. The rose-coloured glasses that all children wore at some point in their young lives when they were oblivious and innocent. The colour of optimism, love, joy. The word rose, in and of itself, had so many positive connotations for you, which was exactly what you had needed when you had been expecting her.

Samantha broke you free from your daydream, “Well, we have about half an hour left, is there anything else you wanted to look at before the show tomorrow night?”

It still had yet to sink in for you that the first of eight performances was tomorrow. You hadn’t given it much thought because you didn’t want it to stress you out. Especially when you had other things to worry about, like polishing your part in Act III. Which reminded you, “Could we go over the wedding scene?” you asked sheepishly.

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

You lightly knocked on the door, looking at your phone yet again to check the address. You rubbed your hands together to fight the bitter cold of winter evenings, suddenly regretting not wearing gloves. A forget-me-not blue sky hung overhead, already getting dark even though it wasn’t even five o’clock yet. The pristine door in front of you opened after a few seconds of waiting, but what you were not expecting, however, was for Dr Brian May, guitarist for Queen, arguably the best in the world, astrophysicist and animal rights activist, to answer the door with pen all over his face, “Ah, hello, you must be (Y/N).”

“Err, yeah, hi,” you nervously chuckled, a little starstruck at the man in front of you.

“Mummy?” a small, uncertain called out, soon accompanied by an awfully familiar face peeking out through the doorway to the living room.

“Hello, sweetheart,” you crouched down to be eye level with Rose, holding out your arms as an invitation for a hug.

“Mummy!” she quite literally took it with open arms and the brightest smile you had ever seen plastered on her face.

“Did you have a nice time, princess?” you asked between soft kisses pressed to her head.

This launched her into a fit of giggles and she only just managed to gasp out, “I’m not the princess, Roger’s the princess!”

You stood up with Rose sitting comfortably on your hip, “Is he now? Then who are you?” you bopped her nose with each of the last three words.

Of course, more light-hearted laughter ensued, “I’m the queen! And Brian’s the royal ad-” she stumbled on the last word and pouted, only for the man in question to whisper something in her ear and for her to shout, “Advisor! And Brian’s the royal advisor! Can I show you the kingdom?”

You set her down on the floor carefully and curtseyed like you would at the end of a show, “Lead the way, your most royal highness!” You exchanged a curious glance with Brian and followed your now running daughter into the living room.

To the ordinary person, the living room would appear to be in a state of total and utter chaos. Dining room chairs held up bedsheets, forming a makeshift tent in the centre of the room. Pillows were scattered around the fort, along with seemingly ancient colouring books, with pages the colour of buttermilk, washable pens and sweet wrappers that had yet to be picked up.

Rose dived in, luckily into Roger’s arms rather than the wooden floor. He swept her up into the air, the girl squealing with excitement, before returning her safely to the ground. “Roggie, you’re silly!” she smiled sweetly at him, making his face flood with the red of embarrassment.

“Roggie?” you laughed at his expression and sat down on the other side of Rose, sandwiching her between you and Roger. You were secretly loving how much humiliation could be brought on by a four-year-old child.

Roger looked desperate to salvage whatever was left of his dignity, “Well at least it’s not as bad as ‘Bri Bri’!”

Brian just scratched his head awkwardly and took a seat opposite you all, “I thought it was cute.”

You just chuckled at the state of them both; usually it was you who felt like that, more often than not it was when you brought Rose to work with you, so you found it rather amusing to have someone else on the receiving end of your daughter’s jokes.

Brian cleared his throat, clearly wanting to change the subject as soon as possible, “Mind if I take a picture? You guys look pretty cute in there.”

“By all means,” you agreed, knowing that you had to get a picture too. You were almost guaranteed to tell your friends about this later and they wouldn’t believe you without some kind of proof.

He pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and quickly snapped a photo of you all in your rather adorable tent. He put his glasses on to examine the image and, with a satisfied nod, leaned over to show it to you, “I’d put it on Instagram but with Rose’s age…”

“Well, I don’t have a problem with it,” you said. It was such a sweet photo, you thought it would be a shame to not share it with people, though you figured that might be the performer in you speaking. It was the nature of the job; the performing arts were, at their core, just complex forms of storytelling. You turned to Rose, deciding that she should have a say on the matter, “Darling, would you be alright if Brian put that picture of us on Instagram? A lot of people would see it,” you warned.

She just beamed up at you, “Yeah because then lots of people can see the kingdom I made with Roggie and Bri Bri!”

You just laughed at her and pulled her into a hug while Brian posted the photo onto his account. You froze when your phone vibrated mere seconds later. It’s fine. You could just play it off. Maybe a friend texted you or-

“Mummy, look, your phone lit up!” a girl with sweet and innocent intentions somehow managed to flood you with embarrassment and suddenly you felt bad for laughing at Roger and Brian earlier.

Fuck.

You looked at her with the fakest possible smile and said, “Thank you, darling.”

“Is somebody a fan, then?” Roger taunted, not helping the situation whatsoever and instead making you want to throw your phone out of the nearest window and then you along with it.

Of course you were a bloody fan, why else would you get a notification when Brian posted on Instagram? “You see, it’s a long story, I err, just got, um, a text from one of my friends about the show tomorrow?” It came out as more of a question than an answer.

Brian and Roger exchanged a knowing look before muttering to themselves that you were ‘definitely a fan’ and ‘who do you think you’re kidding’.

To hide yourself as much as humanly possible, you decided to open the app and check the post. It turned out that you weren’t the only one who had the post-notifications turned on. Other fans were already beginning to shower it with likes and comments, and you were intrigued as to what people were saying.

Who is the little girl?? She’s so cute 💖💖

Yes we stan Bri and Rog being grandads

Is it me or does she look like that dancer from the Royal?

How someone had worked out that last one, you would never know.

Brian, being the saint that he was, decided to save you from your shame, “Rose mentioned that you’re a ballet dancer,” he smiled, finally starting to clear up the mess of wrappers and pens.

“Did she now?” you asked playfully, bopping her nose much to her delight before helping Brian out.

“You any good?” Roger asked.

“Well, I’d hope so seen as it’s my job,” you joked.

Roger’s brows furrowed instantly, “Wait, it’s your job?”

You nodded, giggling slightly, “Yeah, I’ve danced professionally for about 5 years-”

“Mummy, that’s older than me!” Rose interrupted, mouth open in bewilderment.

“Yes, sweetheart, that is older than you, but remember to wait for your turn to speak, OK?” you reminded her. You’d been working on that for a little while and she was mostly getting the hang of it, although she slipped up every now and then as you’d expect from a four-year-old.

“Sorry, Mummy,” she apologised in a singsong voice.

“Thank you, my darling,” you kissed her head and pulled her in for a hug, “Anyway, I dance with the Royal Ballet down in Covent Garden. I just got promoted to a Soloist so I’m starting to get better roles than I was before.”

“So, what have you been doing today?” Brian asked, eyes bright with the same curiosity you saw in Rose from time to time.

“Well, I had my warm-up class at nine, then my technical one at eleven. I’d usually have another class or physio but we’re opening The Sleeping Beauty tonight, so I was in rehearsals for that all afternoon. Oh, and we had a final costume fitting just after lunch,” you counted them on your fingers, smiling bashfully when you were met with looks of bewilderment and awe.

“And you’ve got to do a whole performance too?” Roger asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I mean technically I should still be at the Opera House to eat my dinner but I had to come and get this little munchkin first,” you tickled Rose, her adorable giggles filling the room.

When you finally showed her mercy and ceased the tickles, she said, “I get to watch Mummy dance from the side!”

You quickly filled Roger and Brian in when they shot you looks of confusion, “She means the wings. I can’t afford to hire a babysitter for every performance I do so she gets to watch for free. Besides, she loves it, sometimes we dance together backstage when I’m not needed seen as the music’s loud enough.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Brian began warily, and you were already dreading the question that was sure to follow, “But why isn’t there anyone else to babysit her for the evening?”

Ah, the wonderful question that was asked of you nearly every time you met someone. You quickly shot him a look of not in front of Rose, and thank God he understood, for he nodded and sent you a smile as an apology. You turned Rose around so she was facing you instead of leaning against your front and said, “Darling, we have to go in a minute so why don’t you run and grab your toys, OK?”

She jumped up and ran off, hopefully to find her belongings, always oblivious and you hoped she’d stay that way for quite some time.

You took a deep breath and finally answered Brian’s question, “Rose’s father and I split up when she was two, and none of my family live in London,” you shrugged; Rose’s dad was still a bit of a touchy subject. Understanding washed over the both of them immediately, and suddenly you remembered they had both gone through the same thing.

Brian quickly changed the subject yet again, somehow sensing that you weren’t feeling all too comfortable, “Do you think we could come and watch one of your shows? We could bring Rose with us and that way you won’t have to worry about her being backstage.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you. I don’t think I can get you tickets for tonight but I probably can for tomorrow if that’s alright?” you smiled at his enthusiasm, especially considering you had only known him for about twenty minutes at the most. Roger didn’t seem as excited, though you were expecting that because, if you remembered correctly, he wasn’t a huge fan of musical theatre and ballet wasn’t far from that.

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

It was around one o’clock in the morning and even though you were yawning what felt like every ten seconds, you somehow found yourself sitting on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You knew that you should be settling down, Rose had gone to bed about an hour ago and you normally followed not long after, but you weren’t quite ready yet. With every passing minute, you would be feeling even more regret tomorrow, but it felt as though something was physically stopping you from sleeping.

“Mama?” a small, tired voice called from the doorway. You never closed your bedroom door all the way for this exact reason. Rose shyly tottered into the room, dragging her blanket on the floor behind her and hugging her stuffed dragon toy with her other arm, “Mama?”

You placed your phone on a cardboard box full of things you had yet to unpack and gestured for her to climb into your bed, “What’s up, sweetness?” she clambered into your arms and you shuffled back to lean on the wall behind you. Her cheeks were damp against your shoulder and your heart leapt into your mouth, “Hey bubba, it’s OK, you’re OK, I’ve got you.”

Tiny sobs escaped her mouth and you rocked her gently, patiently waiting for her to calm down. Fortunately, it was only a matter of minutes before her crying ceased. You took this opportunity to gently approach the subject of what had caused all of this, “Did you have a nightmare, darling?”

She nodded, keeping her movements and voice as small as she could, as if someone was confining every part of her, “Daddy.”

You took a breath to ground yourself because fuck you didn’t want her to have to deal with your mistakes and said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, “What happened with Daddy?”

She rubbed her eye with a tiny hand and murmured, “You. Daddy. Loud.”

You tried to put the pieces together, assuming that you’d been arguing with him. This happened when she was scared, or sad, she would act like she was two instead of four, which restricted her language especially. You supposed acting younger was a comfort to her. When you’d split up with her father, you’d hoped to God that she was too young to remember any of the arguments she’d overheard. You and him had been a classic case of ‘settling down far too quickly’. Rose had been an accident and simultaneously the one to show that the both of you weren’t thinking any of it through at all. He’d walked out after the biggest fight that you’d had, and you were quite grateful for it, if you were honest.

“Me and Daddy didn’t get on very well, darling,” you explained, “You won’t ever see him again, I promise. And I won’t be loud like that, OK?” You felt her nod against your chest, and you could feel her settling down already, “Did you want to sleep in Mummy’s bed tonight?”

She perked up at your suggestion; sleeping in your bed was always a treat reserved for special occasions, and you despised the thought of making her go back to bed by herself. “Please, please, please, Mama? I like your bed, it’s soft and warm and snuggly.”

You responded by turning off your phone and the lamp on your bedside table, and tucking you both in, still cradling her against your chest like a baby. You wondered as she already began to drift off, if it had really been procrastination that had been stopping you from going to sleep earlier, or if it was just a mother’s instinct. Or if you were just thinking that to try and make yourself feel better about yourself.

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

Backstage was even more alive with excitement that evening. Someone had seen Brian and Roger in the foyer and word had quickly spread, though you hadn’t said a word on the subject to avoid the rush of inevitable questions. It would make the tabloid headlines by tomorrow morning; you could guarantee that.

The whirlwind rush of backstage never changed, and secretly you hoped it would always stay that way. It was absolute chaos, someone’s pointe shoes had gone soft, or someone’s lost a bit of their costume, or someone’s tights had ripped. It was strange compared to the scene of calm and serenity seen on stage; it was as if each dancer was put under a spell of some sort the moment they stepped out of the wings. While most would find the constant change of environments unnerving, you quite liked it, it kept you on your toes better than the pointe shoes on your feet.

It was a tad strange not having to chase after Rose every five seconds, tonight she was out in the audience for the first time ever. You’d never thought to take her to watch a ballet, she’d seen basically every show in the Royal’s repertoire from the wings, sometimes more enthralled by what went on behind the scenes than the dancing itself. She was forever trying to help anyone who needed it, usually it was looking over a costume or a hairstyle and pointing out anything that was out of place. It was one of the only times people were grateful for the brutal honesty that came with her youth. When she wasn’t doing that, she’d sit somewhere where she could watch the performance through the wings with a sticker book to keep her occupied during the ‘boring bits’, or she’d sleep on the sofa you’d asked Heather to put in place for exactly that reason.

You always felt guilty about making her stay awake so late, considering evening performances didn’t end until around eleven o’clock at night, meaning she wasn’t in bed until just before midnight. Luckily, it wasn’t most nights as you didn’t perform every night, and you had asked to not do as many evening performances as possible, making up for it by doing almost every matinees available. However, that didn’t stop your heart from breaking slightly every time you saw Rose yawn as a result of the lack of sleep. You just didn’t have any other options, until tonight that was. And in secret you were hoping that Brian and Roger would be able to help out again, though you’d never bring it up with them.

You shook yourself back to reality when Meaghan, the dancer in front of you, made her entrance, meaning you had to step forwards, ready for your own. The fairies had to line up in the wings and you were the last one to go on and dance your solo before the Lilac Fairy. You watched Meaghan dance, adrenaline coursing through your veins as it always would just before an entrance, and her beautifully danced solo was done in what felt like thirty seconds rather than two minutes. You took a deep breath and ran on when you heard your cue, plastering a smile on your face that was real for the most part.

You felt the music flood every corner of your mind. You didn’t even have to think about the steps you were dancing, letting muscle memory take control. You lost yourself in the beauty of the music, and in the beauty of yourself. You knew you looked like a real fairy, you sure felt like one, and you hoped that at least one child out there in the audience was watching you and thinking wow I want to be able to do that. You ran over in your head literally everything you knew about ballet, every little piece of advice you’d ever been given, something you probably should have done backstage but that didn’t matter because there you were. You were dancing on your own, all eyes on you, and you relished in the attention that you’d usually shy away from. If that is what it felt like every time you performed on your own, then fuck you were hungry for more. It was over in what felt like a heartbeat but also an eternity, and you ran over to your place further downstage.

Now you had the opportunity to pause for a moment, you took it to scan over the audience, though it was in pure vain as they were obscured by darkness. You supposed it helped dancers with stage fright, though you couldn’t help but wonder why you’d become a dancer if your stage fright was that bad. It was no longer a problem for you, but it had been helpful when you danced on that stage for the first time, especially considering you had only been a teenager when you first started performing with the Royal. You had to admit that you were trying to find Rose, Brian and Roger, knowing they were out there somewhere, watching with wonder in their eyes. You forced yourself to give up with that particular challenge; it was a rookie mistake to try to find loved ones in an audience. You just hoped they recognised you from wherever they were seated.

Elation just ran wild through your veins and you couldn’t stop the blush of pride filling your cheeks, not that you wanted to. This was the reason you danced, for the childlike joy that it brought you, the kind of glee that was the cause of each and every one of Rose’s giggles. It was pointe-shoe pink, it was ice cream on a hot day, it was a butterfly flying past you. It was ephemeral, blink and you’d miss it, but the hangover feeling of sheer bliss, that was the reason you danced.

You were hardly conventional, you knew that. A young single mother, a ballet dancer who had been promoted to a Soloist in her early twenties and living in London of all places. You were a ballet dancer, dancing to the melody of her own piano and to hell with anyone who said that you couldn’t.

#Brian May #brian may x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #ballet #ballet au #modern queen #queen #queen x reader #royal ballet #the sleeping beauty #child character #brian may imagine #roger taylor imagine #queen imagine #london

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dalekofchaos · 4 years

Text

The Fireflies’ vaccine wouldn’t have worked or why Joel did the right thing

In the last part of The Last of Us, Joel kills all the fireflies and saves Ellie but by doing so he may have doomed humanity by ending the possibility of a cure being made, making the ending bittersweet and morally ambiguous. The thing is, Joel didn't really do anything wrong, and saving Ellie was the right choice, here are my reasons:

The doctors would remove Ellie's brain to try to create a vaccine, but that's not how vaccines works, a vaccine is a tamed version of a pathogen that "teaches" your body to defend against it, to do a vaccine you need to use the pathogen in small quantities or a modified version of it, Ellie is immune to it, you don't create vaccines from the immune system, that's called a serum, and it works differently, a serum is used when someone comes in contact with a disease and it contains a series of antibodies that fight the infection, but it doesn't make anyone immune. So what they were trying to do was pointless;

Even if the doctors know what they were doing, it was a wild shot a with no guarantee that it would work;

Even if a vaccine was successfully made they wouldn't save the world, the world was destroyed 20 years ago, society collapsed and was rebuilt again on a new way, and everyone already new how to deal with it, also the greatest threat were not even the cordyceps fungus anymore, it was the infected (that the vaccine couldn't do nothing about) and the crooked humans that walked the earth. Besides that, the fireflies had no way to distribute the vaccine worldwide, not even in a national level.

If you listen to the tapes in the Colorado segment, it pretty much confirms that Ellie is not unique and they wouldn’t be able to make a vaccine anyway. The doctor has practically lost his mind and Ellie is just his white whale. Ellie was not the first subject and she most likely wouldn’t have been the last.

The doctor pretty much went against the common ethical code of all medical practitioners just for a CHANCE at a vaccine/cure.

And wouldn't it take a lot of time to study her? A day to do all the tests is outright impossible. Just look at the corona vaccine. With all the tech the world has the biotechnologists are going to take more than a year to make a vac.

Vaccines for Fungal infections are nearly impossible and are a logistical nightmare.Even in today’s world,they can only be treated with antibiotics and anti-fungal medicine. They didn’t even bother with thoroughly researching Ellie’s blood and trying to extract the fungal specimen without killing her. The tests were blood samples and samples from the area where she was bit and then only cutting her brain open as THE LAST POSSIBLE USE for her, then when their step 1 was "lol just kill this incredibly rare specimen" I was shocked.

BTW, PS4 version actually removed a piece of paper that's available in all the other forms of the game. What is this piece of paper? Just the one that describes how they've tried this process dozens of times before and how they've NEVER gotten any useful info.

The Fireflies are terrorists. The Fireflies are terrorists, and not even competent ones. Here we go. We first hear of the Fireflies in credits, where they are taking credit for attacking the Federal Disaster Response Agency. Not a good start.The next time we start to see hints of them is through graffiti in the quarantine zone. What does this graffiti say? Fireflies will take it all back. That sounds great! Burn it all down. ...oh. That’s, uh, a little less great. Fucking die, pig. Um… Uh, that’s uh, not a great look here guys.And that goes on and on. The graffiti does not exactly inspire. All it does is get angry.Next time we see them, it’s when they literally bomb a checkpoint and supply truck, then begin firing wildly all over the place. This is straight terrorism. They don’t care if there is collateral damage, in fact, Joel gets injured in this scene.Then we meet Marlene, the so-called Queen Firefly. Injured and on the run, the military is slowly wiping them out. This leads to a line of dialogue that is absolutely hilarious. Marlene starts to preach about “We’ve been quiet. Been planning on leaving the city, but they need a scapegoat. They’ve been trying to rile us up. We’re trying to defend ourselves”Those are big words from someone who just bombed a checkpoint.This clearly shows us that Marlene cannot be trusted as a narrator. She has an agenda and is lying to Joel and possibly herself. And that despite how effective guerrilla tactics usually are, her group is still managing to get absolutely devastated. They are failing so badly that they have to recruit smugglers just to try to get Ellie out of the city.So begins the trek showing dead Fireflies at every turn. Downtown subway station? Dead Fireflies. The Capitol building? Dead Fireflies. Pittsburgh? Oh, let’s talk about Pittsburgh.Pittsburgh is a monument to Firefly failure. Pittsburgh was originally another Quarantine zone held together by FEDRA. So what happened here? Well, times got hard, and the Fireflies instigated a civil war or insurrection. This fighting lasted for months, with Fireflies lynching soldiers that they caught alone, burning soldiers alive after dousing them in gasoline, and FEDRA retaliating by executing Fireflies. FEDRA finally gave up and retreated from Pittsburgh, putting the Fireflies in control- and then it all fell apart. The people of Pittsburgh discover that the Fireflies had planned to move right into the space FEDRA had previously occupied. And so, after this was discovered, the Fireflies were driven out just like FEDRA had been. Only much faster, and with less fight. And now Pittsburgh is nothing but anarchy. People gunned down in the streets for nothing. Rooms full of bodies, clothes and shoes. Almost looks like after images of Dachau. Bravo, Fireflies. Excellent revolution.Next up, we meet Tommy, Joel’s brother, and disenfranchised Firefly. He worked for them for years, going all the way to Colorado for them. Somewhere along the way, he lost faith in them and left their cause. He doesn’t specify exactly why, but it seems he might have lost faith in their methods.Then we come to the University. This is where we really discover how incompetent the Fireflies actually are. One of the first notes you see at University is about a guy who is angry he got yelled at for falling asleep on guard duty. Real professionals. This same note indicates that while they’re still getting some supplies, it’s not enough for what’s needed, with gasoline being particularly short. The next note comes from a recording, telling us that they’re losing more guards, with the doctor clearly concerned about how much equipment and data will be lost if they have to move. The doctor even calls the Fireflies incompetent in this note. And then we have this genius.. That’s right. Bitten by his own lab monkey. Because he just had to set it free, rather than putting it down humanely. Brilliant work sir. Brilliant. He kills himself before turning though, but not before informing us that they hadn’t accomplished anything for over five years. And even that small breakthrough was ultimately a failure. And now the entire lab is compromised, and abandoned.And then there’s a long break from Fireflies until Salt Lake. Ellie, having just gone underwater, isn’t breathing. Joel attempts to perform CPR on her when our hero Firefly shows up, and knocks Joel unconscious. Ah, violence. The first solution. Willing to forgive it, since it strongly mirrors the scene with Sarah, only the Firefly is in the soldier’s shoes this time. But still. Military was gentler.And now for the hospital. The final failure of the Fireflies. This is where so many people are convinced that Joel screws the world by preventing a vaccine. But somehow, I just don’t think so. This is one last desperate bid by the Fireflies for control. How do they intend to do this? Comprehensive bloodwork? No. Vigorous testing with laboratory animals, like, oh, maybe monkeys? No, someone let all their monkeys go. Crack open her head and hope for the best? Hell yeah! Does the fact that they’ve lost their biologist concern them? Nah, it’ll be fine! Does the fact that this is the only time they’ve seen immunity to this degree even give them pause? Pfft, crack her open! Does the fact that there has never been a successful vaccine against fungus give them pause? PASS THAT SCALPEL! No need to think this over, let’s blow our whole load on this once in a lifetime lucky strike as fast as possible. No, I’ve never heard the story about the goose who laid the golden eggs, tell it to me after I finish butchering surgery. Even if we make this vaccine, how will we deploy it? You're thinking too hard, hand me the saw!This is just bad science. Done by bad scientists. Cheered on by fools. Fools who wanted to murder Joel after he made that long trip.And for people who insist on government and democracy, it’s funny how they didn’t risk telling Ellie their “plan” and just sedated her and rushed her to the table.

Even by SOME MIRACLE they managed to make a vaccine, the world ain't gonna automatically return to what it was. It's a dog eat dog world and that is the new normal. Infected, cannibals, more psychos like David and raiders are still there and it ain't going away soon or maybe ever. On top of that, mass production and distribution of a vaccine is an absolute logistical nightmare in a post apocalyptic world- they simply don't have enough resources for that. And who's to say The Fireflies wouldn't use it to as a bargaining tool to put everyone, willing or not, under their new rule? And even given all that, they debated killing Joel after he delivered Ellie. He did the job and the payment he received was getting knocked out and being marched outside of the safe zone AT GUNPOINT WITHOUT HIS WEAPONS AND SUPPLIES! The Fireflies broke their deal and fucked Joel over. Joel had ever right to kill them and save Ellie.

So I believe what Joel did in the end was the right thing, the fireflies was an extremist group that was willing to do anything not to save the world, but to prove their point, even kill an innocent girl under a delusional precept.

#The Last Of Us #Joel Miller #Ellie Williams #The Fireflies #Marlene #Jerry Anderson

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justal0wk3yg4mer · 5 years

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Things I’ve Said: Thief 2014 (Some Spoilers)

My words *Player/My actions* Character dialogue

Nice title screen. Very dark and foreboding.

*Reads a tip* Oh goodie, I get to be a peeping tom.

I like Garrett, he’s sassy. And hot damn that voice.

Y’all laying on the eyeshadow thick. Like, raccoon thick.

See Garrett has good morals, if necessary kill, if not necessary don’t kill. Erin WTF is your deal?

Now see, I think that was a bad idea. If she relies on that thing so much you are just gonna screw her over if there is a need for an escape.

Don’t tell her that, she has an inferiority complex.

Thank you! Robes ARE sketchy.

*Gets my rating back* I am a GHOST!!!!!!!!

Wait we like birds? I thought we avoided birds cause they’re snitches.

Oh shit, a year?! I thought maybe a few months, but a year! Damn, their just dragging this place through the mud turtle speed.

Old blind people always know what’s up and are cryptic about it.

You want coffee? No honey, what you need is a good ol’ knockout. Don’t worry, I’ll hook you up.

This creep is gonna shot you. He’s the bad guy, he’s gonna-...........or maybe not? That’s it? Mentally scar the dude? Not very evil of you-*Thief-Taker General kills the man*-and there it is. Told you he’d shoot you.

*Listens to a conversation* Oh, only the wealthy can get cock rings? Good to know. *Listens for a few more minutes* And somehow this conversation got worse.

Is that a..............! It is! Finally, a plague mask! I was wondering when I would see one of these.

So, either the proportions on that woman are wrong, or she’s got a fatass.

*Meets Orion* Nope. Don’t like you and don’t trust you. I don’t care that you are ‘helping’ people, something is wrong with you.

You want Garrett to steal a book? That is the first thing you have said that actually interests me.

*Me thinking I can jump over a large gap like in Assassin’s Creed* *Garrett Dies* Fuck

Brilliant, blood makes a sound.

Yo, fuck this. I did not sign-up to go to the upside down. And why does Erin sound mad?

*Garrett touches a painting oddly* Huh, guess Garrett is an ass man.

Erin is related to the Baron, calling it. *Chapter 3 memories play* Damn it. But you know what, good for her!

OMG! Is that a drag queen!? Yas bitch, tell his crusty, creepy ass off!

I knew one of these holes would lead to a sex scene.

Thief-Taker General: Punish me mommy, I’ve been bad. Eeewwwwwwwwww. I didn’t need to hear that.

How much freaky cult BS is in this town?

Orion: You can’t just walk in the front doors. No kidding? Damn, how else is a thief going to enter a building without using the front doors?

Why the fuck are people panicking? I haven’t done anything.

*Listens to a conversation* 4 to 5 days? I’m pretty sure the architect is dead. *Enters the architect’s study* Called it.

*Garrett falls and lands in front of several Nightwatchmen* Garrett: Good Evening. That’s kinda funny.

VIVA REVOLUTION!!!!!!!

Don’t you do it. Garrett no. We are getting Basso and getting the fuck out of here, you hear me! Garrett: It’s who I am. ITs wHO i aM

You fucker, I knew you were gonna be here. *Referring to the thief-taker general*

Oh great, I’m going from the crazies of the streets to the crazies on a fucking island. (BTW Garrett said almost the exact same thing right after I said this and I screamed. Thanks unreal.)

*Reads a tip* First of all, what the fuck are freaks? And second, freaks do what now?

Please don’t let this be a Victorian style Outlast.

*Door slams shut behind me* Fuck. *Doors are suddenly barracked behind me* FFFUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKK!

Oh fuck, it’s the bonies! (Warms Bodies anyone?)

Orion did what to you? See, that is a red flag for me. I don’t like that, something is up with that guy.

He’s the Baron’s brother? Has to be the youngest, and I stress the young bit, brother. And of course he’s crazy, I knew he was suspicious!

Why is it, whenever I get out of a major cutscene, 95% of the time I get force pushed? Like, I just watched a memory and now I’m in danger. That is oddly common in Garrett’s life, watch, next someone is going to be waiting for him on the ledge. *Enter thief-taker general and his stupid rant* You motherf*cker! I knew that shit was gonna happen, but I didn’t want you!

A hand for a leg, and a leg for a hand. Not how it goes but this game makes it work.

Fuck the graven. Who decided that burning the bridge was a good idea? Yeah, let’s destroy a major bridge that could have brought over supplies or let people come and go as they please. Fucking dumbasses.

BBQ anyone? *Few seconds later a person burning falls over* Like I said, BBQ anyone?

Damn, I can’t swim across this little area? This is gonna be like Altair all over again.

Beggar Queen got more sneak game than Garrett. At least he didn’t jump. *She leaves* Correction, Queen’s sneak game is over 9000.

Ah yes, the final mission. It’s dark, it’s raining, and lighting flashes over a worn-down cathedral. I fucking love it.

Gaming logic. Fires are still burning when it is pouring down rain. And I have to shoot a WATER arrow to put the fires out. Genius.

My dude, you grapple?

These flowers were really pretty at first. Now, they just give me the willies. I’ll probably turn a corner and see a bonie. *Does exactly that* Fuck my life.

What the fu-No wait, why am I surprised? It’s more cult BS.

Oh no, she screamed and force pushed everyone, run away!

*Thief-Taker General enters for a final battle* Fuck off! You are the most stereotypical villain ever.

Well when you say it like that, all you ever wanted to do was murder Garrett. Not see him hang, there is a difference.

FINISH HIM! (If you didn’t read that with the Mortal Kombat voice, you’re wrong)

Garrett: I’m not alone down here. Yeah no shit. Wanna say that a little louder to let the bonies know as well?

Oh God, Orion has daddy issues.

Erin, WTF? Garrett literally said not two minutes ago that he wanted you. Not the primal.

Erin quit it, you’re scaring me. That ‘secret’ better not be some BS like “BTW you’re my dad.”

Erin: Garrett! I’m slipping! Fuck you game, I already went through this.

And the darkness finally leads to dawn. Good job Garrett, you and the city live to see another night.

Ladies and gentlemen this weeks tally was lovingly name after how many time my dumbass said this. I give you:

Oh Pretty!: 168

#Things I've Said #thief 2014 #thief garrett #erin #thief-taker general #video games

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zagreus-eats-your-bread · 4 years

Text

Ok I'm making the post

Let's talk about a certain Sherlock Holmes audio play. So, the German publisher Maritim made Sherlock Holmes audios of the original 60 stories from 2003-2011.

The "last" audio (they made some more but those weren't ACD Canon so..) was very lose, it was named after and included the short story "How Watson learned the trick", but since that is very short, it filled most of the rest with someone talking about Arthur Conan Doyle and then the actors of Holmes and Watson listing all the facts that are apparent in ACD canon, like date of birth and everything about them before they met basically.

This is the cover btw (made up out of cover images of some previous audios)

Now, the good part

So after this we get the hat scene™, basic stuff yknow, but it takes a quite weird and meta turn that's pretty fucking hilarious imo.

It turns out, the owner of this hat has sent Holmes a letter ; a letter stating that they are fictional characters and not really real. So Holmes tells Watson. Watson, understandably, thinks that's pretty stupid. They discuss the matter and the meta implications and shit and turns out: the guy who sent the letter also isn't real. Neither is that chair or that violin. Fucked up if true.

Turns out, Holmes did some digging and discovered, among other things, the following:

there is no 221b in the Baker Street (apparently lmao)

there's an entry on him in some encyclopedia (also Watson is a bit offended when there isn't an entry on him/the entry on him only redirects to Holmes)

the complete edition of all his cases, including those that "haven't happened yet"

Watson admits defeat. Fine. They're not real, whatever. They get talking about ACD. "He must've been really smart to write you??", says Watson.

Holmes starts ranting about how he would never get along with ACD, because he believed in spiritualism and faries. He then goes on about how he hated writing him and tried to kill him off.

"He's tried to kill you?? We have to report him to Scotland Yard??"

"Lestrade isn't real either tho"

"Ah yeah"

Watson is quite upset about everyone being fictional. (Fun fact: that explorer who found an ancient civilization from that other ACD book apparently also exists in their universe in this adaptation).

Holmes comforts him with the fact that the Queen is real.

Then Watson thinks "hold the fuck up, how can that book have all our cases, surely we're far from being finished with our work". Holmes is like "yeah, it has our future cases".

Watson: "But why isn't there more?? If our father (yeah, they call him that here, it's super creepy lmao) has given up writing about us, he might just start again, like before"

"no, cause he's fucking dead"

They're pretty bummed about that.

Watson: "So what do we do now?"

Holmes: "There's nothing left for us to do"

Anyway, they then decide to die, The End

#this isnt 100% accurate but you know the things i said did happen (i paraphrased a lot obviously) not necessarily in that order tho #Sherlock Holmes #john watson #Arthur Conan Doyle

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chrysolina · 6 years

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Backstory to Steve not going into the ice headcanon

Before y’all go and read the actual headcanon itself, I highly suggest reading THIS BIT as it fills you in pretty well on what comes up in the actual headcanon!!!

- Backstory? You met Bucky and Steve via a friend Bucky was dating way back when and caught the eye of a stubborn, little blonde-head who didn’t exactly want to be there at this dance.

- From the moment he saw you in that beautiful dress, laughing away to something Dot had told you, he just heart-eyed for you. Period.

- But then he took a look at himself and then at you.

- and realised he’d never get to be with anyone as beautiful as you.

- You’d probably go for someone like Bucky, so he thought.

- But was more than pleasantly surprised when you showed no interest in Bucky and went straight to Steve.

- Over and over and over again.

- Whenever Dot was with Bucky, you were almost 99.9% of the time right next to lill’ Stevie.

- And when you weren’t, you were either in the toilet or buying stuff like drinks etc.

- It wasn’t until a cool Brooklyn winters night that IT happened.

- No you guys didn’t bone, not yet at least.

- But Steve was feeling brave that night as you sat out on the steps of the apartment building he lived in.

- You were just radiant under the twinkling moonlight and he just couldn’t help it.

- So when he came back out to join you with a blanket in hand, he did it.

- He called your name so you’d turn to look at him and placed his slightly roughed lips to your warm wet ones.

- And to what he thought was you refusing him move when you didn’t react, he was more Han ecstatic when you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into you further.

- And yes, after that you did go inside and fuck.

- Of which was freaking magical for the two of you.

- It was slow, sensual and meaningful; just like your relationship.

- It couldn’t be denied from that point on that you two were an actual thing.

- And god was Bucky proud of his bestie.

- Skip ahead two years of being together, Steve heard the news that war was raging over Europe and that days may be limited until war would end up on the streets here.

- And that danger came with war.

- And since Steve didn’t wanna die regretting not doing anything, he decided that now was the time to ask you THAT question.

- The ‘will you marry me?’ question that scared the fuck out of him the whole damn evening.

- It wasn’t until you were both snoozing in bed after giving Steve a good and thorough blowjob that he said it.

- Well, sorta.

- He was spooning you (as best as he could) from the back and more or less just said it.

- “Y/N?”

- “mm yes sweetie..?”

- “Marry me.”

- “uh...what?”

- “I said; marry me - please.”

- After telling you his thoughts about the imminent dangers spreading across the Atlantic to home and the regrets he’d have, you planned that following weekend to get married.

- And you did.

- It was only a small affair; you in white, him in a rented black, Bucky the best man, your sister your maid of honour and your family being there in the tiny Catholic Church Steve and his family used to visit.

- It really was magical.

- Although your honeymoon consisted of staying at home in your shared apartment and no/little work, it was still a time you could never forget.

- And the ‘honeymoon’ you two had was also pretty darn amazing, full of love, kisses and softness.

- You two really were in your own bubble.

- Until it came.

- War was here and with it came the inevitable, the drafting's.

- First Bucky and then a little later, your own Stevie of all people.

- It really was a worrying time for you, a nurse now sent to work on ex-veterans who were coming back on leave.

- And the stuff you’d see made your stomach turn tenfold.

- The wounds, the cries of agony in their sleep; your husband and best friend had just gone out to face that.

- And all you could do was sit in the main infirmary in Queens and Brooklyn, twirling The Sarah Roger’s wedding ring out of fear as the radio blared the horrific news day by day.

- You’d seen some things in that infirmary over the short month or so you were there but that was yet to be beaten.

- You remember it vividly, it was a cloudy day in New York and as one of the more experienced nurses you’d heard news that there could be a brief power-cut today.

- Which was weird because when do you plan a power-cut?

- And it really was weird.

- Due to obvious reasons, you couldn’t turn off the lights that were being used as other nurses like your mother and sister sewed up torn wounds

- So all you had to do was watch them flicker as if a freight train was funnelling down a track above you.

- You thought that was it for the weird and strange, but you were wrong. So so wrong.

- Like everyone tried to do, letters were regularly sent between you, Steve and on occasion Bucky too during their time away but it wasn’t until a weeks mail had gone by and you noticed no letters from Steve.

- Which could only mean one thing, you could very well be a widow by now. And he couldn’t send any letters because he was dead.

- So for what seemed like an eternity, you prepped yourself over and over for that day a mournful Bucky or fellow soldier would knock on your apartment door and tell you the worst.

- This cycle kept on going and going until one morning you arrived in the infirmary and found THE Mr Howard Stark talking to the nurses in the room, all looking to you as you stepped in the room.

- “You’re nurse Rogers, right?”

- “..Yes that’s me? How may I help you?”

- “I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this but you’re coming with me ma’am.”

- “Wh-where am I going?”

- “London, tomorrow morning. Pack your bags and be ready for 9AM - i’ll come and collect you.”

- Yeah, talk about a whirlwind twenty-four hours.

- You didn’t know what to expect really as you walked through the various male and female officers in bottle green, black or white shirts and uniform under that yellowy orange light.

- Until Stark showed you into this sectioned-off room and to wait until ‘someone’ came.

- Btw you were wearing something like this X

- And then you saw him emerge from the shadows, a man with the exact same eyes, same hair, same face, same smile and same voice as your Stevie’s.

- It wasn’t until he spoke, you knew exactly who this man was.

- “Y’miss me baby-doll?”

A C T U A L H E A D C A N O N

Chris / Steve rogers tags - @patzammit @tacohead13@youreahandsomedevil @thisismysecrethappyplace @fanfic111

Permanent tags - @multireality @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall @coffeebooksandfandom

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers fanfic #1940's steve rogers #pre serum steve #pre-serum steve rogers x reader #pre-serum steve rogers imagine #pre-serum steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers angst

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javis-beretta · 6 years

Note

hi if ur taking requests could i get a race x reader with a brooklyn girlsie who’s spot’s best friend & second in command which mean spot’s super protective over her?

this is my first time writing race in the canon verse so go easy on me (and i’m not sorry that it got so long). also, this is my first request so y e e t. enjoy! (daisy is ur newsies nickname btw)

Race Higgins was not a feelings kind of guy. Crutchie, with his ever-hopeful smile and bright, optimistic eyes? He did feelings. Jack, with his pretty girlfriend and heart-on-his-sleeve love for his boys? He did feelings. Race did not do feelings. So, why did his heart get all – eugh – fluttery when you walked into the lodging house, with a message for Jack? Why did he lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and picturing you, with your twinkling eyes and your ever-present smirk, lying there next to him?

Race was also horrible at keeping secrets. But, you, he was pretty sure, were worth it. There wasn’t anything much to tell, anyway. He met you at the rally, standing off to the side while Spot Conlon shone in the spotlight. There was something about your stance, your crossed arms and straight back, that looked familiar. Maybe, it was because he knew how it felt to stand away from the spotlight, and to be proud of it. He had been Jack’s second-in-command until Davey’d come along, so he knew that look in your eyes. It was challenging, but certain. It said that you had faith in Spot, in the same way Race trusted Jack with his life. There was also a flower, stubbornly unwilted, tucked behind your ear and sticking out from under your cap.

That night was the first time he talked to you, too. His feet had drifted over to you, before he could stop himself, and he searched for something to say. You looked him over quickly and beat him to it.

“You’re from Manhattan, ain’t you?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Be honest with me, are your boys serious about the strike?”

He nodded again, finding his voice this time.

“We been hurt too bad to not be serious about all this.”

It was your turn to nod.

“This ain’t just a strike about us, no more. It’s about all of New York. There’s kids getting hurt all over. Someone needs to look after the little guys.”

He surprised himself with his own words. He hadn’t realised how much the strike truly meant to him until then.

You grinned, satisfied.

“Well, alright then. I’m Daisy,” you motioned to the flower in your hair and then stuck out a hand to shake. He met your eyes.

“Race.”

The first time he hugged you was after Manhattan had won their strike. You were both caught up in the excitement of it all. It wasn’t your first strike, but it was the first that carried the winds of change for all newsies with it. He was standing next to you and when Jack yelled their success, you leapt on him in pure joy. The music in Medda’s theatre couldn’t hold a candle to the melody of your laugh and he was certain that nothing could be prettier than your smile.

There was something between the two of you, something that pulled you together like magnets, even after those firsts. Neither of you had any idea what it was, but it felt decidedly unique. You had come to an arrangement.

Every Thursday night, just after sunset, when all the newsies were going to play cards or bet on the horses, the pair of you would meet at the point where the Brooklyn Bridge ended, and Manhattan began, and, there, you would sit and talk. There wasn’t anything scandalous about it, but it was understood that this was secret. Your relationship, friendship or whatever it was, was something that you kept to yourselves. Neither of you talked about it, but you knew that as good as Brooklyn-Manhattan relations had been since the strike, this something between you would make all of that a messier. Especially, since neither of you even knew what it was.

Race found himself telling you secrets that he didn’t know he was keeping. He told you stories about his long-gone father, or the way his mother looked when she smiled. You told him things, too, about the week you had spent in The Refuge and the way Spot had broken you out. The pair of you sat and talked and sometimes, when he made a stupid joke, you’d punch him lightly on the shoulder. Sometimes, when your voice got choked up talking about the little kids you’d almost lost, he’d reach over and hold your hand. He’d squeeze it once, twice and let go. There was always a look in your eyes, like maybe you wish he’d hold it for longer.

Your arrangement worked with the same regularity that bells in the city rang. You’d saunter up to him, give him a too-quick hug, and you’d sit down on the edge of the bridge, with your legs hanging over the side. You’d talk for hours and, when the moon was high in the sky, one of you would get up, and say, “Same time next week?”

Sure, he woke up groggy on Friday morning, but he looked forward to his time with you all week. He’d listen to the boys, storing up stories and jokes that he knew you’d like.

The pair of you worked like clockwork, which was why he felt nauseous when you didn’t show up that night.

He waited for what felt like ages, figuring you were probably busy talking to Spot, or sorting out some good-for-nothing kids who were giving you and yours some trouble. The longer he waited, the more his mind began to race. You wouldn’t do this to him, something had to be wrong for you to miss your moment together. Still, there was that doubt in the back of mind. You were probably just bored of him. You’d forgotten or found something – maybe, someone – more important. Girlsies were few and far between, but pretty girlsies, with kind smiles and uncompromising eyes, who didn’t need anybody but themselves to survive on the stinkin’ streets of New York? Those were near impossible to find. Boys like Race came easy, though, so he figured you must have got caught up in something better.

He walked back reluctantly, still somehow hoping that you hadn’t forgotten. He slept uneasily, wondering what could have possibly kept you away. On Friday, the more he thought about it, the surer he became that you meant to miss the meeting. He thought about the week before. Maybe, he had hugged you for a moment too long when you were leaving. Maybe, he teased a little too meanly. Maybe he smelled. Either way, he was almost certain that something about him had to be unappealing.

“Hey, Elmer, you heard about that girlsie in Brooklyn?”, his ears perked up a little at Albert’s words.

“Yeah, heard she got into a fight or somethin’ with some guys from Queens who were giving some Brooklyn girls some trouble. I heard it didn’t go so good.”

Race’s heart was pounding, and, without thinking, he jumped up from his bunk. He didn’t even bother masking the concern in his voice.

“What girl? D’you know her name?”, he said, with a hand on Elmer’s shoulder.

“Nah, sorry,” he gave Race an odd look.

“She definitely rolls with Spot, though,” Albert said, frowning at Race.

Before either of them could ask what was wrong, Race was out of the door. Girlsies were few and far between, but girlsies who’d get themselves into trouble protecting others and rolled with Spot Conlon? There could be only one girlsie like that.

He ran most of the way too Brooklyn, with his hat in his hand and his heart in his throat. His nausea the day before was nothing compared to the turning of him stomach as his feet pounded the pavement. Some Brooklyn boys gave him odd looks as he thundered through their turf, but none of them were old enough, or ranked high enough to stop him. He found the Brooklyn Newsies Lodging House easy enough, and breathlessly pushed open the door.

The first person he recognised was Spot, who stepped aggressively towards the door, as soon as Race stepped through it.

“Anything I can help you with, Manhattan? Is your Cowboy startin’ another strike, or something?”, he sneered.

“Uh, no, I,” Race trailed off, looking around the room, desperately. His eyes caught on you, with a blue eye and a bandage around your forehead. One of your arms was in a sling and the other was wrapped around a little girl’s shoulders and, for the first time since he’d known you, there was no flower in your hair. Your head snapped up as you heard Race’s voice, and you saw him moving towards you. Your feet were carrying you towards him before you could stop yourself.

“Hey, where d’you think you’re going, Manhattan?”

Suddenly, you remembered Spot. He was your best friend in the world and the only one who could get away with thinking that you needed looking after.

“Spot, he’s a friend, don’t worry about it.”

The Brooklyn leader looking at you, incredulously.

“A friend? From Manhattan?”

You nodded.

“I met ‘im at the strike. He’s, uh, just here to talk. Sorry, I forgot that he’d be coming by.”

You glanced between Race’s wild blue eyes and Spot’s concerned brown ones.

“A friend from Manhattan?”, he repeated. “Well, what are ya thinkin’ bringing him here? And, to talk? What else would you be doing with a kid from there?”

“Spot, I gotta sort some stuff out with Race. How ‘bout I talk to you about this all tonight, yeah?”

Without waiting for answer, you grabbed Race’s arm and dragged him out the door, and into the moonlit street.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, you whispered harshly, all too aware that everyone inside was probably listening to whatever you had to talk to a Manhattan boy about.

“What the hell am I doing here? What the hell are you doing getting beat up by assholes from Queens? I thought you might’a been dead or somethin’!”

His voice was louder than yours, and you could see his eyes brimming with tears. You realised that you were still holding tightly onto his arm. Your eyes softened, and he spoke again, a whispering this time.

“I-I thought somethin’ really bad could’a happened to you.” His voice got impossibly lower. “I know how some guys treat girlsies.”

He looked at you with those wide blue eyes, waiting for a reply.

“I-It’s nothin’,” you hoped he didn’t hear your voice shake. “Some asshole was roughing up these little girls, who ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Somebody’s gotta look out for the little people, right?”

He took your face in his hands, holding you gently, as if you were some fragile thing.

“You swear you’re okay?”

You nodded, dumbly, looking young and about as feeble as he felt when he first met you.

“You should see the other guys,” you joked. He didn’t laugh.

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up yesterday.”

He suddenly realised how near he was to you and took a small step back, scuffing his shoe on the pavement, and glaring at the ground.

“Wasn’t your fault. Sorry I stormed into your lodging. Spot looked ready to kill.”

“I don’t blame ya. If something had happened to you, I’d probably book it to Manhattan, too. And Spot’ll get over it.”

Race looked up, brilliant blue eyes locked on yours.

“What’s he got to get over? I’m a friend from Manhattan, nothin’ to worry about,” he chuckled wryly at his own words, sounding half-bitter.

This was dangerous territory. You took a step nearer to him.

“You ain’t just a friend, Race. I figured you knew that.”

“Well, I know that I like ya, but we ain’t never talked about being more than friends.”

“Then let’s talk now. I think I’d like an excuse to swing by Manhattan more often.”

He grabbed your face gently, and his lips were on yours. Your eyes screwed shut and you felt warmth washing over your body and, after too short a moment, he pulled away.

“I, um, how’s this gonna work? Us, I mean, if there is an us.”

His eyes searched yours.

“Brooklyn and Manhattan ain’t so far away, really. We’ll figure it out.”

After promises to see each other sometime sooner than next Thursday, and a couple more stolen kisses, you and Race reluctantly parted ways. You pretended not see the little jig he did as he walked home.

You must have been outside longer than you thought, because when you opened the door to the lodging house again, most of the kids were asleep in bed and Spot was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at the door.

“A friend from Manhattan, huh?”

His voice was low and yeah, you thought to yourself, you were definitely in for it.

Spot’s scowl softened a little when he saw your smile.

“I’m paying him a visit tomorrow. Gotta make sure he’s good for you.”

Your smile somehow brightened even more, and you wrapped Spot in a quick side hug.

“He’s definitely good for me.”

“Yeah, well. He better not come by the lodging again. I’m already tired of his stupid face.”

That night, you and Race fell asleep with matching smiles on your faces. He knew that in the morning he’d have to tell Jack that he was with a Brooklyn girl and deal with all that came with it, and he knew that Spot Conlon was probably already planning his death, but he didn’t mind too terribly. He thought of the feeling of your lips on his and the look on your face when he pulled away. No, he didn’t mind facing anything at all, as long as he had you.

#race higgins x reader #newsies x reader #newsies: the musical #newsies fanfiction #kay writes stuff!#keep requesting pls ily

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rason-rodd · 6 years

Note

So, I see requests are open, and if it’s not to out there, may I please have a fic where the batfam(and possibly in a JLA meeting) video call Jason and see him mid breakdown cutting his own thighs and them learning he kinda hates himself but they just got him back and vow to help him get better because family doesn’t quit on family ? V specific and you don’t have to if it’s to much but thanks if you do/don’t anyways !! (Love you btw)

Hello! Sorry for making you wait, anon. I finally wrote the fanfic though it is a bit different than what you ask. I didn’t do the ‘video call’ thing and ‘JLA meeting’ because I didn’t know how to build the story around that. I hope you don’t mind and that you’ll appreciate it anyway.

DISCLAIMER: THE FANFIC BELOW DEALS WITH VERY SENSITIVE SUBJECTS SUCH AS SUICIDAL TENDENCIES AND SCARIFICATION. THE SCENE DEPICTED MAY BE VERY DISTURBING AND NOT SUITED FOR YOUNG READERS. SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL. IF YOU DON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE WHILE YOU READ THIS, THEN PLEASE STOP.

DISCLAIMER 2: MAKING AN APOLOGIST ARGUMENT FOR SUICIDE AND SCARIFICATION IS NOT THE AIM OF THIS FANFIC, ON THE CONTRARY. IF YOU ARE OR ANYONE YOU KNOW IS DEALING WITH THOSE ISSUES PLEASE TALK TO A RESPONSIBLE AND TRUSTWORTHY PERSON. IT CAN BE A FRIEND, A MEMBER OF YOUR FAMILY, A TEACHER OR A PROFESSIONAL. BUT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON’T STAY QUIET!

WE’VE GOT YOU (Jason Todd’s POV)

Warning: Angst, Mention of Suicide, Death and Scarification Tagged: @usernightwing ; @anaboo-thewriter ; @queen-fighter ; @loliiz ; @piratefrost ; @daisyboobear ; @perforabuntsaggittis ; @pythiaaa

You probably won’t believe it but not everyone wants to be alive. Surprising, I know. But true. There are days … or rather nights … when I stay awake, lying on my bed, wondering if things would not have been better after all if I had stayed dead or if the Lazarus pits hadn’t give me back my consciousness. Lugubrious thoughts I know. But that’s the thing with thoughts you don’t really control them. Contrary to speech, thoughts are free and can be judged only by yourself.

I hate my thoughts. I hate them because they make me do crazy things, because they drive me insane, because sometimes I let them hurt me in ways anything or anyone else could hurt me, because I let them dictate my actions.

I let them take the knife attached to my belt. I let them stare at it. I let them lower it towards my leg and I let them carve my already battered and bruised thighs. But worse, I let them enjoy it and tell me, like a snake whispering in my ear, that it feels good, that I’ll feel better after that.

But I never feel really better. I take comfort in this daze where the cuts send me, in that place where there is just a weird dizziness and a sensation of warm burning down my entire body, knocking me down on the mattress. A sensation similar to a few lines of coke freshly sniffed. Yeah, an addiction. Something that doesn’t last and that make you come back for more.

A shameful addiction.

I drop the knife on the floor and stay lying on the mattress. I feel like I’m falling, like I’m sinking in the mattress but I’m … relaxed? good?. I don’t know. But apart from that, I don’t feel anything around me, not even the springs of the bed that usually hurt my aching back or the blood staining my trousers more and more as it pours down my thighs. I loose all sense of awareness, all sense of consciousness, all sense of self. And it reminds me when I was just this vegetable zombie that had just miraculously come from the dead.

Miraculously? No. Wrong word. In what way was it a miracle? In what way waking up in a coffin six feet under is a miracle? I what way crawling back to the surface using your nails to dig yourself out is a miracle? Let me tell you what it was. It was a curse, a new punishment for all the stupid things that I had done.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Because the notion of curse or even miracle implies that there is some God or some almighty power that plays with your life like a puppeteer. There is no one! There is no God. There is no Devil. When you die, fuck, you die. Forget heaven. Forget hell. There is just blackness.

A bit like right now, now that I have my eyes closed. Trust me, I’ve been there.

Yeah, not everyone wants to be alive.

I suddenly feel something fresh and humid on my forehead. Slowly I crawl back towards reality. My eyes open. They have trouble adjusting to the light. “He’s awake” echoes in my head. Damn, it hurts. “Jason.” My sight is blurry. I can only discern a black figure. “Jason, can you hear me?” Yes, I can. Whoever you are. I can hear you. But who are you? I blink. There is a strange light blinding my eyes. They want to cry. “ You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

Then I see them, through half opened eyes. Bruce, Dick and Damian. They are staring at me. I don’t like their stares. Even less when they are full of pity like right now. It’s the same look people used to give me when I was a street rat orphan living in Crime Alley. Makes me wanna puke. I try to stand up but my head is still dizzy and Bruce holds me back. “No, don’t move.”“I’m okay.” I spit as I brush his hand off. “What are you guys doing here? No one invited you. It’s my place.” I realise I don’t sound as threatening as I hoped I would. I sound like a weak mess. “ We wanted to see you about Black Mask.” Damian frowned with arms crossed over his tiny chest. Even when I feel dizzy, that brat still looks fucking obnoxious. “ Black Mask can wait. Are you okay?” Dick asks. What a big brother. What a dumb blind big brother. Didn’t I say as was okay even if I’m not? “What happened? Who did this to you?” “ Trouble with some goons working for Two Face.” I lied “ Really? I am not so sure.” Bruce had the knife in his hand.

I want them all out. Right now. Simply out my place. Out of sight. Out. I look down to take a deep breath but I’m not going to lie, I feel so ashamed. “What the hell, Jason? Why?!” Dick yells with that saddened look in his eyes. “ Just because.” “ That’s not a reason!!” Can he shut up? Can’t he be just like the Demon Spawn over there? Staring in anger with this ridiculous little frown that he has inherited from daddy dearest. A look is easy steer clear of. “ You’re hurting yourself. You’re scarifying yourself!” Like I didn’t know what I was doing. “Why? Why would you do that?” “You’re really asking again?” “Yes. You’re my brother for god’s sake. Of course I want to know why you’re doing such a thing to yourself!” I don’t answer. “ He’s doing it because he is weak.” Damian spits with disdain. I glower at him. How dares he? Fucking little brat! Weak? I’m not weak! I’m strong. I’m a survivor. I’m … “You little piece of shit. How dare you calling me weak? After everything I’ve been through? I’m certainly one of the bravest person you’ll ever meet in your miserable life!” I growl. “ You’re weak.” He repeats with a scowl. “You’re weak because you haven’t thought for a second how we could all feel about that.” “Oh really? Cause you feel something!” I sneer. “ Yes!” Dick answers, “We feel sorry. Sorry for you. And sorry that we didn’t realise that you had those … tendencies.” “ We feel hopeless.” Damian adds “But you don’t care. You’re selfish.” “ ENOUGH!” Bruce shouts suddenly. “YOU TWO, OUT!!”

They obey like little dogs. But I won’t lie. Good riddance!

Bruce is staring with that look. You know, the batman look. He’s pissed. Of course, he has never felt like I have. So how can he under…stand?

A hug? Is that …?

I stiffen. I’m definitely not used to that. I’m … It feels good. Bruce’s arms around me, holding me tight, his hand caressing my back. That fatherly embrace. I feel tears forming in my eyes. And I feel his tears falling on my neck. He is crying. Bruce never cries. He never cries for me. “I am so sorry, Jason.” He whispers with a broken voice that I have never heard before. “Please, forgive me.” I don’t answer. I just close my eyes and let my tears flow. And I let myself to that hug. “Please don’t do that again.” His voice. That guilt. That pain. I can’t stand it. “Please, let me, let us help you” It hurts. It hurts that I hurt him. I didn’t want … don’t want … to disappoint you Bruce. I don’t want to hurt. “ Please don’t make me lose you again.” I want to cry out. I don’t know what keeps me in check. “I would not stand it.” I look at the knife on the floor and for a second I see that damn crowbar that took me away from him in so many ways. “You’re my son.” And you are my father, old man, despite everything that happened. You are my father. I sniff in his neck, perhaps a bit too loudly since he tightens his arms around me. “Don’t it again. I beg you.” I somehow find the strength to look at him. He has that look. That same look I used to have when I was by mother’s side, on the bathroom floor, trying to prevent her from chocking in her vomit. That look is awful. My mother never cared about that look. It made me suffer more than anything and I eventually lost. I can’t do that as well. I can’t do that to Bruce. I can’t to that to Dick, to Damian, Tim, Alfred… I can’t do that to anyone. “ I won’t.” I whisper my promise.

I glance at the knife one last time. No, it won’t become a new crowbar. No, it won’t take me away from my family.

#Jason Todd #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd pov #red hood #fanfic #answer request #we've got you

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thekrazykeke · 6 years

Text

wRoNg (Release the Beast) Part II

Fandom(s): DCEU, Suicide Squad

Relationship(s): Joker x reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: What would you do out of love and self-preservation to protect your family? How far would you go to keep your secrets?

Warning(s): Mind games and emotional manipulation. Mystic-y stuff.

Tagging: @ashmuck @alexisbagans143 @toxic-ink @kirsty-lou666 @coppercurlzz @snow-massacre @suckerforsmilex @lovelylittlekittn @melaninharleyquinn @roneykuni @twilight-loveer @ms-clown-queen-of-crime @jokers-queen-of-hearts @keya168 @misspooh

Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three (Part I) Chapter Three (Part II) Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six (Part I)

Chapter Six (Extended)

The maniac messiah, Destruction is his game. A beautiful liar, Love for him is pain. [He] punishes you with pleasure And pleasure[s] you with pain

The window wasn’t locked. Trying to get a handle on your bruised ego, half of you wondered if Bruce thought that you were so stupid that you wouldn’t attempt to run away, while the rational side of your brain sardonically pointed out that the man saw himself as a savior.

Surely you would be happy to be free of the Joker?

The more you thought about it, the more muddled and confused your thoughts became until it all just sounded like flimsy excuses.

Bruce is the lesser evil, he's a socialite like yourself and although he was hiding behind the Batman guise to cloak the fact that he had some serious psychological issues, with the Joker, at least, you understood the rules; the basic code of conduct, to put it simply, ‘There are no rules!’

What kind of challenges and trials would Bruce try to make you complete in order to prove that you aren't a threat? What would happen if you couldn't make him understand that you are not the same as the other criminals that he fought on a nightly basis?

No. They're both dangerous.

Shimmying out of the windowpane, you clawed at the ground, dragging your body forward. Breathing in and out, you glanced around the manor’s wide open, expansive gardens, taking note of the cars parked in the driveway. Breathing in deeply and then exhaling, you started sprinting, at first being mindful of the flowers every a few steps, and then you just decided forget it and hoofed it, especially because the sprinklers turned on, causing you to yelp and run around in an irregular pattern, still managing to get sprayed by the time you reached the driveway.

The thought to bust the windows of the bright, candy red sports car is at the forefront of your mind but when you pulled at the handle, mysteriously, it’s open. No alarms went off. Before the revelation that Bruce was the frickin’ Batman, you’d have written this happenstance off as coincidence, now you’re wondering whether this was a ploy or not.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, you rummage about in the glove compartment and underneath the seats until by a stroke of luck, you find the car keys. Inserting the key into the ignition, you turn it and the car purred as it came to life. Putting your foot on the gasp pedal, hands grip the steering wheel, you end up going backwards, knocking over a potted plant, and then the car jerked forward, swinging to the right hard, doing ‘doughnuts’ a bit, but after a moment of trial and error, you’re peeling down the driveway, headed straight for the fence.

Heart pounding in your chest, you put your foot down hard on the gas, expecting to have to crash through the gate but the gate opened and you peeled out of the Wayne Mansion without fanfare, making a left and driving down the quiet streets.

You’d been let go.

But to what end?

“Master Bruce, are you certain it is wise to let Lady Y/N leave the premises, especially with her affiliations to certain...individuals?” Alfred phrased his inquiry delicately, well aware that if he pushed too hard too fast, the other man would clam up.

“I’m letting her go for that reason exactly.” Bruce reached out and snagged a cookie off the tray that his butler sat down on the empty space next to him.

“Eh?” Hands free now, Alfred adjusted his glasses. “I beg your pardon? I don’t think I follow, young sir.”

“Y/N can’t return home to her family. Although it’s very hush-hush and won’t be released to the public for months to come, as soon as she stepped foot out of her parents’ home, the protection that her last name brought her is gone,” Taking a bite of the treat, he chewed thoroughly before swallowing and grabbing another sweet, only this time a mini cupcake. “As she’s effectively disowned. So that leaves her with only two alternatives: to rely on the Joker or to rough it out on her own.”

Alfred didn’t say anything.

“It is my belief that she can break the cycle of her own volition. All it would take is to sign up for the closest women’s shelter and to wait on a bed to be available.” Using the teaspoon found on the side of the cup, he lifted the lid of the biggest container on the tray and plopped two cubes of sugar in the cup of Earl Gray, swirling the liquid around until sugar completely dissolved, then took a sip.

Clearing his throat, Alfred tilted his head to the side, “And if she decides to return to the Joker?” Bruce didn’t say anything but after so many years, the elderly fellow didn’t need a verbal answer or confirmation.

“Ah, I see.”

Bruce turned his attention to the Bat Cave’s computer, watching the red blip on the radar. He’d planted a tracker on Y/N during their fight and wanted to see what she got up to in the meantime.

‘Don’t let me down, Y/N...’

“A-A-Achoo!” You sneezed. Parking the car carelessly, you slammed the door shut and walked into the store, ignoring the jingle of the bell as it signified an incoming customer.

“We’re closed.” The shop owner said in a bored tone, looking at her cellphone.

Cellphone...

“No, you’re not.” You say, reaching out and snagging the cellular device, ignoring her outraged cry. “I just need to borrow this for a sec, Priscilla.”

“That’s not cool, Y/N. Not cool at all. Btw, what the hell happened to you?”

Tuning her out, you dialed a number from memory. ‘Pick up, pick up, pick up.’ Cheering internally when the person picked up, you paused during your perusal of the wracks of clothing, snapping your fingers and pointed out the outfit that you wanted. “Can’t talk on this phone for long, but we were set up.” Pausing, you listened to what the person said on the other end. “It’s good that Romina made it back safely, I’m glad. I’m on my way to the club. Get everyone ready.” Again, you paused to listen to the person the other end. “Playing nice didn’t pan out. So we’re going for a different approach.” Snapping the phone shut, you deleted the contact information and call history, handing Priscilla her phone and accepting the outfit that she had so thoughtfully taken off the hook for you.

“Everything okay?”

“Mind your own business, honey.” You raised your eyebrows and smiled. “I forgot my card so you can just bill my mother.”

Something in your face warned the shop owner from prying any further and she just nodded. “I think you remember where the back changing room is. Holler if you need any help.”

Getting dressed was a bit of a challenge, especially since you didn’t have adrenaline pumping through your veins, making you ignore the minor to mildly serious injuries you’d sustained after the one-sided altercation with the Bat.

However, you told yourself to suck it up and now wasn’t the time to be a prissy girly girl, grateful that the new outfit didn’t squeeze or pinch in uncomfortable places and was professional enough to pull off the serious businesswoman look that you’re going for.

What was even better is that you found the bug that Bruce had planted on you, so you left that in the trash with the old clothes.

Once you’re finished, you waved at Priscilla halfheartedly as she’s once again back on her phone, playing Candy Crush and you get back into sports car, peeling away from the curb and heading downtown where the Smile n Grin is located.

It’s late evening by the time you reached the destination and you can already hear the music is loud and people are inside when you park the car, Leo opened the door and offered his arm, which you took.

“Two-Face flipped when he realized that you ain’t dead.” Jonny informed you, falling into step beside you. “Riddler is a no-show, but the guy’s a brainiac and hopelessly arrogant, these type of celebratory shows aren’t his thing.”

“How many of Penguin’s and Two Face’s men are in there, what about civilians?”

“Ten each. Lots of civiies” At your raised eyebrows, Jonny shrugged. “You’re supposed to be captured or dead.”

You cock your head in a ‘fair enough’ gesture. “And how many of our guys?”

“Fifty.” As you and Jonny ascended the stone steps to the back entrance, you took note that the bouncer wasn’t wearing the get up like Two Face’s or Penguin’s men; he was one of Joker’s guys. “So, how you wanna do this...Boss?”

That’s right, you’re the Boss, right now. Which meant that you had the final say, the final word. What would Joker do, if he were here? ...Kill them all, obviously, or at the least, try. Torture and psychologically torment the civilians until the Bat showed up to stop him. Is that the type of message you wanted to send to the populace when this inevitably got out to the public?

When your deeds circled throughout the criminal underworld?

That you’re just as crazy as your husband?

“Divide and conquer.” You mutter. Jonny raised an eyebrow. “I want Penguin’s head mounted on my wall, Two-Face isn’t my priority right now, we’ll get him later. The civilians are distractions and unimportant. Do we have something that can smoke them out?”

And so, that’s what it was. Jonny spoke into the earpiece, informing the foot soldiers of their jobs. He handed you a few smoke grenades and you slipped them into the purse you’re carrying, nodding thankfully to the bouncer who opened the door, permitting you inside.

Music was thumping, shaking and rattling the walls.

People were dancing, laughing, chatting.

It almost looked like another day in J’s club, except the King isn’t in his seat. Romina signaled, jerking her chin and you looked where she’d indicated, taking note of the fact that Two-Face had stood up and was leaving, Penguin was all alone.

Now was the time.

Dropping the smoke bombs discreetly in a few key places, you continued unwaveringly towards your destination, which was the VIP area, ignoring how the civilians coughed and complained, running for the exit. There’s a bodyguard protecting the door, he holds a hand out in front of him, trying to tell you to stop but Romina came out of nowhere and hit him in the temple, catching him before he fell.

Brushing the golden beads aside, you took a seat next to the tipsy, short male.

“Hello, darling.”

Blinking lazily, movements sluggish, Oswald reached for his gun but Leo put a heavy hand on his shoulder, jerking him backwards, tightening his hold as he made a motion to pull away. All of this which you deliberately ignored, instead grabbing a glass and a bottle of expensive alcohol, pouring a generous amount.

“We can...work something...out...” Clearly he’d been drugged as his words are slurred and slow. Kudos to Two-Face for being so devious...yet also displaying why he couldn’t be trusted.

“I had plans to...” You quirk your fingers in air quotes, “‘Work something out’.” You shook your head. “But that’s...mm, we’re not going to be friends, darling, I’m sorry. You did the most unforgivable thing, and do you know what that is?”

He said nothing. Leo shook his shoulder, but you put a calming hand as he pulled out a gun.

“No...no violence. Not yet. I want him completely sober, so that he can understand the magnitude of his actions. Playing nice with Batman,” You reached over and slapped his shoulder. “You sly dog, you.”

“I did...what I had to. You don’t know how this city really works!”

When Leo chose to slam his head against the table, this time, you didn’t stop him. “Actually, darling? I do. And honestly, I can understand why you did what you did. I’m actually a bit peeved that I didn’t think of it first.” Slapping your thigh, you leaned back and laughed.

“Let me go and we can renegotiate. I won’t see this as an attack. I won’t come after you anymore, I swear!” He began to hyperventilate and Jonny handed you a gun, the weapon felt heavy in your hand. “Please! Don’t do this!”

“Fool me once, shame on you.” You took off the safety, used both hands to aim at where you wanted to shoot. “Fool me twice...”

BANG!

“Holy shit.” Leo whistled, hold loosening enough so that Cobblepot could wiggle around in agony, cussing up a storm; you’d shot him in the hand. “Holy fucking shit.” He laughed.

“I’m going to kill you for this! Rip you apart and scatter the pieces!” Oswald screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks from pain and humiliation. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, I’ll kill you...I’ll kill you all!”

“Language, darling. I’m a lady.” You chastise Leo halfheartedly. Placing your glass down, you reached forward, snagging his tie and jerking his head forward so that he hit the table face-forward, hard. “I missed, but this time...”

BANG!

Dispassionately, you released the tie from your hand, holding the gun out for somebody to take after putting back on the safety. Romina took it, placing it in a bag with gloved hands. Jonny handed you a handkerchief and wiped at the blood splatter on your face.

Once that’s finished, you pick up your glass and raise it in a toast to Cobblepot’s corpse. “Thus, ends the reign of the Penguin.”

You should be appalled by your actions, or on the verge of a breakdown. Throwing up maybe, but just like when you’d killed Marissa, you felt nothing. Taking a life comparable to fixing the sheets on the bed in the morning, routine and easy.

“We should be getting out of here.” Leo commented. “Do you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” Romina asked, brows furrowed.

“Cops. The cops are coming!!” The bouncer came rushing in, out of breath. “We gotta get out of here. Right now.”

“Then let’s go.” Grabbing the tie from around Cobblepot’s neck, you also grabbed the bottle of alcohol and glass. You didn’t complain when the rest of the motley crew started cleaning up, Leo grabbed your arm and everyone was hauling ass, not wanting to go to Blackgate or Arkham.

Although you didn’t know it then, this is the day where the start of your legacy began, not just as the Joker’s Queen, or his woman, but you own path as his equal and his opposite.

Next morning, 11:35 A.M. Arkham Asylum

“My name’s Harleen. Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Miss Y/L/N, it’s to my understanding that you wished to get a glimpse at the inner workings of the Asylum?” The blonde, blue eyed woman in the starch white coat didn’t look like much at first glance and part of you wondered where your mother had the gall to hire someone so young to deal with these psychopaths but then again, maybe there was something to her that you were overlooking.

Clearing your throat her inquisitive look, you smiled. “Actually, Doctor Quinzel, I wanted to ask you to do a teensy-tiny favor for me.”

Eyebrows raising, she pushed her glasses up more on the bridge of her nose as they’d slid down. “And what’s that?”

You smiled slowly.

With a bit of coercion and subtle manipulation, you’d managed to get the good doctor to do what you wanted, but she wasn’t happy about it. Actually, you could almost say that she felt too...protective of this particular patient.

So she bore watching.

“If isn’t my naughty girl.” J smiled in that familiar, completely insane way of his. “You came to see me? Talk about a sur-prise.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not your anything.” There are cameras in here, so you had to be careful about what you said and did. “I wanted to see Gotham’s biggest headache in your natural habitat.”

“Why don’t you come a little closer? I feel so disconnected with you sitting alllll the way over there.” There’s a daring tinge to Joker’s smile. Taunting.

“Do you think I’m scared of you?”

“Aren’t you?”

Standing up from your seat, you walk around the table, stopping within arm’s distance of the King of Chaos. “See? I’m not s--”

J lunged at you, snapping his teeth and you jerked back, falling on your butt. The door burst open and guards rushed in, along with Quinzel who quickly pulled you out of the room. Pain seized throughout your body, almost like you’d been tazed and your legs went from out underneath you.

“Y/N! Miss Y/L/N, are you okay?” Quinzel reached out, trying to calm you as your body locked up again, the veins sticking out on your neck prominently. “You must be having a seizure. God, why did this have to happen on my watch...”

Joker’s eerie laughter echoed throughout the hall as the guards dragged him out the room. The two of you made eye contact and he winked, blood dribbling down his chin, a bruise forming near his eye.

“The itsy-bitsy Batsy went up the waterspout, down came the Joker...”

“I...I’m fine.” Breathing in deep, you hugged the surprised blonde, “Thank you so much for protecting me, Doctor!” And you stealthily retrieved her keycard, slipping it underneath your shirt sleeve and mustering up tears that further distracted her as she helped you to your feet, trying to console you. Eventually, once you calmed down and were handed off to the guards, you switched the card’s position so that it’s in your purse. There was no trouble in going through the metal detector, thank goodness.

Leo held the door open for you and you climbed inside the limo, glancing back at the gloomy building once more before Jonny pulled off after Leo got back in the car.

Step one in getting J out of this place?

Success.

#dc #joker #dc imagine #the joker #suicide squad #the joker imagine #suicide squad imagine #black reader #joker x reader #jared leto joker #thekrazykeke

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dwestfieldblog · 4 years

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THERE IS NO SAFE WORD

ATEH MALKUTH, VE-GEBURAH, VE-GEDULLAH, LE-OLAHM...

Anybody who understands my music will never be unhappy again. Beethoven. That sounds like a cue for a song...and here it is...

Well, now we know the actual defined amount of stubborn dumb stupidity for sure in America. Over 70 million morons. Loved seeing Trump jr call on his dad to wage ‘Total war’ (A phrase Goebbels used in Berlin 1943 when the allies were approaching... and we know how that ended, go on Big Don, do the honourable thing for the first time in your foul life.) Junior also said ‘It’s time to clean up this mess and stop looking like a banana republic’. Why yes son, it is, so off you all pop. Daddy is busy implanting his loyalists in the Pentagon and already thinking of running in 2024 but by then he should either be in prison or in exile on a tiny freezing Scottish island with a one hole golf course where he can still cheat. Seems likely he, family and their backers are planning to make good use of their through the looking glass rabies crazed sheep and continue to destabilize America for the Kremlin. Loved that the orange psychopath tweeted early ‘I WON THIS ELECTION, BY A LOT!’ and watched as he demanded all votes be counted...and the more they were, the more he lost by. HILARIOUS.

And his call to arms to ‘Stand back and stand by’ to The Proud Boys, who are not far right Nazi thugs at all no sir. To misuse Hunter S Thompson’s genius for the hundredth time, I hope that this is where the wave (of populist filth Trump has been riding) finally breaks and rolls back. But over 70 million morons say different. The 80 million who voted for the other guy must be happy there are so many who can clean the streets and fill the shelves at food shops. Education needs to be improved in America and Britain next year, a ‘LOT’.

January 20th 2021...Celebrate with joy the end of a despotic douche bag...allow the world to feel lighter. Republicans, you should feel ashamed. America, this bastard has been undoing your Constitution like a prom queen’s girdle for a button mushroom quickie rape for four years and couldn’t have cared less about Covid and how many of you died...as he said ‘It is what it is’. So SAD!!!! Arf. Donald, you are and were nothing more than a spoiled five year old brat with as much empathy for humanity as a lizard. A banishing ritual will need to be performed in around the White House...call up the Native Indians, the witches and South Park and cleanse the area of astral poison. The swamp will be drained when the deranged incubus’s entire family of scheming wannabe aristocrats vacates for good.And don’t let him sit at a little table to pardon them and himself.Lowlifes...speaking of whom...

It has taken a lot to make me smile this year (what, you too huh?) but seeing Rudy Giuliani giving a press conference between a porn book store and a funeral parlour in a parking lot did it. The T family, Jared, Rudy, Pompeo, Paula White (the Unchristian millionaire), the slurring ‘star witness’ Melissa Carone, spokeswoman Kayleigh with her cute little cross and all the rest of those despicable liars must all be flushed down the drains, no second chances, repentance or absolution.And as for Dr Scott Atlas telling the American public to ‘rise up’ against the safety measures called for by the state against Covid...A doctor telling you to ignore the rule against large indoor gatherings etc. A doctor.RISE UP? 12 million cases in the US as of mid November...254 thousand dead. That number is rising fast. Good luck from keeping the world falling on you Atlas, Wonder what the orange one offered him to blab such stinking dung. Another doctor with a hypocritical oath.

The smug toad Steve Bannon on yet another shitestirring podcast,spoke about beheading virologist Dr Fauci and the Director of the FBI Christopher Wray...‘I’d put the heads on pikes, right. I’d put them at the two corners of the White House as a warning to federal bureaucrats, you either get with the programme or you are gone.’Twitter banned him outright (and how long did that take?) but the ever wonderful facebook didn’t think that advocating murder online like any other good fundamentalist was reason enough. They believe in the first amendment, hurrah for the robot Zuckerberg.Like? Dislike? Delete, good luck.

And meanwhile the EU budget, involving 673 billion pounds for Covid connected concerns has been blocked by the continuing charming behaviour of Hungary and Poland. And why would they do that at this time of dire need? Why, because the release of the funds is dependent upon the rule of actual law in each of the countries to which the money is allocated. They have some very naughty politicians there who are upset about this and the darlings have taken it personally. These men could well be directly responsible for hundreds of unnecessary deaths. Hungary’s PM Orban said the clause would ‘jeopardise trust’ between member states. Well pal, they already don’t trust you due to your actions in the last ten years over freedom of speech, assembly, judges etc etc.

The Polish ‘Justice’ minister said the clause was ‘...really an institutional political enslavement, a radical limitation of sovereignty’. Sounds like Nigel Farage.(btw, Love that he lost 10 thousand pounds betting on his golden mate to win the US Presidential election. Oh well, you can pick that up fast enough from taking the Euros you rail against eh? Got to relish the classic two faced double English standards he stoops so low to wave so high) Anyway, I digress, if it seems unfair to Poland and Hungary that they act more like actual democracies rather than extremist populist swine, perhaps they should also leave the EU and team up with Mother Russia and Uncle China.Again, Vladimir must be well pleased with how Europe and America are collapsing.

Belarus...the ‘police’ are beating up women, using stun grenades on unarmed pensioners and teens. These are not police and have nothing to do with any law other than that of the jungle. Lukashenko is their Trump, a man who always swore his country would be independent of Russia and then accepts 1.5 billion dollars in loans. Good luck with paying back the interest with your soul Alex, needs must when the Devil drives eh? Loved how those loyal to the dictator described the protestors as truants and transsexuals’. 150,000 of them? Seems a lot. But never mind, hired thugs and sadists are always easy to come by, whatever the country and whatever the year. Easy work and fun if you enjoy it, conscience free. Sure they are just trying to feed their families.

China wants a global QR Covid code, making tracking humans even easier via their brilliant technology. Let’s see who falls for that one, would you want yet more personal data known by those who created the virus and shot their own children? (For the record, I do not think Covid was taken over there and released by enemy agents and I certainly don’t think it was created by accident any more than the updated version will be.) Making a fortune out of others’ misfortune seems quite like disaster capitalism for communists. Drug companies will be hoping the 19 virus will ‘mutate’ to 21 and 22 in order that we will all need annual vaccines.

Prague, on the anniversary of the Czechoslovakian Velvet Revolution on November 17th, 250,000 march against their PM, (an ex informer to the communists) who has been Premier for too many years...another rich businessman deep in corruption scandals, I loved his comment after witnessing the thousands that he didn’t ‘understand’ why they were doing it. That said, there were many protesting against the use of...face masks. Ok, by all means choose not to wear them. Then stay the hell away from everyone else until you are vaccinated and don’t you dare go to hospital when you fall ill. Deal?

Englerland...The manic baldhead liar Cummings has at last been kicked out of Downing Street and a fine and noble advisor he was to the PM eh? Herd immunity my arse. Seems possible he might work for Farrage and continue destroying the system from within. Fnord. God help us all, the ‘UK’ is hosting the United Nations Climate Change conference in November 2021 and taking the presidency of the G7 in January...with Boris at the helm? Nobody takes this blustering useless lying cretin seriously unless their jobs depend on him. Tory supporters, what does it take for you to see reason, how much evidence of unending failure? At very least replace the Chumocracy rampant in the government or Doom, damnation, despair, death and more doom will repeat.Nice to see we get the vaccine tested on us first...guinea pigs are safer for the rest of the world on an island...

Fascinated to see that 20m pounds were not available for poor children’s free school meals but 21 million in taxpayers’ money for a go between businessman to get PPE (piss poor excuse/personal protection equipment) for NHS staff, was. How much did the go between pocket? 55 thousand dead in UK, fifth in the world,so proud of the levels of national intelligence and Govermental planning. Brexit and Covid in a double whammy with the most incompetent and corrupt government in my lifetime. As John Lydon used to rant on a perfect loop;’ This is what you want, this is what you get’. Possibly I am abusing his actual meaning, sorry Johnny. No future for the UK...None for me anyway...

Was the UK and America’s snowflake nonsense, seeded with the birth of instagram, tik tok et al/ forums with young folk seeking approval from their peers and feeling important when they were ‘Liked’? A few years later in the (ha ha) real world, they are easily insulted by others who do not find them having much depth or value. Kids’, being ‘liked’ is not the same as being respected, or loved. Pretend alpha males, being feared is not respect either.

‘Since words contain both denotations (referents in the sensory-existential world) and connotations (emotional tones or rhetorical hooks) humans can be moved to action, even by words which have no real meaning or reference in actuality. This is the mechanism of demagoguery, advertising and much of organised religion’ RAW. It also explains why, in tandem with tones, symbols and an altered brain speed,directed Will can cause change in ‘realities’. The litany of ritual, the mantras of magick and images focused to fire with the Tantric arrow. Oops, missed again. Anyway...back to the negativity☺‘

...as population increases, wages fall but later prices increase....and the relation between them –is to be considered the index of revolutionary potential...and can be predicted as precisely as eclipses in astronomy’. Robert Anton Wilson, The Widow’s Son (Hilaritas Press) 1985.

Thanks to Covid, hundreds of thousands of businesses have collapsed; the jobless or part timers are unable to pay rent or feed their families...and receive little or no support from governments who have either pocketed their taxes or just given rewards and contracts to their friends. The overload stress levels and knock on effect on those who had the virus and still suffer -or those who could not get into hospital for treatment will be massive. Every populist knows there has never been a better time to manipulate the fear and anger of the masses. Demonstrations, riots and harsher laws will spread each creating their own chain reaction.Watch out for Nationalists pointing fingers, don’t buy their snake oil. Avoid giving groups like QAnon any of your energy, paranoia is a creepy way to live and a sleazy way to die.

Ten months of reading emails which come across like distress signals or suicide notes from friends or that scene in Interstellar when the son knows his father could be dead by the time the message gets through. BUT...‘Help may arrive invisibly and unexpectedly from unknown sources’. Be open to this. Be sensitive and attuned to quantum parallels, there is a reaction going on to all the uff and crud, sidestep, step to the side... Allwhere and all now. You don’t need to ‘believe’ this, just be aware, sense it.

TANA, ORPHEUS, ARADIA, LUCIFER (or Robin, Marian, Orfee, Bride, all ye gentry come from Side)...Protection and guides, projected archetypes created by our minds and evolved by themselves...

We, as a species, exist in a world in which exists a myriad of data points. Upon these matrices of points we superimpose a structure and the world makes sense to us. The pattern of the structure originates within our biological and sociological properties.Persinge and Lafreniere.1977.

The intelligence should direct the will. Aquinas. The light of the body is the eye; if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body will be full of light. Matt6:22.

Have tied the last five years together and I have a feeling my time in this country is coming to an end, give it seven months perhaps. Thank you for reading, hope some was entertaining...Withe much Love from Donkey Oti, and Onan the Barbarian, stay healthy, wishing you the best Christmas and 2021 possible, Ba-ra-ka, Et in Arcadia Ego . Love, always.

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justsoyoudonthaveto · 4 years

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Would you believe that a) it’s Halloween and I’m writing about a Christmas movie; b) we’re just 2 months away from this entire shitty year and c) this is my 100th blog post?!?!? I can’t believe it and I’m living that right now!

I’m sure you’ve all noticed that I’ve taken a huge break from doing these this year. And with this year, I’m sure you all understand. For a long time I didn’t want to watch sunny shows where the hero just wants to be happy and explore his need to be a mime in Paris while simultaneously running away from his family’s law practice, where the heroine just needs him to buckle down and be serious. Running away from a well-paying job? Are you freaking insane? And love might be all you need, but it sure is helpful if you don’t have to worry about medical bills. This year has been exhausting, and I just couldn’t. As much as these movies are comfort food, I needed something different, which explains why I watched Great British Baking Show twice, learned how to make a killer lemon drizzle and amazing bread, and stress-read Twitter about the state of the country. All of which means that this weekend, which saw me take time off to self-care and watch BBC’s North and South for the first time and immediately plan for a re-watch, has me back to Christmas Movies, with this gem of a movie that should have everything. So let’s get going for One Royal Holiday.

I will start by saying I love Laura Osnes. I voted for her when she was on the Grease reality show, and saw her in Bandstand 3 times. I am less of a fan of Aaron Tveit, more so because of the horrendous man perm he had to sport during Les Miserables. However, it’s not nearly as bad as the man bun I just saw on the latest concert version of my favorite musical, so I guess I should move on from the perms. Except how the hell did those perms mean an Academy Award for best hair and makeup? WTF? Anyway.

Aaron plays His Royal Highness Prince James of Galwick. Is that near Lichtenstein, or Cornwall, like that one where the heroine was from New Jersey? His mom is played by the amazing Victoria Clark and she better sing, damn it. And in the very first scene, where Queen Gabriella and Prince James are in some kind of hospital benefit thanking them for the care they gave their late husband and father, Queen Gabriella is wearing a tiara. I’m sure we’ve learned something from the countless viewings of Downton Abbey (as well as anything the Queen does) and one does not wear a tiara to a benefit during the freaking day. British accents are on point though. Good for them.

Laura Osnes is a nurse named Anna, who is heading home for Christmas, and her home is some tiny New England town where her dad owns an inn. Looks like her mom is dead. Present wrapping montage, and we’re not even 10 minutes in. And Anna is off home where there’s a wicked nor’easter heading her way (she’s in Boston).

James has to make a Christmas Eve speech, which apparently the entire monarchy of Galwick is depending on. But not before he and his mom stop at Donny’s Donuts for tea. Anna’s there for coffee and is freaking out over a “Christmas Cruller” which is basically an eclair. But horrors, the storm has grounded the royal plane, and the hotel in Boston is full up, and James and Anna have had a meet cute over the eclair, and we’ve found out that Galwick is in Northern Europe. Anna is offering her dad’s inn, and now her own car when the royal car driver says he’s not going to drive to Connecticut. Queen Gabriella is already in love with Anna, and her free eclairs, and they are all carpooling to Connecticut on roads that are remarkably traffic free. Oh, and BTW, James has not told her he’s a prince, and she’s just said her town has a Christmas Eve Pajama Ball and Oh My GOD I think I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of Christmas Movie Cliches and I love every minute. BTW, James is a huge pill.

Royal retainer has just let the cat out of the bag to Anna’s dad and now Anna knows that they’re royalty. But because James is such a cool guy, he’s going to carry up their bags up the stairs but because he’s also royal, he doesn’t know that suitcases have handles. Anna’s BFF from high school is now the Sassy Mayor. And James has just asked for the “pillow menu” where the guests get to choose which kind of pillow to sleep on. Sassy Mayor is all about getting the royals on social media for the town, but then she gets an eyeful of Christopher, the royal retainer, and Sassy Mayor is all heart-eye emojis. And here is the first commercial break.

What is this vest and why is it weird?

Sing-a-long at the Inn, and the carolers are dressed like Dickens characters – because carolers are only allowed to dressed like Dickens characters. Gabriella and Anna are bonding over the buffet, while James is on the phone with the Prime Minister of Galwick who is clearly not a monarchist. But Gabriella loves the food at the Inn, and methinks Queenie is going to play matchmaker between Innkeeper Dad and the Cook. James missed dinner and is eating his feelings through a 5 lb container of popcorn, but Anna is nice and brings him a plate of lobster mac and cheese.

As expected, there’s been a huge snowstorm, which is not in evidence with the b-roll of shots of the house. They are snowbound and Anna wants to know what royalty does all day. James says it’s not like a Jane Austen novel where they drink tea and read poetry. No, not at all. Sometimes they have elaborate picnics. And that is a line from this beautiful movie. Another b-roll shot of the Inn, which shows the road completely plowed. But the airport is still closed, so now they can attend the Kentsbury Christmas Parade. James can’t measure up to his dead father with his make-or-break Christmas Eve Speech. FYI, James started dragging the sled of donated toys, and next shot, Anna is dragging it. So much for the chivalry of princes.

FYI – in 2 days, we won’t see any political ads on TV for almost 12 months. Huzzah!

Everyone in the little town seems to think that Anna is dating James because they are walking down the street together. James stepped in a slush puddle and now they both have to take a carriage ride back to the inn. Just go with it. Heart to heart about James’ speech worries. Anna says he should be himself. Oh, how great that advice is.

Husband just asked how great this movie is. I said the words Christmas Eve Pajama Ball. He is seriously thrilled.

The room where the Ball is going to be held had a roof malfunction, and now where are they going to have it? James suggests the Inn, so of course they’re going to do it – and before we can say Hot Chocolate – they are going to decorate the Inn’s family tree! Singing! Tree Trimming! Lights! Husband just is annoyed that all the lights in the big tangle of string lights work, because that is not reality.

DANG IT – they are going to split the ball into Pajama for Kids and Formal Ball for Adults. This is not what I signed up for.

Anna and James meet in the kitchen in their plaid jammies, and Anna name checked Captain Von Trapp, so cool, except for the fact that Christopher Plummer NEVER showed up in a bathrobe. Anna has also introduced James to the magic of a Lazyboy recliner couch. And James is now giving Anna advice about how great a formal ball would be and it’s not a slap in the face of the memory of Anna’s dead mom. Anna is also wearing way too much makeup for late night cocoa rendezvous.

Plot question – why is James a Prince, and not King? Shouldn’t he have been coronated by now?

Anna brought James up to the attic to look for ball decorations, and he seems to have a flair for decorating. They head in to town for more garland, and James borrowed skinny jeans and boots from Christopher, and that’s not weird at all. And Anna has major good ideas for James’ speech, so good for her. Shopping Montage! Decorating Montage! So Many Lights! So Many Trees! Romantic moments by a ladder! Dancing! They are going to Dance to The Christmas Waltz. WHAT IS THIS SONG? Dance Lessons Await! (FYI, I do this with younger son in our kitchen, and it is a delight of my life). Oh, man, dad just messed up that romantic dance.

Dad is Fairy Godfather here and found dresses for Anna to wear that were her mom’s. But first, Gingerbread House Building! James is good at it and he made a castle. And Gabriella just made them a Galwickian Yule Cake (which is an eclair). Christmas Eve is in 3 days, and now there’s black ice on the roads and it’s just too dangerous to go to the airport.

Sassy Friend tells her that she can work it out with Christopher, so Anna can work it out with James, but Anna is being realistic because he’s a prince and she’s a nurse, and if he’s half as eligible as Prince Harry, then she is in the right, and Sassy Mayor is living in La La Land. But whatever, Anna deserves to find Love.

Town Candlelight Sing A Long. Lots of longing looks over the candles, but Anna can’t express her love for James because they have to sing Joy to the World (without the religious 3rd verse). But they are now back in the ballroom for Anna to tell him how she feels, but she is blocked by his phone and the fact that it’s the palace, telling him that he was photographed with Anna in the town square and it’s an international scandal of Christmas Carol proportions. And because Anna is selfless, she says thanks to James and tells him he should care for his people and go be a prince. And because he’s emotionally repressed, he says ok and he heads out.

Sassy Mayor gets to go to Galwick for New Year’s because Christopher is NOT emotionally repressed. Gabriella left a gown for the cook to wear to the ball, and James has arrived home to the literally smallest castle ever. It’s smaller than Disneyland.

SAD TIMES! James and Anna both. 14 minutes left. Anna doesn’t know what to wear, but Dianne the cook looks great in the Queen’s dress. And James has figured out that Anna helped out his dad at the hospital when he was ill. Oh my goodness all the coincidences! Anna’s dress has pockets, y’all. James’ Christmas speech is on the internet, and his military uniform clearly doesn’t fit. And HUZZAH James shows up at the ball and his tuxedo suit does fit. And more about James’ dad, yada yada yada. And they kiss and head into the ballroom where they get to finish their Christmas Waltz. All Laura Osnes’ Cinderella dance experience is clearly paying off here. But we’re not done yet – everyone is in their pajamas at the fireplace for the final scene – and again Cinderella vibes, because James brought her Christmas Royal Bedroom Slippers. But he didn’t bring enough for everyone! The End.

This movie had everything and it was delightful, even if Victoria Clark didn’t sing. Sorry for the blurry pictures – WordPress changed their way of doing things while I was baking and I am still trying to figure it out. Glad to get back into this even if we’re still technically in Halloween territory. Aren’t you glad I watched, just so you don’t have to?

#100 – One Royal Holiday Would you believe that a) it's Halloween and I'm writing about a Christmas movie; b) we're just 2 months away from this entire shitty year and c) this is my 100th blog post?!?!?

#ChristmasBroadway #Princes in Connecticut

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boystownbirdie · 7 years

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LMWTV4U: GOT S7E3

Welcome back! In case you’re new, this is LET ME WATCH TV 4 U (?), the blog where I watch tv so you don’t have to! If you missed it, I wrote a special mid-week post this past week which broke down the main characters called: new phone who dis? Check it out here.

Also reminder that I have a new feature called “Why does this scene even matter?” (WDTSEM) for those seemingly useless scenes which may or may not actually be important later.

Tonight’s episode featured the FIRST EVER meeting of Bae and Khaleesi, so let’s get into it!

************************SPOILER ALERT************************************

We start off on Dragonstone….

...which is the island where Khaleesi and co have posted up. Bae rows up with no-knuckles in a tiny rowboat and meets his old pal Tyrion on the sand. T is like remember when we met in season 1 and I peed off the edge of the wall that you were guarding lol jk lol jk? And Bae is like yep you were so wasted, bro. They also meet Khaleesi’s hottie translator with the good hair who’s like welcome, please hand over all of your weapons. And Bae’s like BUT I THOUGHT I HAD TSA- PRE CHECK! And T’s like naw, we’ve really had to tighten up our policies here. Some horse-dudes also take their little rowboat away.

As Bae and No-Knuckles (NK) are walking up to meet Khaleesi, her dragons do a quick perimeter sweep and really freak out poor little bae (see gif above). Watching all of this unfold from a creepy high-up-spying-spot is the Red Witch Lady who brought Bae back from the dead but then got kicked out and also Sleevey. The Red Witch is like I did my part, I brought Khaleesi and Bae together. And Sleevey’s like… don’t you want to see their first meeting? I think it might be like the Hamilton-Burr meeting in the musical Hamilton? And she’s like nope I got kicked out for burning a kid alive so not really welcome around him or NK. And he’s like ya you better get to steppin’ back East. And she’s like NO YOU better get to steppin’ back east.

WDTSEM? Truly no idea. I guess we’re supposed to be reminded that Sleevey hates religion because a religious zealot cut off his who-ha and ho-ho’s and therefore they do NOT get along?

Now, if you’ll recall Khaleesi is a pretty kewl lady. She campaigned on an anti-slavery platform back in the East and brought together a bunch of different groups of people all while keeping dat hair and dem outfits on point. And Bae is also a pretty kewl dude. He supports refugees and fights for the underserved and also looks fly as hell doing it. I know what you’re thinking, ARE THEY BOTH SINGLE? THEY SHOULD BONE? Well, unbeknownst to both of them, they’re actually related; she’s his aunt. But considering this episode featured a sex scene between a man and a woman who happen to be TWINS, I feel like aunt-nephew is not too weird for GoT-land. Back to the point, this is the first time Bae and Khaleesi are ever meeting and due to their similarities on paper, you’d think they’d get along. But turns out they do not.

Khaleesi is basically like #bowdownbitches and Bae is like naw dawg. They go back and forth for awhile, with Khaleesi explaining how/why she should overtake Queen Pixie Cut (QPC) and Bae basically agreeing but saying his real concern is the giant army of ice zombies. And she’s like lol wut? Ice zombies? Nice try, dude. Next thing you know, Sleevey rolls up and is like ruh-roh! Remember last episode when our pals Previously-Traumatized Theon (PTT), his sis Yara aka the Kween of the Iron Islands, and the Sand Queen lady sailed off to Southern shore to be mobilize our forces down South? Well PTT and Yara’s uncle, Uncle-Crazy-Pants (UCP) attacked them, burned most of their ships, and took Yara and the Sand-Queen lady hostage.

Next, we get a shot of PTT washing up and getting pulled into a boat where he reports that his sis was taken hostage and no, sorry, he wasn’t able to get her back. His peeps are like ugh what’s your deal, bro? But poor bb PTT has been through a lot so give him a break, ok?!?

WDTSEM? Well the Sand Queen and Yara were supposed to bring together all of Yara’s fleet of ships (which was approx. a buttload) and then head to Sand Queen’s home (Dorne) and bring together that whole army and then march up to King’s Landing, where QPC is sittin’ on dat throne. Now that they’re captured and their ships are burnt, this is a huge loss to Khaleesi.

Speaking of Uncle-Crazy-Pants, let’s check in on him in King’s Landing…

UCP is marching down the streets of King’s Landing doing a pretty good impression of Aladdin during the “Make Way for Prince Ali” scene. The difference here is that he is dragging along his niece, Yara, as well as the Sand Queen (SQ) lady and one her Sand Snake daughters. He struts up to QPC on his horse and “delivers” her the gift of SQ and her daughter. Now if you’ll recall, one of QPC’s kids, her daughter Myrcella, got kissed on the lips with poison by SQ a few seasons ago and proceeded to die on a lovely boat trip in which her dad/uncle (Jaime) confessed that he was her real dad. So needless to say, QPC and Jaime are NOT FANs of this lady.

UCP is like here, QPC, I brought you these prisoners, can we get married and/or bone now? And QPC is like yep, sure can! But first let’s beat Khaleesi in this giant, ongoing war. She tells him he’s in charge of her naval forces and that her bro is in charge of the Lannister army. And since UCP is cuckoo, he’s like hey Jaime, can you give me sex tips for when I do it with your sister (honestly, fair question) and obvi Jaime is like NOT KEWL BRO but he has to pretend to like this guy so he bites his tongue.

Then QPC makes a big deal of locking up SQ and her daughter and then kissing the daughter on the lips with poison to be like #reciprocity I guess? And she’s like SQ will have to watch her daughter die and then also hang out in this cave forever. I guess all this torture is really a turn-on because next thing we know, she’s making out with her brother and giving him a blowie right there.

The next morning, they’re all post-coital and he’s like I should...go? And she’s like naw, I’m the kween we can do whatever! And her maid sees them in their nudididity and is like eww?

Then QPC takes a meeting with an important banker who’s like…bitch...you broke. And she’s like gimme a minute, I got dis.

We stop back by Dragonstone to catch Bae bein’ Bae…

By which I mean he’s brooding by a cliff. And Tyrion is like damn I was trying to brood but you look hawter doing it, which is v. true really. They chat about what went wrong back at that meeting between Khaleesi and Bae. Tyrion tells Bae to take a chill pill and think about how crazy he sounds talkin’ bout ice zombies and whatnot. He also tells Bae about all the good things Khaleesi has done and how she’s actually a pretty cool lady. Then he goes and does the same with Khaleesi, basically. He’s like Bae’s a cool guy and all he wants from you are these rocks that you have under your castle that you’re NOT EVEN USING so just let him do that. And she’s like ok fine.

So then we get to Bae-Khaleesi-meeting 2.0 where it’s just the 2 of them, standing on this cliff chatting kween-to-king. She agrees to let him mine the “dragonglass” (rocks that kill ice zombies) under her castle and he kind of agrees to support her in her campaign against QPC? Well mostly he agrees that QPC is no good and Khaleesi would be a better kween. Then Bae’s like… does this mean you believe me re: ice zombies? And Khaleesi is like… no comment.

We head North to Winterfell, where Bae’s sis Sansa was left in charge

And boy is she doing a good job! Which is kind of surprising, only because we’ve never seen her utilize these skills before. She’s walking around telling people to start storing their barley for winter and telling the metal-workers to line their breastplates with leather and generally being a BOSS. Littlefinger, AS ALWAYS, is creeping around behind her doing nothing helpful. He stops to give her some advice about imagining every possible scenario at all times which is like, sure, a good idea in theory but who has time for that?!?

Suddenly her little bro, Bran, who she was told was maybe dead, shows up in Winterfell. She’s like OMG YASS KWEEN YOU’RE ALIVE! And Bran is just sitting there (to be fair he is paraplegic so he couldn’t get up) staring straight ahead and is acting all robotic. I guess it’s because he’s been through some trauma but at this point so has almost every character on GoT and they still manage to register human emotion.

They proceed to have a heart-2-heart by the old-family-magic-face-tree and she’s like so...what’s been going on in the last 6 seasons? And he’s like I am the three-eyed-raven now I can see the past and the present and all scenarios at all times (hmm interesting that this is exactly what littlefinger just advised her to do...) And she’s like cool….so….do you want to be in charge now since you are the oldest living official Stark male and gender roles are apparently still a BFD up North? And he’s like can’t… I have to prophesize. Btw where’s Bae? We know as savvy viewers that he’s looking for Bae because he needs to tell him about the paternity results.

And then he vividly describes the night she was married off to her psychopath-ex-husband who then proceeded to rape her. He keeps talking about it, too, which I guess is to prove that he can see the past but also NOT trauma-informed and not a welcome conversation. It’s weird.

We stop by Old Town which is more and more like Hogwarts every day…

Mostly because Jim Broadbent is there and because people are getting miraculously cured from turning-to-stone-diseases. Sam, Bae’s bestie, is still interning at the “maester” academy, learning to be a doctor/librarian and you’ll recall that last week he did some under-the-radar experimental surgery to treat Stoney, who happens to be one of Khaleesi’s besties. Now get this, STONEY IS CURED! The artist-formerly-known-as-Stoney is like thanks, Sam, I gotta get back to Khaleesi! And Sam’s boss is like I know you did that amateur surgery and you’re in big trouble but also good job I’m proud of you.

Our last scene is really a montage of scenes so let’s get into it…

I have to admit that even I, GoT-viewing-expert (lol), was confused and overwhelmed by this last scene. So I’ll try to break it down as clearly as I can, but bear with me. We start with Tyrion laying out the current battle plan. Since Khaleesi is pretty ticked that their ships (well technically Yara’s ships but under her direction) were all destroyed by UCP, she mentions finding UCP’s ships and burning them up. How? Well duh, she got dem dragons! It’s strange because I’m pretty sure she’s talking about riding them and commanding them while at the helm, but she never really says this clearly. And Tyrion is like no that’s too dangerous, someone else should do it. Does he mean himself? MAYBE? TBD...

But for now, let’s get into the current battle zones:

Greyworm (fresh off his recent sex scene from last week) and the rest of the “unsullied” army, were sent by Khaleesi and Tyrion to overtake T’s family home, Casterly Rock. There’s this whole montage that Tyrion helpfully narrates about how if the unsullied were to attack Casterly Rock by just popping up on the fortress, they’d be crushed since it was built so well. BUT since Tyrion used to sneak in his sex ladies and booze and other “unsavory” things through the sewer system, he knows it very well. So he instructs Greyworm and a small group to come in through the back and engage in sneak-attack-warfare. They successfully take Casterly Rock, but they’re like...that’s funny...there were supposed to be a lot more people here? And they look out to the sea where it looks like UCP’s ships are burning up all of the ships they rode in on. Which is a real bummer.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Lannister army (all the people who were missing when Greyworm and co. attacked) led by Jaime, is shown marching on “Highgarden” which is where Grandma Tyrell (Gma) lives, apparently completely alone. Remember that Gma’s son and grandkids all got burned up in that church-explosion by QPC last season and then she decided to back Khaleesi? She also told Khaleesi not to trust Tyrion and to “be a dragon.” Gma is looking out at this whole army of Lannister dudes and is like well...IDGAF at this point, really. Important to note that Sam’s Dad (who is a major dick) and Sam’s bro (who’s actual name is Dickon) as well as Tyrion’s old pal Bronn are on the front lines with Jaime, even though last week Sam’s dad was like I could NEVER betray Gma Tyrell.

WDTSEM? Remember when QPC said she’d pay back all of her debts to the banker? Well Highgarden is famously wealthy and has lots of important exports (like grains, for example). So with Jaime and QPC in possession of all of that, as well the coffers of Casterly Rock which he says he cleared out, they can now pay them back, theoretically. Also, Highgarden is down South so now QPC and co have a stronghold down there.

Jaime meets Gma in her study for some light refreshments and death threats. Gma is like well… shoulda seen this coming. Also, did you know your sister/lover is the worst human ever? Like seriously a sociopath? And Jaime is like, oh you think she’s so bad? Well how about this? She is going to let you die from poison rather than torture- isn’t that sweet?!? And gma is like ugh whatever give me the poison, put it in my wine plz. She drinks it in one gulp and then she’s like oh, BTW, I know that Joffrey (the evil little prince dude who was poisoned and killed at his wedding to Gma’s granddaughter, Queen Makeunder) is your son cuz of incest and also, I’m the one who poisoned him. And Jaime is like maybe mad or maybe not? Maybe just surprised? Gma is like tell QPC that it was me who killed Joffrey, k? Ps I hate QPC ok bai, time to die.

WDTSEM? For so long QPC’s only redeeming quality (as told by all of the other characters) was her love for her children. After all 3 had died, she took over the throne and started in on this crazy reign of terror. Now she has SQ captive and is torturing her for killing her daughter and with this admission, she’s also killed the person responsible for one of her son’s deaths. Will ticking off those responsible for killing her main motivation in life help her find closure or make her more of a monster? I’d guess the latter.

Now let’s break it down:

Biggest surprise this ep: The attack on Highgarden! I did not see that coming and also did not fully understand at first. The way the scene was shot, it seemed like gma was in on this invasion, but obviously she was not, as she was later killed by said invaders.

Biggest letdown: Bran was so lackluster and un-enthuz’ed about finally seeing his sister and his hometown again. It’s like we get that you have magic powers now but could you show some effort here?

Important fashion moments: Bae’s meeting-the-kween-but-I-also-have-armor-on look was pretty fly and even though she is THE WORST, I was feeling the red-witch-lady’s linen-y red scarf/cape

Who died this ep? The Sand Queen’s daughter (the last of the “Sand Snakes”), a bunch of unsullied soldiers out at sea, and Olenna Tyrell (aka gma Tyrell) RIP.

Check in this time next week for more LMWTV4U and thanks for reading. Tell your friends!

Correction: I’ve recently discovered that I’ve been spelling Jaime Lannister’s name wrong for my entire blog-writing career. My apologies.

Also, you might IDGAF this but just to lay it out there, I purposefully avoid all other recaps/reviews/think-pieces about the latest episode in the time between watching the ep and writing this recap. Sometimes I will hop on to the GoT wiki page to find out a character’s name or check a fact but mostly it’s just my own notes that I reference.

WHY AM I EVEN SAYING THIS? I often will read other recaps/reviews after writing and posting this one and I’m like OMG WE HAD THE SAME REACTION/ SAID THE SAME THING about a scene or a character. So I guess I just wanted to say that any similarities between this recap and any other recap are unintentional and coincidental.

I know what you’re thinking: PROVE IT. Well, much like Bae trying to prove the ice zombies are real, I can’t prove it, I can only state the facts and hope that my time-worn face and honest peepers will be enough :)

#LMWTV4U #got #gots7e3 #the queen's justice #khaleesi #jon snow #tyrion lannister #olenna tyrell #jaime lannister #game of thrones #game of thrones recap #the queens justice recap #game of thrones review #game of thrones season 7 episode 3

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