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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

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Hi! For the bingo: Daemon Targaryen & courting?

Mirror (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Warnings: Targaryen reader. Mature situations. Mature language. A bit of angst, incest, and innocence kink.

Summary: Courting. Daemon’s version.

A/N: Everyone who writes Daemon fics has tackled this trope. I missed oneshots so bad.

There was little King Viserys wouldn’t do for his lovely daughters. During your childhood, there were two of everything. Two Septas, two dolls, two play daggers. For as long as you have been alive, there have been efforts made to make things fair.

No doubt, it was the legacy of your mother. Your father was nice enough, but you doubted he had the foresight to try to avoid sibling rivalry. Queen Aemma’s influence had been greatly missed after her passing.

It had been then when the problems between you and Rhaenyra had started. Your relationship had gotten even more rocky when she was named heir. The situation had turned so bad, even your father had noticed. And just as if it were one of his models, he had demanded perfect symmetry in all aspects.

The same rooms. Same number of servants. Same number of dresses you were allowed to own. An even split of your mother’s jewels.

Unfortunately, there were things not even King Viserys could fix. This was one of them, you thought, as you sat on one of the rails of the dragon pit.

Daemon and Rhaenyra race on their dragons in the open sky right above you. They shriek in laughter and shout things in High Valyrian. You are not sure which you resent more. Rhaenyra, for dragging you along with the promise of tending to Syrax or Daemon for interrupting your time with your sister.

It seemed as if all you did was fight now. The occasion where you did not was rare, and so, intrusion on it was not welcome. But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if Rhaenyra is playing a cruel trick on you, dragging you here so you can see what you are missing.

Despite your best attempts at keeping yourself calm, you can’t help but feel rage bubble up in your throat. Rage, and a deep sense of failure. You had heard even Laena Velaryon, younger than you, had managed to claim a dragon. Was this why your father had chosen Rhaenyra to be heir and not you?

It felt cruel, and hurtful. Not only did your uncle always pay more attention to Rhaenyra, but now you had to watch them do things you couldn’t do. Go where you couldn’t follow, and made you watch them go.

They dismount a few feet away from you. With them, comes all the hassle and fretting of the dragon keepers. Caraxes always takes a long time to settle after going flying, and so, you relax in your seat. You hope enough time might go by, they forget about your existence and you can slip out unnoticed. It would save you the embarrassment of having to hear them flirt and tell you everything as if you were a child.

No luck for you today, though. You smell it before you see it. Sweat, leather and the unmistakable stink of dragon. Your nose scrunches up, and you jump off the railing just in time to avoid your uncle’s ruffling of your hair.

Rhaenyra snickers a little. Despite the dragon ride, she looks as royal and regal as ever. It’s a feat you admire and despise greatly.

“Trying to sneak up on me?” You frown. You don’t need any further embarrassing. Being startled and falling into the mud would have been just the cherry on top.

Daemon ignores you, tugging on your braid.

“No dragon yet?”

“No.” Your answer it’s harsh, and perhaps a bit rude, but this feels as if they are targedly mocking you. Daemon raises his eyebrows, looking on the edge of apologizing, if such a thing it’s even possible for him. Rhaenyra, more used to your moods, just rolls her eyes.

“Let her be, Kepa.” She whispers, as if you are not there. “She is always like this.”

“Pouty?” Daemon tilts your chin up with two fingers. You jerk your head away, glaring daggers at him.

“Bitter.” Rhaenyra speaks, and you glare at her instead. You do not understand why she is so mean, lately. Her being named heir has not done anything good for your relationship, but you had tried your best to play nice. She didn’t seem to care.

“I can hear both of you.” You complain, but they just laugh. Angrily, you stomp off.

You feel too jittery to go back to your chambers. It would make you more angry, if you were to go inside the castle so soon. It’s too pleasant of a day to be spent cooped up at the Red Keep. Too preoccupied with your thoughts, you don’t notice someone is following you.

Your feet lead you to the training yard. It makes sense, in a way. This is where you have been coming the past few months when the castle got too small to house both you and Rhaenyra.

Early in the morning as it is, the yard is empty. Save for your sworn shield, of course. While Rhaenyra had gotten Ser Criston Cole, handsome and dornish, you had gotten Ser Harwin Strong. Riverlander, just as handsome and with a clear infatuation with your sister.

But kind. Unbearably so.

“I figured your meeting with the Princess would not go as planned.” He explains, as he helps you out of your cloak and jewelry. Ser Harwin helps you put on some protective gear before handing you a wooden sword.

He has been teaching you swordplay for the past few months. Not so much for self-defense, but as a way to curb your more violent impulses. When you feel like you might throttle Rhaenyra or perhaps smother her with a pillow, you come to him.

It's good. You have not learned a lot, but there is something utterly satisfying about hitting someone as hard as you can. With wooden swords and against Ser Harwin, you know there is no real possibility of hurting him. He is much taller and stronger than you.

There is also something satisfying about blocking his blows, too. In the smacking sound, in the effort it takes. You understand why men enjoy battle so much, finally. When you walk away, you are always sore and bruised, but your mind is finally quiet.

“I have just resigned myself to an arranged marriage.” You say to Ser Harwin, as you block his sword with great effort. “All the men in the court are panting after her, it’s no use.”

And you do think you are on the right, this time. Too often, you feel overshadowed by her, and seeing your uncle and Ser Harwin on the same day just confirms it. You have no chance at finding true love, not when every man here only has eyes for her.

You didn’t necessarily were a romantic person, but a bit of attention would be nice. Feeling desired and admired in the way Rhaenyra was. They even called her the Realm’s delight, for Gods’s sake.

“Are they after her? Or her tittle?” Ser Harwin tries to disarm you. You hit harder, a low blow aimed to his ribs that he avoids with little effort.

“You tell me.” You pant, a little out of breath. It was something you frequently wondered yourself, but never about him. Ser Harwin clearly wasn’t hoping to be King. What he wanted was something much more carnal. You had seen the way his eyes trailed Rhaenyra’s figure when they were together in a room. He appreciated her personality, perhaps, but he clearly wanted to bed her.

You loved teasing him about it. For such a big man, he could sure get sheepish.

“Fair.” Ser Harwin chuckled, raising his wooden sword again. You liked that he was very good-humored. He didn't mind your teasing. “But think of the bright side. If someone is after you, they are really after you.”

You frowned. He had a point, you supposed. If a man were about to pursue you, it might be because you are a Targaryen, or because of your valyrian looks. But never because of the Iron Throne. With baby Aegon existence, you are certain that whatever your place in the succession line is, plenty of people would have to die for you to even have a weak claim to it.

“Wise words for one so young.” The voice startles both of you. As if you were children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you freeze. Ser Harwin even drops his wooden sword. “You should heed your knight, niece.”

“Uncle.” You answer, casually. You know Daemon. If he senses weakness, he is going to pounce. While Ser Harwin has given away already that you are not exactly doing something your father approves off, you are not going to have your Uncle thinking he has something to blackmail you with.

Daemon ignores you, choosing to attack the weak link. He tuts at Harwin.

“Poor form. And a poor trainer. Leave us.”

Harwin hesitates. He is not supposed to leave you alone and unprotected. Much less, with your uncle. Daemon it’s not known for his trustworthiness.

“With all due respect, Prince Daemon, I am not allowed…”

“Leave us, boy.” Daemon’s tone turns harsher. Channeling all the authority he has as a Prince. Now, your sworn shield can’t refuse. It’s an order, not a suggestion. But Harwin remains where he is, looking to you for approval.

Your uncle’s eyes flash dangerously at the defiance. You look at Harwin and nod. He leaves.

You twirl your wooden sword. Daemon smirks.

“Commendable.” He gives a slow clap. “Very loyal guard dog, you have there.”

“You could learn a thing or two.” You answer, vicious. The human equivalent of an animal biting down and refusing to release its jaws. By the brief look of hurt on his face, you have touched a nerve.

But soon, his expression smooths down into a vicious little smile, to match yours.

“So this is where you have been disappearing to.”

“So?” You ask, all nonchalance.

“Feisty.” Your uncle kicks Harwin’s discarded wooden sword away and unsheathes his. Whatever this is, it’s long overdone, you realize. You are bouncing with pent-up anger and frustration.

Daemon strikes at you, hard. The flat side of his sword hits your ribs. It hurts even with the protections Harwin makes you wear, a dull sting on your torso.

“If this was a real fight, you would be dead.” His tone is smug. You cannot take it, and so, bang your wooden sword against his hip.

“And you would be unable to walk.”

Your uncle laughs, coldly. He is angry too, you realize. In that messy way he gets, sometimes. Teeth bared in a cocky grin, still high on the thrill of riding Caraxes and chasing Rhaenyra.

Despite your best attempts, you are no match for him. He is a seasoned warrior. He has been at war for the last couple of years. No amount of anger can match his technique. Soon, he has you disarmed and cornered, Dark Sister at your throat.

“Not bad. I might even bruise.” His tone drips condescension, but there is something odd going on in his face. His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving, and there is no way it’s with exertion. While you were panting and begging for a respite, Daemon hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “You need a real sword.”

“Perhaps. But then Rhaenyra gets one, and this is only mine.” It’s more honest than you would like, but you are still trying to decipherate what exactly he is feeling. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy. You feel confused.

“Is that why you want a husband? To have someone only yours?” Daemon suddenly is much closer, twirling the end of your braid between his fingers.

You scoff, and push him away.

“That’s none of your concern.”

You storm inside the Red Keep, scowling. Finally, it seemed, Daemon and Rhaenyra had managed to run you off the castle’s grounds.

The encounter is barely given a second thought. You decide to keep yourself busy for the rest of Daemon’s visit to King’s Landing. Knowing him, he is due to get exiled soon. There is no point in worrying about it.

You fill up your days with activities, be it harassing some tutors, your Septa, or even visiting orphaned children in King’s Landing. That activity is one you and Ser Harwin particularly enjoy. It fills you with joy when you get to run around and play in the mud with your stern guard having no choice but to tag along. You have even caught him smiling when little girls ask to braid his hair.

Things are surprisingly calm. You would have expected your uncle to be involved in a scandal by now. Yet, there are no rumors of him bedding three whores in one sitting, nor there is an irate Otto Hightower asking your father to send him away.

Until one night, you find a jeweled sword resting on your bed. It’s small, but you can tell from the sharpness of the blade that it is made from Valyrian steel. You start training with it the next day, getting used to its weight. If Ser Harwin thinks anything of your sudden interest in doing more than hitting him, he doesn’t show it.

You are not surprised to find your Uncle waiting for you after your morning practice. At first glance, the courtyard is as empty as when you began your training. Despite it, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

Just as you are entering the Red Keep, sweaty and ready for a bath, Daemon steps out from the shadows.

“You look so grown up in riding attire.” He says, from beneath some trees. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Almost didn’t recognize you, either. No scandal in nearly a month?” You start to loosen your braid, accelerating the process of getting into your bath as you walk. There is nothing you want more than to just soak in hot water and let the warmth wash away your soreness. “You must be getting old.”

“Youthfulness is in the spirit.” Daemons hurries to reach you, falling into step right beside you. You resist the urge to walk faster if only to see him struggle. Power play. Always. Push, and pull, and don’t let anyone else get the upper hand.

“Ah, that makes sense.” You slow down your steps because while you enjoy angering your uncle, you would rather not anger him too much. “You have the spirit of a child.”

“I’ll take that as the highest of compliments.” Daemon ruffles your hair, uncaring that’s matted in sweat. You make a face. “Did you like your gift?”

“Depends.” You give him a feral little grin. Your uncle looks at you, as if deciding whether he wants to bite or not. Knowing him as you do, you know he can’t stand the intrigue.

“On what?”

“How many of Rhaenyra’s necklaces you had to melt to get the sword.”

“That blade is worth at least five of her necklaces.” Daemon boasts. You give him an unimpressed look.

“Huh. Then I like it.”

“Not love it?”

“It wasn’t ten.” And with a cheeky grin, you are off towards your chambers.

You don’t see Daemon for a few days. You hear him, unfortunately. He is everywhere at once, yet never wherever you are. You know of him in the shape of rumors and hearsay.

When you go fetch yourself a tea tray in the kitchen, your uncle is in the middle of the servants. “I heard last night he was with four whores!” As you ask a maid about your sister’s whereabouts, he is her chosen companion. “Princess Rhaenyra went out to race your uncle, Princess.” And of course, when your father complains, Daemon is in the midst of it. “He insulted Otto and then walked out of the council meeting.”

Despite your wishes, your uncle starts to occupy more of your mind’s space than you would like. You keep wondering what he is up to, each rumor more outrageous than the last. You cannot help but wonder if it’s you who was prompted him to wreak such havoc. The idea of having such power over him, that an offhanded comment can cause such a reaction, makes something tingle in your stomach.

You find him next in the gardens. Alicent and Rhaenyra are fighting again, a nasty thing that soon turns into a screaming match. That's a dynamic you have stayed out of, since you had memory. While Alicent and Rhaenyra were friends, you never felt anything towards Alicent besides a slight sympathy. She seemed nice enough, but she was not your friend.

Rhaenyra and you loved in the same way, you see. Possessive, harsh. As Princesses, you never learned to share. You wanted your person to be only yours. Alicent was Rhenyra’s, and so, you stepped aside.

When she married your father, you weren’t exactly pleased. But you had the emotional detachment Rhenyra lacked, being too close to the situation. In time, you had come to understand that it wasn’t like she had a choice, either.

So, it wasn’t like you were going to break with tradition now. To avoid their screams, you had decided to pace the gardens. Daemon seemed to have the same idea because you find him sitting on a bench with a book in his hands.

“Came to join me?” He asks, voice smooth like honey.

“Rather to escape the screeching.” You sit by his side, curiously peering at the book he holds.

“A Cautionary Tale For Young Girls.” Daemon’s smirk is the only thing that gives him away, that, and the fact that the book is written in High Valyrian. “Most illuminating read. You should try it.”

You laugh, despite yourself. His lips twitch into a more genuine smile, less full of smugness and bravado.

“I was getting lonely.” You say, softly. The admission surprises even you. “You are with Rhaenyra all the time.”

Don’t go where I can’t follow, you wish to say. Don’t take her from me. My other half. But you don’t speak the words aloud, from fear of him repeating your confession. You don’t want to beg Rhaenyra for affection, not when you have been competing with her all your life.

Daemon makes a face, as if pained of what he will say next. He seems wary of hurting you. You wonder if that means he cares for you, in his own twisted way. It’s not often he worries about what others think.

“She has a dragon.” No matter how gentle the tone, it hurts anyway.

“I miss her. Not you.” But it’s a lie. You know it’s a bad pattern, and you shouldn’t miss him, but you are so used to competing for affection that Daemon has become both your rival and the one you crave. The weeks without him have been lonely and taxing. No matter if it was you who pushed him away and didn’t care to reach out after.

“I remember you two were close.” Something must change in your face because your uncle reaches toward you, gently squeezing your arm.

“We used to be. She is just… So angry, all the time. And has all these new people. Admires, prospects…” You feel like a fool. There is a deep sense of unfulfillment and being wronged yet at the same time, you know you are being unreasonable. This was always going to happen. You can’t share the Iron Throne, and she has always been your father’s favorite. Rhaenyra was always going to be the heir.

“Which one am I?”

You shrug.

“It's not like I care.” But you do. You do care, despite your best sense. Because you want to be his favorite. You have always wanted to be someone’s favorite, but Daemon has a special brand of devotion for those he cares about. You wish you could be counted on that list, lately. By the smile on his face, Daemon can probably tell. “And it's not like before she didn't have things that were only hers.”

"I thought you shared everything.” Your uncle tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

“She has Alicent. Had. Still does.” You know when the time comes, Alicent will be there for Rhaenyra. They are tied together by destiny in ways Rhaenyra and you are not.

“The curse of the younger brother.” With your eyes still closed, his hand gently brushing your hair back, the words do not feel as if they are being spoken aloud. The gardens around you feel muffled, distant. Perhaps it’s the soothing touch, or the deep pang of sadness in your chest, but you do not understand what Daemon means.

“I beg your pardon?” You open your eyes, giving him a confused expression. Not only is he muttering nonsense, your uncle is much closer to you than he was before. Daemon’s forehead is nearly pressed into yours, his thumb now gently rubbing across your jawline.

“Viserys and Rhaenyra are the same.” He explains, tracing your cheekbone next. As if he is keen to learn your face from touch alone, carve it on his mind. It makes you smile slightly. The pain from mourning your innocence is very much still there, but it doesn’t feel like it’s tearing you apart. “Just as you and I are the same.”

“I…” You are not sure of what to answer. Naturally, it makes sense. You can feel it in your bones, but you can’t quite articulate the thought.

Daemon’s thumb presses against your lips in a downward motion, closing them.

“We could fly off tonight. Go to the Free cities, marry. No one would care.” His tone is fervent, urgent. Pleading with you. You keep quiet, and so does he. The silence stretches between the two of you. Your mind races.

Just as your lips flutter behind his thumb to answer the proposal, your uncle speaks again.

“We are free, you and I. But the Iron Throne chains them.”

It’s then you realize it was not a proposition, but rather an explanation of the thoughts you were unable to articulate. And perhaps it’s the sting of rejection or the deep sadness that has taken root on you since the death of your mother, but you cannot keep the words in. They come flowing, tumbling, rushing out of your mouth.

“I want to be a girl forever.” You say to him, starting to tear up. “I am not ready to be a woman.”

You are scared, you realize. No longer are you a girl playing to be a woman, dressing up in your mother’s jewels and dresses. Five years down the line, you will be married. Ten, it will be you who is a mother.

Your uncle gathers you into his arms, painfully soft. You would have never believed Daemon capable of such a tender touch.

“You can’t be innocent forever.”

“Everything is so complicated now. I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

You whisper against his neck. It’s a doomed wish. You know already it’s too late for it. No longer are you an innocent, no longer anything is the same. It will never be.

“Not all changes are bad. There can be pleasure in losing one’s innocence.” Daemon kisses your temple. “And I intend to show it to you.”

That night, the two of you sneak out of the Red Keep.

“I wanted to give you something only yours.” Your uncle says, as he leads you down the Street of Silk. Both of you are wearing rough cloaks, for discretion. You cling to his arm, afraid of getting lost in between the strange sights and smells.

There is so much to see and so much to hear. People laughing in the streets, singing, drunkards and patrons from the brothels mixing. While you are familiar with the streets of King’s Landing, you have never seen them at night. It’s both frightening and exhilarating, watching the city come to life in ways new to you.

There are no children in sight, only adults. The message that Daemon hoped to convey by bringing you here is loud and clear. You are no longer a girl, you are a woman. And so, instead of sleeping soundly in your bed as you have done all your childhood, you get to enjoy the wonders of the night.

The crowd gets even more rowdy as you pass the bigger pleasure houses and walk towards the ones that are at the end of the street. Secluded as they are, they spark your curiosity.

“Where are we going?” You ask your uncle, tugging at his arm. “Inside one of those? Why?”

“They cater to tastes that the rest do not.” Daemon comes to a stop in front of one, and takes off his hood. The woman at the doors takes one look at his hair and quickly ushers you both inside a room.

The room is bare except for a couple of chairs and a bed. You examine everything closely, noting the inferior quality of the furniture. These are not the kinds of chairs you are used to, at the Red Keep. After a while, and only when you notice no one else is hiding inside, you lower your hood. Being overly cautious never hurt anyone, after all.

“What tastes?” You squeeze Daemon’s hand. He gives you a puzzled look. “You said they cater to tastes…”

“You will see.” You are saved from the wait to know what he means by the door opening. Two servants, dressed in little clothing, step inside. Men, near your age. They are completely unique, yet similar. You get the feeling they are not simple servants, even though they serve you and Daemon goblets of wine.

You stare. You do not understand why they are not leaving.

Your uncle steps behind you, to whisper in your ear. His arms circle around your waist.

“Look at them.” He presses a chaste kiss just behind your ear. “Really look.”

So you do. One of the men is tall and strong. Almost wide. All bulging muscles. He has dark hair and light colored eyes. The other man is slightly slender, yet strong either way. He has lighter hair and a much sweeter face. They are both handsome, yet you do not understand what game Daemon could be playing.

“You wanted something only yours.” He mutters, kissing the crown of your head. He perches his chin on top of it. “Most girls, they don’t get to choose whom they lose their innocence to.”

It dawns on you then. He wants you to choose one of the men to… Well. It’s a nice thing to do, but so undeniably Daemon it hurts.

Feeling mischievous, you turn around in his grip.

“And I can choose any of the men in this room?” You smirk. Your uncle’s brows draw together, in disbelief.

“That’s the point, yes.” Daemon speaks slowly, as if explaining to someone particularly daft. Or innocent. “I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You smirk, and kiss him. You feel him smirk right back against your mouth.

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irondad-creator-awards · 2 months ago

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And The Finalists Are... Part 1

The 2024 Story Finalists Are Now All Bookmarked And Added To The Collection - Or Permission Requested.

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Best Plot Twist

Dark Matter By Mysterycyclone

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Delete That Footage By Iron_Spider

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Best Biodad

All I've Waited For (Where You Belonged) By Jaworley

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The Moon And Stars (And Gummy Worms Where They Shouldn’t Be) By Jaworley

Best Worlds Colliding

4.2 And Running In Circles (Don’t Give Up Kid, I’m Here) By Jaworley

Heir Of Stark Industries By Inkinmyheartandonthepage

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Peter’s Tony By Mswinifredquale

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Best Hurt/Comfort

If You Find That You Feel Lost, I'll Be Your Ticket Back By Kingdomfaraway

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What Means The Most By Mswinifredquale

NOTE: Sorry for the split posts. Tumblr wouldn't let us post as one.

#Irondad Creator Awards 2024 #iron man #irondad and spiderson #spider-man #spider son #irondad creator awards #irondad #fanfic #art #spider man #fandom awards

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mcntsee · 10 months ago

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Fires of Passion, Ashes of Hate I

next part

Summary: Lovers (mentioned) to enemies and “I didn’t know where else to go.” all in one 3.2k words fic.

Warnings: Hate (?), mentions of near death (kinda), curses, blood, and injuries.

Note: I actually really like this. Kaz’s thoughts are in italics. Part two will be y/n’s pov and three is going back to kaz’s. Enjoy and let me know what you think! <3

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was amusing, in a twisted way. Kaz and Y/N had loved each other intensely, to the point of pain. The love had hurt so deeply that they had to break apart, and with that much love bottled up, anger began. Hatred followed suit.

They hated each other. So much that it pained them, for they had once known each other. Once, they had shared laughter. Once, their love had been so intense that it twisted into hatred.

Hate born from love. How cruel.

In certain aspects, they were undeniably alike. The way they thought, fought, manipulated, and even shared laughter echoed each other—a symmetry they once found endearing.

They cherished locking eyes, finding solace in the reflection of qualities that mirrored each other, even if not in the physical sense.

They had once adored the similarity, but now they detested it. Every move, every thought, every word in their conflicts felt predictable, like battling an unyielding mirror. The annoyance grew as they found themselves entangled in a struggle against the very likeness they had once celebrated.

Kaz had been seated at his desk for what he felt was an extended period, and that, in itself, spoke volumes.

Despite the persistent urge to infiltrate Lehos' house, his thoughts incessantly circled back to her, and he hated it.

He found himself pondering how she would approach it—her plan, the route she would choose, and the exit strategy she might employ. It was exhausting and he knew that if he didn’t devise a plan soon, she would inevitably outsmart him.

His thoughts, however, were abruptly interrupted by a sudden, or rather, a terrible attempt at knocking on his door, capturing his attention.

Quickly glancing at his pocket watch, he realized that by this time, his crows would all be fast asleep. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. A chill going down his spine.

With no apparent reason for a knock at this hour, he braced himself for a potential confrontation.

He held his breath for a second, then two. With no one bursting through the door, he took a deliberate step forward, his hand gravitating towards the doorknob.

The color drained from his face as swiftly as he yanked the door open. The sight before his eyes was too dreadful to fathom.

"I didn't know where else to go."

With that, she fell forward, her full body weight crashing against his chest and propelling him back two steps.

His eyes swiftly scanned his surroundings, darting from the blood covering the outside of his door, where she had leaned, to the pool of it where she had once been standing.

“Y/n?”

That was it. She was dead. They finally got her. Those were the only words echoing in his mind as he clung to her lifeless form, glancing down to see his hands and vest now tainted with the same crimson hue that stained his door.

And then, he heard a faint hum. Weak, but enough for him to recognize it as coming from the girl, confirming he hadn't hallucinated it. "Y/n!" But the hum was the last sound he heard from her before he felt her body sliding down from his arms, slipping from where they had once been standing.

With all the strength he could muster in their awkward position, he pulled. He pulled and pulled until he reached his bed, pushing her over so she was now lying down on it.

“Saints.”

He stood there, torn between conflicting impulses. A part of him urged to lift her and cast her out of his room—she had no business being there, and he had no obligation to assist her. Yet, another part hesitated, acknowledging she hadn't known where else to go.

That realization alone prompted him to help her. He could envision the difficulty she must have faced to come all the way here. Moreover, he understood the gravity of her situation for her to seek help specifically from him.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

Were the constant words his mouth kept repeating as he tore clothes off, exposing whatever wounds he could see through the blood.

Her blood that had now painted almost the entirety of his room red.

A soft "I know," slipped through her parted lips, the words resonating and sending shivers through the entirety of his body. "I know."

His heart burned, as intensely as it did when the hate began. The flames of their love had been an inferno, reducing everything to ash.

Ash that had filled their lungs, the very lungs that were once the sanctuary for the breathy laughs they had once shared.

But he couldn't let her die, not like this. If her time came, it would be by his hand, not someone else's.

He alone possessed the authority to extract this overwhelming amount of blood from her. The exclusive right to make her suffer and beg belonged to him.

Beg for what? Forgiveness, perhaps. But what was he supposed to forgive her for—loving him? For making him love her?

He presumed that when the moment arrived, clarity would come. For now, he had to concentrate on the hate coursing through him. The hate that, if wielded wisely, could prolong her existence until the time he could exact his own form of destruction.

“Saints. I really do detest you, love.”

It was the only explanation. He had long ago extinguished the flames of the love they once shared, carefully dusting off the ash from his heart, and decisively leaving her behind.

Each day, she haunted his thoughts, transforming into a relentless fire, hell-bent on destroying his heart.

He moved with urgency, his leg protesting in pain. From her side to the bathroom, he returned with hands laden with bandages. Swiftly turning back, he grabbed a bucket, filled it with water, and returned with it in one hand, a cloth in the other, and a sewing kit clutched between his teeth.

His hands trembled uncontrollably. It was so absurd to witness his own hands shake that a humorless laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head in disbelief.

The room reeked of desperation and the unmistakable scent of iron, and it made him nervous. Nervous enough to prompt him to pull his gloves off, hoping for a better grip on the sewing kit.

He let out a frustrated grunt. Somehow, the damn kit refused to open, as if the crystal lid had been sealed shut with invisible glue.

With time slipping through his fingers like sand in the wind, he covered his eyes, turned his face away, and then, with frustration, raised his arm. Swiftly moving down, he forcefully smashed the kit into the ground, letting it shatter into pieces.

He quickly dropped to his knees, his shaky hand fumbling around in search of the needles. "Fuck," he muttered as a shock of pain ran through his palm. He had found a needle.

Grabbing the thread that had slipped under his bed, he rose as swiftly as his bad leg allowed, promptly placing the needle between his teeth, and tucking the thread into his pocket.

As he took the damp cloth, his gaze lingered on her face. Her eyes moved back and forth behind close lids, and he found himself wondering if she was lost in a dream.

Perhaps, in her dreams, she wandered back to him. Maybe it was a recollection of their laughter reverberating through a moonlit alley, back when times were simpler. When the city’s shadows seemed less ominous, and their love had yet to transmute into hatred.

He only fully returned to his senses when he felt the crimson wetness clinging to his hand.

Each swipe across her wounded body intensified the sensation—the stickiness, the warmth, the almost magnetic pull of her life force seeping into the fibers. It was as if the blood itself whispered secrets of their past, demanding acknowledgment.

He wanted- no, he needed to know, “Why here? Of all places, why did you come here?”

His voice, through gritted teeth that still clung to the needle, was almost as harsh as his scrubbing on her skin. He wasn’t being gentle—she didn’t deserve it. “Answer me!”

Only silence followed, fueling the hate in his heart.

He scrubbed harder, longing for a moment when she might wake up and respond to the questions haunting his mind. Yet, she remained unresponsive. Even in the face of death, she found a way to infuriate him.

Once he had cleaned as much blood as he could, he retrieved the thread from his pocket and took the needle from between his teeth.

Despite his shaky hands, he deftly threaded the needle. After all, he was the barrel's finest lock-picker.

That was something he prided himself on—an ability that, despite his attempts to teach Y/n, she never excelled at.

He took a deep breath and moved forward, his hands approaching the nasty cut just below her ribs.

As much as he craved answers, he was somehow relieved when he glanced up and found Y/n's eyes still glued shut. Just as she had never learned how to quickly pick a lock, he had never learned how to painlessly sew a wound shut. It was going to hurt.

But that was inconsequential to him. He believed she deserved the anguish, and he would have welcomed the sound of her screams.

Yet, he wouldn’t have relished the teasing likely to replace the cries of pain, highlighting how inept he was at this.

In what felt like an eternity, mere minutes passed before he wrapped the gauze he had fetched from the bathroom around -what seemed like- her entire body. Successfully covering every wound he could see.

Having done his part, whether she woke up or not was now in her hands. However, he hoped it would be soon. After all, he was going to need his bed back at some point.

As he waited, his gaze delicately traced her face, pausing at her chapped lips. He once had wondered what they might taste like—whether they would carry the same flavor as the fragrance he associated with her; cherries.

And, at some point during this ordeal, he had found himself hoping her heart would cease to beat.

He hoped that, in some twisted way, this would serve as a justification for his mind to release him from the haunting grip of his past. That it would allow his body to break free and lead him to press his lips to hers in a desperate attempt to bring her back to life.

With a sigh, his gaze shifted from her face to survey the room. The effort required to scrub y/n's body clean of blood made him anticipate the daunting task of cleaning his room.

Not to mention his clothes. His once dark green vest was now adorned in red, gradually transforming into a somber brown. One of his favorite vests now resembled an abstract painting, and it was all her fault.

And he dared not contemplate about his gloves for long. He was usually swift at cleaning them whenever blood stained the fabric, making it easier. He knew delaying the process would complicate matters once the blood had dried. However, exhaustion weighed heavily on him, compounded by the persistent pain in his leg.

His eyes scanned the chaos his room had become once more before returning to her. The desire to push her off his bed and crawl into it tugged at him.

That was until he remembered that he now, too, had to clean the sheets he had just washed hours ago, unless he wanted to sleep on bloody linens.

He groaned, his spine curving against the back of his chair as he threw his head back, his hands quickly coming up to cover his face.

Despite knowing her like the back of his hand, he found himself clueless as to why she had chosen to come here, and the lack of understanding grated on him.

At some point during the night, the weight on his eyelids became too formidable to resist. With one final gaze at her chest's gentle rise and fall, he allowed his chin to lower and rest on his chest, surrendering to the embrace of dreamland.

His dreams, as always, were haunted by her presence. The sparkle in her eyes upon receiving a rose, the comforting weight of her hand in his, and the melody of her laughter as she watched him attempt to knot a cherry's stem with just his tongue.

He had seen her do it countless times, each one effortlessly. The way her lips would glisten with sunlight as she parted them to place the stem inside her mouth.

"It's not that hard, Kaz. Watch."

And he would. His eyes piercing into the pink of her lips, observing as her jaw moved, and the bump her tongue created every now and then on her cheek.

His gaze would shift up to her eyes as he watched her squint one, focusing, her nose scrunching up.

Yet, his admiration was consistently interrupted by her triumphant exclamation, her hand rising to her mouth to retrieve the now knotted stem.

Back then, the task seemed impossible to him. He had made multiple attempts and failed each time. Now, however, he could knot the stems with little to no difficulty.

After the hate started and they drifted apart, he had spent much of his time attempting to forget her, but it proved impossible. After all, he was too engrossed in hating her to erase her from his thoughts.

Before he formed connections with any of his crows, and during the period when y/n and he were no longer on speaking terms, he occupied much of his free time by indulging in cherries. Their flavor, helping rid his mouth of the disgusting taste of jurda.

Popping the stem into his mouth, he tirelessly practiced the art of knotting it over and over again.

One day, he succeeded. From then on, it became progressively easier.

His slumber was rudely disrupted as someone burst into his room, and the daylight struck his eyes in a way that prompted a hiss of discomfort.

“Kaz-“

He was angry at whoever thought they could push his door open and rush in without even knocking first. Then, he remembered the state of the outside of his office, and the anger slowly dissipated.

“Inej.”

“What happened here?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Inej fell silent for a moment. Her gaze traced from the now brownish blood on his doorknob to the strangely persistent vibrant red pool by his desk. Following the trail of blood, her eyes paused at the shattered sewing kit before slowly moving to the back of Kaz’s head.

"Are you hurt?"

Kaz's head shook, a humorless laugh escaping his parted lips as he stretched his arms above his head before answering with a simple "No."

She cautiously inched forward, apprehensive about what she might discover but relieved to find Kaz was not in immediate danger. "Then—"

Kaz looked at her, anticipating her continuation of the question. However, before she could proceed, her eyes landed on y/n's form.

“Is that-“

“Yes.”

“What-“

“I don’t know.”

“Why-“

“I also do not know, Inej.”

Kaz had never spoken to Inej about Y/n. He knew he didn't have to provide details about who she was for the crows to be familiar with her. After all, her name, like his and his crows', was whispered in fear throughout the Barrel.

The sole piece of information the crows held about Y/n and Kaz was their mutual animosity. Thus, Kaz could envision the surprise Inej must have experienced when her mind finally comprehended whose blood had stained his office and whose unconscious body still lay on his bed.

"Is she going to be alright?"

"Sadly, yes."

With that, Inej nodded and silently slipped away from his office, mentioning something about instructing one of the dregs to clean the blood off the exterior before it induced another heart attack.

As if prompted by Inej’s comment, he stood up, emitting a grunt as his leg protested with pain. Retrieving his gloves, cloth, and bucket from where they were carelessly left the night before, he made his way to the bathroom.

He vigorously scrubbed at his gloves, desperate to erase any trace of her blood. In the process, vivid memories from the previous night flashed through his mind.

The images of her irritated skin as he scrubbed at the blood covering it, the slow breaths that escaped her parted lips.

With his gloves, he was gentler than he had been with her. His nails delicately digging into any bumps of dry blood, and freeing his gloves from them.

As his eyes met the mirror, he realized that her blood stained not only his gloves but also his left cheek and hair. He assumed it had transferred during his frantic run of fingers through his hair, or when wiping away the sweat from his cheek.

In the midst of rolling his eyes, a flicker of movement seized his attention – the movements that were coming from the second reflection on his mirror.

“Why here?”

He had been unable to extract the answer he desperately sought before, but now that she was awake, he was determined to put his mind at rest.

“Hello to you too, Kaz.”

“Why here?”

In the reflection, he observed her struggling to sit up, her hand pressing against her side, an attempt to alleviate the pain he was certain she was experiencing. Good.

“Look, Kaz-“

“I’m asking you one more time, and that is it. Why here?”

He observed her eyes wandering through the room, surveying the chaos it had devolved into. A subtle flicker of her tongue emerged, moistening her lips as if seeking to revive them from their chapped state.

His patience wore thin once again. With a sigh, he dropped his gloves into the sink and turned to face her. Arms crossed over his chest, he shot her an intense glare.

"Answer me."

He recalled uttering the same words the previous night as she lay on his bed, losing an insane amount of blood. If he concentrated hard enough on the memory, he could still smell the metallic scent of her blood.

“Where else if not here, Kaz?”

“Anywhere but here, Y/n.”

Her eyes finally locked with his, presenting an unusual sight compared to what he was accustomed to. The sparkle within them had long been extinguished, and the white now bore a haunting tint of red.

A bruise darkening the top corner of her eye, creeping toward her eyebrow, caught his attention. It seemed like the result of a forceful impact, possibly delivered by a fist adorned with rings. Gang boss.

Besides Jesper's penchant for rings, the exclusive wearers of such accessories were typically barrel bosses. The rings, often bulky, proudly displayed the insignia of the gang presided over by the person donning them.

These particular rings had a notorious reputation for leaving agonizing bruises, similar to the ones marking her face.

“The slat was the closest-“

“I don’t need your sob story. I want to understand why you believed I would be willing to save your life.”

“Is that not what you did, Brekker?”

There it was. She had transitioned from addressing him as Kaz to resorting to Brekker. He could sense the anger emanating from her, her face contorted in pain, and he permitted himself to relish the spectacle.

He savored it so thoroughly that he opted to add complexity to her situation, even though he wouldn't be there to witness the repercussions.

"It wasn't a favor without a cost. I have a meeting. When I return, I anticipate finding this place spotless, and I want you gone."

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows x reader #fanfiction #kaz brekker #angst #fluff #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n

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dramadramallama · 9 months ago

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Love Supremacy - brain rot part 1

So I have a problem. I enjoyed the first half of Love for Love's Sake without knowing I would get absolutely bowled over by the second half. I have so much to say holy fuck, I'm all over the place.

Unfortunately for everyone, my brain has been love supremacied, and I'm unable to move on. The show has a high rewatch value. It’s full of details; big, important ones, and small, insignificant ones, but they all add a lot of weight to the story. I need to exorcise my thoughts for my own sake. I guess if I have to intellectualize it somewhat, I really liked the show cause it’s perfectly balanced in terms of structure, and its themes. Judging from the amount of notes I have made on this show on my second watch, it’s safe to say it’s got some substance. It cleverly uses a mise en abyme, “a story within a story (within a story)” to really stack all those layers, and answer an age-old, quite difficult question: “what’s crucial to a happy life?” Dialogues, scenes, characters, and motifs all echo, mirror, and circle back to one another, giving the story enough dimension to avoid banalities.

Simply put, the thesis of the show is surprisingly philosophical, with universal themes. It posits that life is neither fate nor chance, and the answers are in mundane details of life. "Happiness is hidden somewhere in each of our days."

It’s obviously about love; a double love story even. Myung-ha learns to love someone else, and himself too. It's about life, and it's about death, new beginnings, and everything in between. The show made me feel like this, and like this, and like this, and...

▶️1. Mirrors/Symmetry

2. Fate, Free Will, and Happiness

3. Game/Reality

The story structure is very symmetrical. Circular almost. I LOVE IT, I EAT IT UP LIKE A HUNGRY, GRUBBY GOBLIN. Things begin where they end, elements keep repeating themselves like a series of mirrors.

By going through the game, Myung-ha finds himself on the other side of the mirror: he is supposed to find his own happiness, and will to live.

Yeo-woon is introduced to the audience as a sad side character in someone else’s story, victim of his “fate.” He almost perfectly mirrors Myung-ha: his background is eerily similar to his. He was raised by his (recently deceased) grandma, with an absent mother and a dead-beat dad. He’s lonely, unhappy.

When Myung-ha first meets him, Yeo-woon is resolutely standing on top of a building, about to fall or jump, which directly parallels Myung-ha's own suicide. In this new iteration of life, in this “game,” he saves Yeo-woon from hurting himself, which is the start of his own salvation. Saving Yeo-woon, the poor guy who didn’t get his happy ending, is saving himself. Yeo-woon is like a version of him right before he lost control of his life, after his grandma died, and he felt abandoned by all. It’s the core of the game, and the core of the drama, but Myung-ha (and we, the audience) can’t understand it right away.

Several details, in retrospect, show that he is the driving force behind this "game", and that it’s, by lack of a better term, both a test (as in, an exercise, a learning mechanism) and a Test (as in, an exam you don't wanna fail.) Myung-ha’s main, most important mission is to “make Yeo-woon happy.” Which he happily and enthusiastically tackles. He does what we all do: he takes a liking to the character most relatable to him. Time and time again, the way he reacts when presented with someone who struggles the same way he did is very telling.

He provides comfort. The comfort he lacked in his own life. (distant sounds of my heart shattering.)

But Yeo-woon isn’t the only one mirroring elements of Myung-ha’s life. Sang-won is a careless, tough-looking student, who seems slightly directionless. He picks fights easily and has a reputation at school for being “crazy.” He also smokes and rides a motorcycle (both illegal lol). His mom having abandoned Myung-ha, it’s also relevant to note Sang-won doesn’t seem to have a very good relationship with his own mother, and craves her attention. Although, he is your typical badboy, he is overall nice, sensitive, and has good intentions.

Myung-ha himelf appears to have been quite the turbulent student, with his own “mad dog” nickname. He, just like Sang-won, knows a thing or two about school fights, also drives a bike (lmao 100% sure he didn’t wait to have a license to drive though). Although he berates Sang-won for his rebellious side, with the patronizing tone of someone who’s done it all before, he shows genuine care.

Finally, Kyung-hoon. To me, he’s like another facet of Myung-ha’s personality. An absolute sweetheart, without friends, but always ready to help, and open to be befriended. While Myung-ha seems nonchalant about speaking badly of himself, he cannot stand it from others. He makes him his friend on the spot.

Once again, he provides like-minded friends the safe space he probably would have liked as a troubled, most certainly depressed teenager. Of course, it turns out Yeo-woon hates himself the most too (and by extension, dislikes everyone else.) It's the first clue for Myung-ha to realize some self-love might be the answer.

As it will become increasingly clear, Myung-ha has no issues protecting, providing for, and loving others, but fails to realize he should do the same for himself to achieve balance, and maybe, a little bit of happiness. The journey to get there makes him care for someone else the way he should care for himself, love someone else, like he should love himself.

The last episode does a wonderful job of confirming what seemed to be threaded through the whole show, and explaining very clearly, in no uncertain terms, what it was all about.

However, the interesting aspect of this “mirror world," is that all of them, and Yeo-woon in particular, flip the script, in more ways than one. They all are a reflection of Myung-ha's life, but transcend their condition of “fictional character.” They’re not virtual. Yeo-woon is not made of something unreal, and he’s not a messed up copy of someone else. He has his own needs, desires, and quirks.

I don't think I can name them all here, but one of my favorite circular storytelling moment happens when Yeo-woon parallels Myung-ha by running to "find his fave." That moment in ep 8 counterbalances the one in ep 1.

Nothing is written in stone, and both of them set off to build their own happiness, against fate.

#love for love's sake #lfls #love supremacy zone #love for love's sake meta #the number of rambling sections i had to cut out #i'm feral :(#there's a part 2 and 3 coming too like i need help

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firelxdykatara · 4 months ago

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gods though, there's this like. tragic poetry in the symmetry of andy and prue's deaths. they're like inverse mirrors of each other. andy dies because he loved prue so much he could not keep himself from trying to save her, and in the end it is only by his death that prue and her sisters and the power of three are all able to be spared. he takes the blow that had killed one of the others every time, and they are able to break the time loop but can't bring him back.

andy died to save prue and her sisters. he would have wanted it that way.

prue dies protecting an innocent. she is at her most enraged, emotional, and destructive prior to the reset--fighting off an entire SWAT team just to keep them away from her sister's dead body. refusing to accept her death. she's the oldest, she's the protector, it should have been her--and then it was. because tempus reset time, and leo couldn't get there in time to save her. but he could save piper.

prue would have wanted it that way.

it gets me so fucking emotional and like, irl reasons behind why prue never shows up again in the show aside, the only thing that really keeps me going about it all is knowing that andy was waiting for her when she got to the afterlife. they were happy together, finally. at peace. died for the people they loved, in place if those they always swore to protect. the most tragic form of soulmatism imaginable. it hurts so bad.

#i haven't even started my rewatch yet im gonna be a wreck lmao #charmed #prue halliwell #andy trudeau #charmed meta

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bkh-s-7449 · 1 month ago

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In the morning, Florix wakes up early, like he always does.

Lucidity comes slowly. His fingers unfold from his palm, and he can feel them. His long legs are tucked close, knees nearly beneath his chin. How newly sore everything is. It is his body, the one he’s always occupied. The one given to him. His Corpus’ first gift, alongside life and consciousness. It feels heavy, but not so much that it cannot be moved. He is just tired.

Just himself. Just tired.

Even with the dosage of painkillers he’d been given eased back, the clan would not let him clock in to his shift if he wanted to. It is no small part of him that does, naturally — the urge to be of service so entangled with his identity that he cannot always tell who he is in these moments of stillness. Necessary stillness. To what end do you hold a lamb that kicks and cries? Maybe for its own good. So he will be still. So he will learn his own name, his own face. These things are significantly more difficult than clocking into a shift at work. More difficult than being busy. More difficult than being obedient.

Florix and The Highwayman’s dormitory is fitted with a bathroom. It is a cramped, tiny space — a willing concession on behalf of the lodging plans for Florix’s sake. Sanitary to an obsessive degree, yet cowed away from the public baths, discovering him apologetic and skittish in the emergency decontamination showers off of the laboratory had happened one too many times. While embarrassing in the moment, it is a constant relief. Especially now. After everything, he feels like he cannot get clean enough. It is the first place he goes upon dragging himself out of bed, fawn-stepping the entire way on wobbly legs, reaching without looking up to undo the closures around the neckline of his nightclothes. He shudders out of them, an uncomfortable second skin. He does not want to linger in the space outside of the shower. He does not want to do anything but stand underneath water so hot that it hurts, and hope the process purifies something out of him, chases it out from beneath his skin.

He reaches for the faucet, then stops, his eye catching on the dressings around his wrists. Those have to come off, first. Simple. Obvious. Just think. Just think before you do things.

He withdraws like an animal caught misbehaving, despite being alone, despite having done nothing much at all. Slim fingers slip beneath where the gauze folds over itself at its very ends, loosening it, then unraveling. The septic scent underneath makes him flinch, and in his effort to look away from it, from the raw and bleeding wounds where his skin had sloughed off, looks up at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Something strange and sallow peers back at him. Its mouth splits at the corner. It has only one eye with which to look.

It’s just himself.

It is not often Florix looks at himself. Really looks, past the soothing ritual of getting himself ready for work. He does not want to. Had he changed? It is the logical thing he knows to be true, but he is not sure he would recognize himself, even if he hadn’t. Did any of it matter? He was made for a purpose, and it wasn’t gawking at himself.

His fingers brush over the tender skin, shaking, from his shoulder to his sternum, over the stand-out relief of his ribcage. If his eye follows the lines of his tattoos, he can pretend he is not grotesque. If he does not acknowledge the other half, the lack of symmetry. If he can. He cannot. The lesions in his skin glimmer queasily, glaring at him through the mirror, all guttered flesh and infested filth. It is as if a part of himself had been flayed down to the sinew. His palm rests over one small breast, consumed by scar tissue, and if it is rough to the touch he cannot tell because his hand is rough, too. It is not an idea he entertains. He is disgusting. Humiliation stings at the corner of his eye. His jaw sets, clamping down on something swelling in his chest, crawling up the back of his throat.

Florix-S never cries. Not on the clock, at least.

He needs perfection.

When he turns his head, he can see faint, discolored impressions on his face, an ugly forming bruise. This, he remembers. A wire cage fitted over his mouth, tightened restraints to keep it in place. An awful taste that still lingered on his tongue, condemning. But why? He was good, he is good. He cannot imagine behaving in a way that would warrant that type of retaliation. Did he have to imagine? Where had he gone, in that moment? He tries to move his hand to cover his eye, but even without fetters it stops halfway, bid to stillness by something else that he cannot name. There is an ache at the back of his head; a hole yawning wider, angrier. He had not gone anywhere. Fragmented, maybe, frightened into delirious submission, but never left. He can remember, if he tries.

Pop! the stitches in his uniform. Lay bare the thing underneath. Worse still, touch it. Her hand had passed his face. Seething, terrified, he had lunged off of the table and bit. Bit until he heard a pop of his own. Until he tasted blood in his mouth, until it spilled over his lip, until it ran back his throat. He would have kept going. The hive would have kept going.

He watches the way his chest flutters rapidly in his reflection, nearing hysteria. How his body heaves, fragile as bird’s wings. This time his hand manages to lift, pressing over his mouth. He gags into his palm.

Florix-S never raises his voice. He does not like to.

He needs control.

He screams.

In a fit of panic, he grabs the first thing in reach on the counter and swings it at the mirror, watching it shatter. It is not enough. Again. Again. He drops what he holds with a rattle, driving the heel of his palm into the splintering glass instead. It burns when he cries. A cold sheen of sweat prickles at his skin, growing feverish with exertion. In his agitation he nearly crawls up onto the sink, clawing at the hairline fractures webbed across the mirror’s surface.

He finds only that he has brought himself closer to his reflection. That he moves in fractals, the image repeating.

That big blue eye stares back at him, a thousand times over.

#write #behaving badly

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piercethenix · 10 months ago

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a very long list of sleep token lyrics that make me feel more religious than i ever did at church

"wont you come and dance in the dark with me? show me what you are i am desperate to know"

"im coiled up like a venomous serpent tangled in your trance and im certain you have got your hooks in me"

"and i dont wanna get in your way but i finally think i can say that the vicious cycle was over the moment you smiled at me"

"and i know i know the way that it goes you get what you give, you reap what you sow and i can see you in my fate. and i know i know i am what i am the mouth of the wolf the eyes of the lamb so darling, will you saturate?"

"lets load the gun. make her eat the tape in the bathroom mirror see if she can guess what a hollow point does to a naked body"

"so flood me like atlantic, weather me to nothing. wash away the blood on my hands"

YOU MAKE ME WISH I COULD DISAPPEARRRRR

"and just like the rain you cast the dust into nothing and wash out the salt from my hands. so touch me again, i feel my shadow dissolving"

"they talk me through the damage, consequence and how its a pain they know they dont understand"

"when the mouth of infinity buries its teeth in me, ill smile through the agony for you. and i know you still bear the weight of your own existence and youll never bear the weight of two"

"well, i know what you want from me. you want someone to be your reflection, your bitter deception setting you free. so take what you want and leave"

"rose gold chains, ripped lace, cut glass, blood stains on the collar, please just dont ask"

"give in again and let me lay, my arms belong around you"

"i come as a blade, a sacred guardian. so you keep me sharp and test my worth in blood"

"id turn my walls to gold to bring you home again"

SO SHOW ME THAT WHICH I CANNOT SEE EVEN IF IT HURTS ME EVEN IF I CANT SLEEP OH AND THOUGH WE ACT OUT OF OUR HOLY DUTY TO BE CONSTANTLY AWAAAKKEEEE YOUVE GOT ME IN A CHOKEHOLD

"and im not here to be the savior you long for, only the one you dont. are you watching me with eyes of a predator as you move towards the door?"

"show me those pretty white jaws show me where the delicate stops show me what youve lost and why youre always taking it slow show me what wounds youve got show me love"

"i am the shadow, youre a passenger. i am the intake of breath so sharp and i know you better. just want to know you better"

"if you want to give then give me all that you can give all your darkest impules and if you want to give me anything then give give in again"

"ill tear the fibre from the filamemt, ill be the limit of your light again. i want to taste you better i want to taste you better. i will be watching for your enemies, to let them know that they contend with me"

"between the second hand smoke and the glass on the street you gave me nothing whatsoever but a reason to leave. you say you want me but you know im not what you need but i am"

IF YOU HAD A PROBLEM THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME BEFORE YOU STARTED GETTING ALL AGGRESSIVE AND CONTROLLING YOU ONLY DRINK THE WATER WHEN YOU THINK ITS HOLY SO KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD OR WE WILL BOTH BE HERE FOREVERRRR

"nevermind the death threats parting at the door wed rather be six feet under than be lonely"

WHY ARE YOU NEEEEVERR REAL THE SHIFTING STATES YOU FOLLOW ME THROUGH UNNNREVEALED

"yet in reverse you are all my symmetry, a parallel i would lay my life on. so if your wings wont find you heaven i will bring it down like an ancient bygone"

"i know for the last time, you will not be mine. so give me the night, the night, the night"

"and i hate who i have become (i might break and bend to my basic need to be loved and close to somebody)"

"most days you reach for safety. remain calm, forget that you know me"

DARLING IM NOTICING YOUR FLAWS THEYRE EXACTLY WHAT I WANT EVEN IF YOU DONT BELIEVE ME, KNOW IT

"it seems your heart is locked up and i still get the combination wrong. or are you simply waiting to save your love for someone i am not?"

"is that a glint in your eye? is that a blade in your palm? well, i am yours tonight so will you lay in my arms?"

"i want to feel my stars align again, even if the earth breaks like burnt skin and the heavens just wont open up for me. would you invite me in again? wont you pay for your arrogance? wont you show me your weakness?"

#sleep token #sleep token lyrics #vessel is my lord and savior

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talonabraxas · 1 year ago

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Pythagoras, circa 570-495 BC:

"In the sacred geometry of existence, the right angle is the corner stone upon which the universe is constructed. It is the meeting point of the material and the divine, where the earthly and celestial realms align."

Hermetic Wisdom, "The Emerald Tablet," attributed to Hermes Trismegistus:

"As above, so below, and in the sacred right angle, the secrets of the cosmos are unveiled. Seek the perfection of this angle, and you shall find the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe."

Albrecht Dürer, Renaissance Artist and Geometer:

"The right angle is the gateway to the harmony of proportions. In its symmetry lies the perfection of God's design, mirrored in the beauty of art and architecture."

Rosicrucian Manuscripts, 17th Century:

"The right angle, the symbol of divine balance, holds the power to transmute base matter into spiritual gold. It is the cornerstone of alchemical transformation."

René Descartes, 17th Century Philosopher and Mathematician:

"Cogito, ergo sum, yet the right angle, esse est percipi—To be, is to be perceived, and in the right angle's existence, it is perceived as the foundation of mathematical truths."

The Golden Dawn, 19th-20th Century Occult Order:

"Within the pentagram, the right angle represents the element Earth, grounding and stabilizing our spiritual endeavors. It is the symbol of earthly wisdom."

Aleister Crowley, Occultist and Magickian:

"In the Book of the Law, it is written: 'Let there be no difference made among you between any one thing and any other thing; for thereby there cometh hurt.' The right angle signifies the unity of all things, where distinctions dissolve."

Vedic Wisdom, Ancient Indian Texts:

"In the sacred geometry of Vastu Shastra, the right angle known as 'Vedha' is the cornerstone of architectural harmony. It guides the construction of sacred spaces in alignment with cosmic energies."

Chinese Feng Shui Tradition:

"The right angle, like the gentle curve of the dragon's spine, brings balance and harmony to the flow of qi. It is the foundation of auspicious space design."

Islamic Geometric Art:

"In the intricate patterns of Islamic art, the right angle symbolizes the intersection of the finite with the infinite, creating mesmerizing tessellations that reflect the perfection of the Divine."

Cymatics 144hz, water cymatics

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lunarblazes · 2 years ago

Text

There has always been one False Symmetry.

Only one. She made sure of that. She knows that there’s—there’s an other, sure—but she’s—there has always been only one False. Strange things happen, it’s fine, but there’s still only one. And there never has been another.

(Someday she’ll start believing it.)

When people in the rift’s domain start talking to her like a friend, False knows she’s made a grievous error. There’s an other, here, then, and if there’s an other she needs to know what it’s doing.

There’s a watchtower installed the next day. She doesn’t bother wandering the premises. She knows there’s nobody there, but she keeps her sword inconveniently in hand as she builds. False checks, double-checks, and triple-checks the air behind her shoulder.

This is for them, she tells herself. If they find her, she’ll hurt them. She doesn’t know it but she’ll hurt them and I can’t let that happen.

Every time someone confuses them False’s spring grows a little more tightly wound, her posture more alert, her sword closer and closer more constantly.

She’s dangerous, she’s dangerous, she’s dangerous.

It presses against False’s temples, behind her eyes, the weight of this knowledge, this great threat. The hermits would laugh her off if she told them. They’re not people who are often driven to panic or fear; she’s seen a few come close with this rift thing, but hermits are tricky. They think they always know best, and if she tells them, they’ll go hunting, or worse, to befriend it. Aided by infinite respawns, they’d assume their invincibility was assured and try to lay eyes on her.

They’d never even remember what hit them. Curious things. False has to keep it from them. It hurts that she can’t trust them with knowing, but it’s for their own good.

She must carry the weight, the operation, the knowledge, on her shoulders in the same place where her head once stood, because when the greatest threat to your friends is someone who wears your face, you must stop carrying such a distinguishable weakness. When you can’t look your own mirror image in the eye without flinching, you learn to stop looking. Better to smash the mirror first. Nobody can see you’re weak, then, the soft underbelly of the hermits.

You’re waiting for it to remember before you strike, like a coward. Poised and coiled like a rattlesnake but without the fangs to make it count. You’re watching and watching that mirror, transfixed, but there is nothing you could use to smash it, not a sword or a fist or a stick, nothing except your own head. There is nothing to do about it but hurt yourself.

And, secretly, False is scared. Bone-deep terrified. She almost fell asleep in the tower because she never sleeps anyways—there is no home to shelter her here—and it’s—it’s that she’s so tired, she’s been living without this terror for so long, so confident in her stupid plan working, that she’d forgotten what it was like to live like a desperate, starving wolf, eyeing everything like a meal. Any of these emperors could be aiding her. Any of the hermits could—could find her and get confused and killed and it’s—it would be her fault, then, and there would be nothing she could have done to stop it.

Her head hurts and her vision is blurry. She hasn’t been drinking water. It seems so insignificant in the face of such a strange, all-consuming terror.

There might be something wrong with her.

But she can’t do anything until she’s smashed that mirror. Make sure her work has truly been undone.

#falsesymmetry #hermitcraft #lunar prophecies #empires spoilers #inspired by second’s wonderful e!false ficlet #i thought it was interesting that hc!false would be the only one to respond yes to e!false’s question #none of this makes sense bc it’s 7 am and i’m still sick lmao i tried i just have incurable brainrot

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drops-of-june · 4 months ago

Text

SEASON II — EPISODE I: CHANGES

I don’t own the characters, this fanfic is based on the TV-Show Stranger Things (second season) from a Hargrove!Reader POV.

Quick reminder to readers, I'm not a english native speaker, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. Hope you understand.

You are not allowed to translate/repost inside or outside tumblr this fanfic. I will upload the fanfic in ao3, in my account.

TRIGGER WARNING: Subtle mentions of violence.

Summary: The first school year at Hawkins ends. As they say that when cycles come to a end, new opportunities open up.

Words: 6.2K

SEASON II — EPISODE I: CHANGES

'Come on... It can't be that bad.' Y/n commented, glancing towards Steve's bathroom door, which remained closed.

'I look ridiculous.'

Y/n was lying on Steve's bed and had been waiting for him to finish getting dressed, which he had already done ten minutes ago but he refused to leave the bathroom.

Steve's room had changed a bit since the first time she had visited him. By then it was a room that didn't reflect who he was at all. It was almost like a hotel room, with no hint of his personality other than a small picture of a car. Too... perfect. Now, he had taken a small step forward, and had studded some posters on the walls.

Y/n stared at the wall for a few seconds, as the image of Larry Bird stared back at her.

'It can't be that bad...'

'Electric blue is not my color.' He complained, causing her to roll her eyes. 'And this hat is stupid, why should we wear it?'

'Come on, I promise not to make fun.' She encouraged him.

'Liar.' Y/n, who was already losing patience and getting desperate, pulled herself straight up as she heard the door open and Steve shuffled out, his shoulders slumped. Y/n watched him for a few seconds and in silence. 'Come on... mock me.'

'Harrington, it's just a graduate robe and cap you'll wear for a few hours, it won't hurt you. Besides we'll all go the same. And blue suits you.’

After he took one last look at himself in the mirror, and took off his uniform, they set off for school.

It was a sunny day in late May 1985. The warm breeze brought with it a sense of change and new beginnings as the Hawkins High School seniors prepared for graduation. The basketball court was decorated with balloons and congratulatory banners, and white chairs lined up in perfect symmetry, awaiting the graduates and their families.

On the court, families and friends were already taking their seats. Susan and Neil Hargrove sat in the front row, next to Max, in the area reserved for family members.

In the bleachers were y/n's friends, including Eddie, Gareth, Jeff and Grant, ready to cheer enthusiastically. Eddie had fallen short of graduation requirements, so he would have to stay another year. A few seats down, Dustin was with his friends, but he seemed to be the most excited of all, cheering every time someone familiar walked by. Nancy and Jonathan were also present, to support Steve and y/n.

The principal approached the podium and began his opening speech, talking about the accomplishments of the class of '85 and the challenges they had overcome. The names of the graduates were called out one by one, and rounds of applause filled the air.

'Thomas Hagan.' Applause rang out as the boy went by to pick up his diploma and shook hands with the principal and teachers on stage.

'Y/N Hargrove.' The girl walked to the stage with a mixture of nervousness and pride. When she received her diploma, a little chaos erupted from the bleachers as y/n's friends began to shout her name.

'Let's go y/n! Do it for me!' She could hear Eddie's voice above the applause, making her smile even wider.

'You did it, y/n!' shouted Max, jumping out of her seat.

'Billy Hargrove,' Principal Higgins continued, trying to stop the noise.

' Got it, Billy!" Max cheered him on as well, as the audience applauded. Billy walked with his characteristic confidence onto the stage. The applause was equally deafening. Neil, still stoic, but Susan and Max smiled proudly as Billy received his diploma.

Finally, it was Steve's turn. He walked confidently to the stage, and when he received his diploma, he gave a little exaggerated bow that made everyone laugh. His friends clapped and cheered for them once again.

Once all the students had been named, the principal cleared his throat before announcing.

'I present to you all, the class of 1985.'

After a dinner out, the Hargroves returned to their home. While everyone was already asleep, the twins were in the kitchen cleaning up the coffee cups that were used upon arrival.

Y/n could feel the tension in the air. The same tension he had felt for days now.

Billy had been acting strangely for the past several days, as if he were carrying a secret he couldn't share. Since march, when they both turned 18, he seemed more distant, nervous and lost in his thoughts.

Y/n noticed it right away. She was his twin sister, after all, and she could read him better than anyone else. Finally, she decided to confront him.

'Billy, you're making me nervous.' She folded her arms, looking at him with a mixture of concern and determination. 'What's the matter with you? I know something's on your mind, but I have no idea what it is.' Billy avoided her gaze, pretending to be concentrating on properly rinsing the small spoons.

'It's nothing, y/n. I'm just... thinking about things.' He didn't make up a lie, he knew that with his sister they were no good. He'd never been able to lie to her no matter how much he wanted to, it was almost a skill she had for detecting them.

Y/n frowned, moving a little closer, and looked around in case they were being overheard by Neal or Susan, and lowered her voice, willing herself not to let the subject drop.

'You're thinking of leaving, aren't you?' Billy looked up quickly, his eyes reflecting surprise and a little fear. He shook his head, but the lie was obvious.

'No, it's not that...' She let out a sigh and put a hand on his shoulder.

'Billy, I'm your sister. I can see when something's bothering you. And if you're thinking of leaving, that's okay. I understand.' Billy pursed his lips, his eyes full of conflict. He was surprised, because he thought she was going to be angry with him. Many years ago they had made a promise to leave when they came of age, but things changed when Max and Susan came along, and the plan had been postponed until they found a solution. Now that they were older, they were not hindered by their father. Billy feared that if he told his sister he wanted to leave, she would think he was going to leave her alone with Neal.

'I don't want to leave you alone, Sundance. It's not right to make you go with me either, I know you've accomplished a lot here, and you have your friends. You figured out how to fit in here. But I...' She hugged him, interrupting whatever he was about to say. Silently, he hugged her back. Moments later, she spoke to him still in a low voice, almost a whisper.

'Don't worry about me, okay? Neither is it right for you to stay here alone because of me. This is your moment. You need this, and I'm going to always support you in whatever you decide to do.'

Billy looked at her, his expression softening a little.

'And what will you do with Neal?' He asked, glancing toward their father's room. She shrugged, but with determination in her eyes and downplayed it with a wave of her hands.

'Screw Neal, I'll deal with it. And I promise I'll get out of here too. But for now, you need this more than I do.' She took her brother's hand and led him to his room. She fetched a bag from under the bed and together, they packed Billy's belongings in silence, each movement laden with pent-up emotion. When everything was ready, they went to the entrance until Billy stopped at the door with a thud.

'Max...' He said, worried.

'She'll understand. Don't worry.' She told him, reassuring him. 'I'll explain it all to her.'

'Tell Madmax I'll miss her, and tell her to be good.' He walked over to his sister and hugged her one last time, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. 'I'll let you know as soon as I get a place, y/n/n. I promise.' She hugged him tightly one last time, feeling the weight of goodbye on her chest.

'You'd better. Take good care of yourself, Butch. And be happy.' Billy nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

'You too, Sundance. We'll meet again soon.'

The girl watched him as he climbed into the Camaro, the engine roaring in the quiet Hawkins night. She watched him drive away slowly, the sound of the car fading into the distance. As the Camaro's taillights disappeared, Y/n felt a mixture of sadness and hope. She knew her brother was embarking on a journey to a better life, and that was what really mattered.

The cold night wind enveloped her as she stared out at the empty road, lost in thought. She remembered the difficult times they had gone through together, from her mother's departure to Neal's abuse. But she also remembered the laughter shared, the dreams whispered in the dark, and the promise of a better future. She breathed in deeply, feeling a new determination grow inside her. She knew her time would come, too. And when it did, she would be ready to embrace her own freedom and happiness, just as Billy was doing now.

As she walked back to the house, y/n felt an unexpected relief. She knew the wait wouldn't be easy, but she was certain it would all be worth it. She crawled into her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the days to come. Even though her brother was no longer by her side physically, she felt his support and love stronger than ever. And that gave her strength to carry on.

***

1974, April 13. California.

Silence reigned in the Hargrove house. In one of the bedrooms, however, someone was stirring between the sheets. The room had walls painted in a warm shade of olive dappled green and geometric wallpaper in shades of burnt orange and earthen brown.

The room belonged to Hargrove twins.

A bunk bed was next to the window, through which a little moonlight filtered in, faintly illuminating the floor covered with toys and books.

From the top bunk bed peeked out one of the boy's hands, Billy, as he tended to fall asleep all sprawled out. Judging by his breathing, he was in a deep sleep.

However, y/n in the bottom bed, she had woken up with a dry throat. Not wanting to make noise so as not to cause trouble or inadvertently wake Billy, she got out of bed and went downstairs in search of orange juice. The silence in the house was total, broken only by the light creaking of the wood under her feet. She opened the refrigerator door and drank straight from a bottle, enjoying the cold liquid that calmed her thirst.

As she was about to go upstairs again, she heard a sobbing sound that made her stop in her tracks. Her heart began to beat faster as she quietly approached the source of the sound. The dim light from the kitchen illuminated the figure of her mother, Amanda, standing by the back door with a suitcase in her hand, ready to leave.

Amanda tensed as she heard y/n's footsteps, but when she saw that it was her daughter, she seemed relieved. For an instant, something in her face changed, as if she realized something important.

'Do you want to go for a ride, princess?' asked Amanda in a low voice, with a shaky smile. She had a fresh bruise on her cheek. Y/n looked at the suitcase in her mother's hand and the smile disappeared from her face.

'Are you leaving?' she asked, her voice full of fear and confusion, with too much understanding for her young age. Amanda nodded slowly.

'Yes, my love. I need to go. I want you to pack your backpack with the most important things. Let's go.' y/n's heart filled with a mixture of hope, and excitement.

'I'm going to wake Billy,' she said, turning toward the stairs.

'No!' Amanda said quickly, grabbing her arm. 'It's just us going. Billy can't come.' Y/n let go of her mother's hand, backing up a step.

'Why can't Billy come?'

Amanda tried to explain, her eyes filling with tears. 'It's complicated, princess. Men have it in their blood. It's better this way.' She seemed to be talking more to herself than to her daughter, as if trying to convince herself it was for the best.

Y/n shook her head, not understanding too much, just knowing she couldn't leave her brother alone. Not with Neal.

'I'm not leaving without Billy.' Amanda took a breath, closed her eyes in grief. Then she reached over, trying to give her one last hug, but y/n pulled away.

'Please, baby.' She begged, reaching out for her, but the girl stepped back again. Y/n watched with a broken heart as her mother walked out the back door, disappearing into the darkness of the night, leaving her and her brother with the monster in the house. She felt as if a gaping void opened up inside her. She didn't understand why her mother had decided to leave. All she knew was that life as she knew it had just changed forever.

What happened that night, became a secret between her and her mother. The only secret she kept from Billy, to protect him. A moment that broke the connection she thought she had with her mother, and an event that marked her as a person.

Y/n had learned not to be emotionally dependent on others easily, keeping an emotional distance that allowed her to protect herself. Although she had close friends, she rarely opened up completely, keeping her innermost thoughts locked away for fear of being abandoned or betrayed again.

The idea of fully trusting someone had become an imposing mountain to climb, and though she longed for comfort and genuine connection, she always kept a part of herself reserved, like a reflection of the child who had decided to keep quiet about the truth to protect her brother.

***

The next morning after Billy’s departure came with a deceptive calm. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when y/n got up, feeling the weight of the previous night still on her shoulders. She quietly made her way around the house, trying not to wake anyone as she prepared breakfast. However, she knew that this moment of quiet would not last long.

Moments later, Neal came down the stairs, his expression stern and his frown more pronounced than usual. She watched him as she poured herself a cup of coffee, trying to keep her own expression neutral. She knew the inevitable question was about to arise.

'Where's Billy?" asked Neal suddenly, his voice cutting. She looked up, meeting his gaze.

'I don't know… did you check his room?' she asked, innocently. Neal narrowed his eyes.

'If I ask, it's because he's not in his room. His car's gone, and his stuff's gone. It's empty. Don't tell me you don't know anything.'

Y/n shrugged, keeping her tone calm.

'I have no idea. I just woke up. He must have gone out while we were sleeping. I'm not with him around the clock to check on him.'

Neal snorted, clearly dissatisfied with her answer, but without further evidence, he couldn't question her any further. He turned and walked out of the kitchen, muttering something between his teeth.

Max, who had been watching from the doorway, approached her. Her eyes were full of questions, but the eldest only smiled softly at her, trying to convey calmness. It was a silent conversation. Max looked at her for a moment, and a slow, happy smile spread across her face.

'I'm happy for him. He deserves to be happy.' Y/n smiled back, feeling a comforting warmth in her heart.

'Yes, he does.' Seeing that Neal wasn't around, she approached Max and lowered her voice. 'He left you greetings, and told you to behave yourself.' Max nodded, her grin lingering as she sat down at the table.

It was already dark by the time she found herself automatically getting into her car. She felt the lump that had formed in her throat the night before growing larger and larger, cutting off her breath.

In other circumstances she would have turned to Sam, the only person who had managed to break through that wall she had built around herself for protection. But at that moment, four hundred miles away, he wasn't an option.

The girl's mind was weighing the possibilities. Max was completely out of the question. Y/n wanted to appear strong to her, and it was the main reason she left the house in search of relief.

She considered Gareth. In the months they had been in a relationship, the boy had proven to be attentive and caring. She knew he would understand her, but she dismissed it as not wanting to worry him.

She also thought about Steve. But at the time he had his own problems to deal with, after his father refused to pay for his college. Y/n wasn't looking to be another burden, and bother him with silly things.

She stopped her car at the trailer park and got out of the car with bated breath. Y/n approached Eddie's trailer, her steps faltering. Tears had begun to spill, incessant down her cheeks and her face was pale. With a shaky knock, she knocked on the door. Eddie, with his trademark smile and the relaxed vibe that always accompanied him, opened the door, but noticing that she was crying, his expression changed to total concern.

'Hey, y/n/n... Are you okay?' He asked, taking a step towards her, offering her his hand to pass. She entered the caravan timidly and stood at the entrance.

'Sorry...I didn't know where to go.' She looked inside guiltily but Eddie put a hand on her shoulder.

'Wayne's not here, relax. What happened? Why...?' he asked, looking at his friend. She closed her eyes and he wrapped her in his arms, lovingly, and stroked her hair gently. 'It's all right... you can tell me...' He murmured. Y/n didn't know where to start, so she just clung to him until she could control the sobs a little.

She felt kind of silly for feeling this way. She knew it had been the best thing for her brother, and she had even helped him put his suitcase together, but it didn't stop hurting.

'Did Gareth do something to you? Did he hurt you? Because I swear that even if he is my friend, I will hang him by the ba...'

'No. No. It's not that. It wasn't him.' She clarified quickly, pulling away from the embrace. 'It's Billy... he left...' She explained, and Eddie pulled her towards the table to sit down. 'I know he needs it. Getting away from Neal was what we always wanted...' Eddie was somewhat aware of her friend's family situation, so he nodded silently, letting her talk. 'But...' She laughs lightly. 'I must look stupid to be crying about this.’

'Hey... You don't have to explain, angel.' He said taking her hand, pressing it affectionately. 'And it's not stupid, you were together your whole life... it's completely understandable.' He reassured her. Y/n wiped her tears with the back of her hand, and Eddie got up to offer her some napkins, not finding any, with a slightly awkward gesture he offers her a roll of toilet paper, causing her to let out a laugh. 'Sorry, it's all we have.' She thanks him, taking some and wiping her face with it. 'Would you like some coffee?'

'I'd love to, thank you.'

Eddie went into the small kitchen of the caravan as his friend settled herself at the table, trying to regain her composure. The soft light inside the caravan contrasted with the darkness of the night outside, creating a comforting atmosphere.

As the coffee brewed, Eddie glanced back, noticing how she surveyed the space with a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. Y/n curiously observed the mugs and caps hanging on the wall and smiled slightly. It looked like an interesting collection.

The noise of his friend working in the kitchen was the only thing interrupting the silence.

Finally, Eddie returned with two steaming mugs and sat down across from y/n.

'Here you go,' he said, pushing a mug toward her. 'I hope it helps you calm down a bit.' She took the mug gratefully and took a sip, appreciating the warmth the drink provided. She looked at Eddie, feeling a little more reassured by his comforting presence.

'Thank you, Eddie. I don't know what I'd do without you at times like this.'

'Anytime, rockstar.' After a moment of silence. He spoke again, cautious this time, as if he was hoping he wasn't saying something out of line. 'And what will you do now?'

She played with the spoon in the cup for a moment, thinking silently.

'I can't leave Max alone.' She began. 'But I'd like to do the same as Billy...though I like Hawkins… I don't know if I'd go far.'

'I wouldn't let you.' Eddie jokingly admitted, with a friendly smile. 'I'm not like Sam, I'd drag you by the balls to Hawkins again.' He commented, causing her to laugh. She took a sip of the infusion and after a moment, spoke again.

'I've been saving...it's not enough to buy a house, but...maybe if I find a better job I could get money together faster.' She admited as she thought aloud and Eddie stood up to look for something. 'I hear there's a mall opening up in town. Maybe I'll apply for a job there, they can probably pay me a little more.'

Eddie sat back down and left a card on the table.

'A few weeks ago this guy came through the park… he was offering some new caravans, but maybe you can get something in your price range...' He offered. y/n's eyes lit up.

'Are you saying you want me as a neighbor?' She asked giving him a friendly punch on the arm. 'You're going to regret it.' She joked, making him laugh.

'It would be an honor to have you as a neighbor, rockstar.' He admitted with a smile.

Even though summer was just about to begin, the heat was beginning to make itself felt on the streets of Hawkins. The sun was shining brightly, promising long, hot days, and the air was heavy with a mixture of seasonal anticipation and laziness. The new shopping center, Starcourt Mall, was about to open its doors to the public, and the entire town was talking about little more than its upcoming inauguration.

In the parking lot, Steve and y/n were still inside the car. She already had experience working, but for Steve, this would be his first time applying for a job. So she kept trying to give him encouragement before getting out of the vehicle.

'Come on... It's not as hard as it looks.'

'But what if I get rejected? What if I don't get a job?'

'We'll resort to my plan B. I'm not going to leave you alone on this one...'

'What's plan B?' He asked curiously. She wrinkled her nose, and narrowed her eyes, letting on that it wasn't something to her liking. 'Y/n...' Steve had gone pale, looking like he was about to throw up.

'For you it wouldn't be anything bad...' she promised, closing her eyes. A shiver ran down her spine. Opening her eyes again, she looked at Steve with determination. 'But it won't be necessary. Because you'll do fine, you'll see...' She paused, but he still didn't look convinced. 'Harrington, you took on demogorgons and demodogs. This is a piece of cake.'

They both got out of y/n's car, and started walking towards the building.

'If it wasn't for my father I wouldn't have to be doing this.' He muttered.

'Steve, don't worry so much. Not getting into college isn't the end of the world. And I'm sure you only wanted to get in because it's what you're supposed to do, not because you really want to.' She said with a comforting smile. Steve sighed and smiled back, grateful for her support.

'I guess you're right... '

'I usually am...' She murmured winking at him, and making him laugh.

As they walked through the automatic doors, their eyes widened in amazement. The lobby was a large, bright space, the polished marble floor reflecting the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. In the center, a fountain adorned with colored lights spurted water, and they couldn't help but pause for a moment to admire the scene.

As they walked down the wide aisles, y/n felt like a little girl in a candy store. On either side, stores attractively displayed their wares. The clothing windows were decorated with mannequins displaying the latest fashion trends. Y/n smiled at the sight of a record store with a vinyl and cassette section, imagining her friends getting excited to see the selection of music.

The aroma of food guided them to the second floor, where the large food area offered a variety of dining options. From burger and pizza restaurants to Asian and Mexican food joints, the air was filled with enticing smells that made their stomachs growl. Tables and chairs arranged around an open space with decorative plants gave the place a cozy, relaxed atmosphere.

Steve and y/n stopped and parted ways, wishing each other luck. The girl already knew where she would try her luck first.

She entered the lobby of the movie theater, and looked around the place curiously. There was definitely more room than at the Hawkins cinema, and it more closely resembled the movie theater where she worked in San Diego. On one side of the lobby, there were a couple of ticket booths with glass windows where visitors could buy tickets. Off to the side, near the entrance to the theaters, the concession stand offered a tempting array of popcorn, soft drinks and candy.

Y/n walked toward who she thought was the manager, a middle-aged man with glasses and a welcoming smile. The man was talking to someone y/n instantly recognized. Kyle, her former co-worker from the Hawkins movie theater. When the manager looked up, Kyle turned and saw her enter. His expression went from curiosity to surprise and then to a warm smile.

'Y/n! I can't believe you're here too,' exclaimed Kyle, coming over to greet her. 'Mr. White, this is y/n, one of the best employees we ever had at the Hawkins movie theater. If anyone knows how to run a movie theater, she does. She's helped me more times than I've helped her.' He admitted, putting an arm around her shoulders.' Y/n couldn't help blushing and shook her head. Mr. White looked at her with renewed interest.

'Really? 'Well, it sounds like you have an excellent recommendation. Let's go to my office for the interview.'

The manager's office was decorated with classic and new movie posters, and a small plant in the corner gave it a cozy feel. Y/n sat in a chair across from him, feeling more confident as the conversation progressed. She had answered all the questions with ease, highlighting her experience working in movie theaters in both California and Hawkins. She told him about how she had managed box offices, supervised the cleaning of the theaters, and assisted in organizing special events. Her previous experience seemed to impress the man.

'I see you have quite a bit of experience in the field,' Thomas White said, reviewing her resume. 'That's exactly what we're looking for. We want someone with your knowledge and skills to be in charge of less experienced employees. Someone who can guide them and make sure everything runs smoothly.' She nodded, feeling relieved and excited at the same time.

'Oh... That's too much responsibility.' She started, but offered him a hand. 'I promise I won't let you down.'

When she came out of the interview, she was surprised to find Steve waiting for her.

'Did you get it?' He asked encouragingly. She smiled and held up in the air in her hand the new uniform she was to wear for the job, folded neatly into two plastic pouches.

'And you?' she asked, curious. But in his gaze she discovered that he had either been unlucky, or else had fled the quest in a cowardly manner. She folded her arms.

'I've already been told no by three different businesses. I can't sink any lower.'

'Then you keep trying.' She said taking him by the arm. 'You can volunteer as bait for some killer critters from a alternate dimension, but you can't take on a couple of managers?' she asked, forcing him to walk. She stopped in front of what appeared to be an ice cream shop.

'How about here?' She asked, tugging lightly at his shirt sleeve. Before waiting for an answer from him, she dragged him into the shop and hit the little service bell over the counter. From the door behind the display, a boy came out and upon seeing them he seemed surprised, he seemed to be waiting for someone else.

'Oh, good morning, are you here to look for work? I'm sorry to tell you that we only have one vacancy at the moment.' He commented somewhat apologetically. The girl quickly shook her head.

'That's perfect! We're just looking for a position...' She said, tugging on her friend's arm. 'Steve is looking for a job.' She said, encouraging him to talk.

'Oh, great... Uhm... If you want, come over here and I'll ask you a few questions.' The boy told him, pointing to one of the cubicles, and Steve followed. 'My name is Ned Miller...' He introduced himself, as he sat down in the chair across him.

Y/n sat in one of the cubicles opposite, on the other side of the store to give them privacy, but gave Steve a thumbs up as they exchanged glances, to infuse some courage.

After a few minutes, she was distractedly rolling a napkin to near shredding it, when a voice called her name. Y/n looked up and saw Robin, the girl she had met the year before in French class, who was approaching her with a nervous expression. Y/n assumed it was due to a first day at work, but she remembered that she used to behave the same way in class too. She always thought she was a bit hyperactive. She talked fast, stumbling over her words.

'Oh, hi, y/n! I didn't expect to s-ee you here... here.' She said, unable to keep herself from stumbling over her feet. Her cheeks flushed instantly. Y/n had started to get up in case she should help her, but Robin disguised it as best she could, sitting down across from her. Her voice trembled slightly, and her gaze drifted briefly to the floor before meeting y/n's eyes again. 'Are you here for an interview or something?'

The alluded, noticing Robin's nervousness and trying not to make her feel any more uncomfortable, replied kindly.

'Hey, Robin! what a surprise to see you too. No, I'm not here for an interview. I'm just accompanying Steve, he's here for a Job.' She gestured with a wave of her head to where Steve and the manager were talking. Robin, hearing this, looked over to where she had pointed and saw Steve in one of the cubicles with Ned Miller. Her expression changed slightly, and although she tried to maintain her composure, a shadow of disappointment crossed her face. With a clearly forced smile, she turned her attention back to the Hargrove girl.

'Oh, I see. Well, that's... uh, great.' Her face showed some discomfort, and y/n remembered that the image most had of Steve at school, was not the real one she had indeed known. However, she was unaware that Robin had believed for a moment she would be working alongside her, and her mind had begun to fantasize scenarios where they shared chats and laughed together during breaks. Every time y/n smiled at her, Robin felt her heart race a little faster. The thought of spending so much time with her in the same place excited her and, at the same time, made her nervous. And all at once, that balloon of fantasies, deflated with a pinprick. Robin, blushing and smiling nervously, shrugged her shoulders. 'Anyway. If you ever need anything, you know, or if you want to chat during a break, I'll be around.'

Y/n smiled back, clearly oblivious to everything going on in her head.

'That sounds great, Robin. Thanks. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other over the summer.' She said, pointing to the theater uniform resting next to her on the seat. Robin nodded quickly, with a mixture of relief and anxiety on her face.

'Oh, yeah, definitely. And, uh, good luck with Steve and... well, all that.' She said before vanishing out the staff door, behind the counter. Only a few minutes later, Ned and Steve walked over to y/n's table. She asked Steve the question with her eyes, as the manager walked towards the room where Robin disappeared.

'So, did you get it?” she asked in a whisper. He seemed less glum than before, but not quite.

'I don't know, he still didn't tell me... He said to wait here.' He murmured, collapsing beside her. After a few minutes that seemed like forever to the two friends, the door opened.

'Welcome aboard the Scoops Ahoy ship, Steve!' Ned said as he stepped out of the staff room. Behind him was Robin. She was now wearing a white collar and puffed sleeves on a striped shirt, a vest and a high-waisted blue shorts.

'Do I have to wear that?' Steve asked, pointing to the uniform the other girl was wearing. Y/n smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand.

'Are you going to be this much of a prima donna about everything?' Robin asked. Steve looked extremely confused.

'I'm nothing like Madonna, so that doesn't even make sense' Y/n let out a laugh, Steve frowned at her, as if requesting for backup. Robin spoke again.

'You're going to be fine with the monotony of scooping ice cream for entitled adults and whining, sticky children all summer? What happens when one of your many friends and admirers comes in and you wish you were out there having fun instead of in here slinging another U.S.S. Butterscotch?' Y/n's gaze went from Steve to Robin, and vice versa.

'I can handle it.'

'Sure you can, rocket man.'

'Ok, ok, you two, settle down.' Interjected y/n,interrupting their bickering. 'We can do this like the civilized people we are. Right?' She asked, and they both fell silent. Just then, Ned seemed to finish filling out the paperwork for the hiring.

'All right, you two. It's going to be a sweet, sweet summer!' He said. Y/n forced a smile for her friend. 'Steve, let's get you into Scoops gear right away.' He said, as he opened the door for staff again, this time leaving it open for the boy to follow.

'Yippee' He muttered to y/n as he got up from beside him. Before following Ned, he stopped next to Robin and offered her a hand. 'Hey, look, if we're going to be working together this summer, let's call a truce, okay? I don't know why you don't like me, but I'm a pretty okay guy.' Robin looked at y/n, and y/n smiled at her, causing her to lose the rhythm of her thoughts, so she took Steve's hand without saying anything. And he went behind the counter.

'I don't want to sound rude, but are you really friends with Harrington?' She asked with a grimace. Y/n remembered when Eddie had asked her something similar. Although they hadn't gone through the shared experience with the demodogs at the time, the answer was even clearer.

'I'd trust him with my life. Give him a chance.' She asked sincerely. ' 'He's not like everyone thinks.'

Two minutes later, Steve is standing in front of them, with his uniform on, although the shorts he was wearing were tighter than the girl's. And the sailor's cap, barely fitting over his head because of his hair. Robin lets out a laugh at the sight of him. Y/n tries to be more discreet.

'That's...just...wow.'

'Thanks for really upping my self-esteem here.'

'I told you you looked good in blue.' Y/n commented.

'Can you do a spin?' Robin asked. Steve, frustrated threw his cap on the floor.

'Steve!' Scolded his friend, and before she could pick it up, Ned did, and dusted it off.

'I'm going to start instructing you on the basics of serving ice cream, okay?' He said, handing the cap back to Steve, and going behind the counter. Y/n climbed onto one of the seats, propping her knees up and leaning her torso against the backrest, facing the counter. However, before Robin and Steve followed Ned from the other side of the counter, the girl pulled a polaroid out of her backpack and snapped a picture of Steve, who was still frowning.

'Oh, this is perfect.'

'No,' he demanded, still frowning. 'Destroy that, right now.'

Y/n watches them, somewhere between amused and concerned. That was going to be a very interesting summer.

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sheepwithspecs · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write Day 2

Prompt: Horizon Ship: wolgraha (sort of?) Summary: "People like you were born to chase the horizon." MINOR 7.0 DAWNTRAIL SPOILERS

“—and that’s the whole of it, really.” Eachna sighed, rolling her neck in an attempt to get the last of the stiffness out. The evening was warm, the soft sound of rolling waves contrasting with the faint hum of activity from the harbor. In her short time in Tuliyollal, she’d quickly come to love the view of the beach from her room in the For'ard Cabins; she sat there now, legs hanging from the side of the deck, basking in the waning sunlight.

“Lamat’yi’s come to rely on me, I can tell. I don’t want to hurt her, but… I can’t stay, either. Not forever.” She turned to her companion for the evening, head resting on her shoulder with a practiced ease that belied her looming anxiety. “I don’t know what to tell her, or even how to tell her. And with Koana pressuring me into giving her the answer she wants, I don’t even….” She trailed off, shaking her head forlornly. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“It’s not an easy situation, is it?” G’raha rested his elbows on his knees, leaning out over the clear waters as he thought. “It’s hard to say no to one’s friends… and you certainly don’t want to hurt her feelings, especially after everything the two of you have been through together. But a coeurl cannot change its spots, so to speak. It wouldn’t be like you to stay in one place indefinitely.”

“I’m not diplomatic, Raha.” Resting her chin in her hand, she let out another heartfelt sigh. “I’m not exactly good with my words, not like you or Alphinaud. But I don’t want to run away without a proper farewell, either.” G’raha chuckled despite himself, fingers pressed against his lips as a distant memory came to the forefront of his mind.

“You know… it was Alphinaud who helped me understand you, once.”

“Hmm?” Eachna turned to look at him, her head tilted in confusion. He smiled at her, eyes drawn to the three braids that held her bangs out of her face. He liked the symmetry; they reminded him of the clips holding his hair back. Mirrored images of one another, however unintentional it may have been. “What do you mean?” she prompted, when he gave no ready answer.

“When I first woke up—when I was convalescing in the Rising Stones, I mean—there was a time where it seemed that no matter how often I sought you out, you were never there. I suppose there was a small part of me that thought… hoped… that things would stay the way they’d been in Norvrandt.”

“I still don’t understand—”

“I only mean that you never seemed far from reach, in the First. If I could not find you in the Crystarium, I could always seek you out in the mirror, or reach out to one of the others, or ask Fao Ul. But when I found myself able to wander the Toll, things were different. You’d be there one day, only to be gone the next, and with no one able to tell me exactly where you’d gone. The other Scions tried to explain it to me, in their own ways, but if anything it only made me more frustrated. It felt like no one seemed to care that you just vanished and reappeared like nothing ever happened.”

“Raha… why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it wouldn’t have done any good. It’s in your nature to come and go… I just didn’t understand it at the time.” He looked out across the bay, over the distant whitecaps, to where the first stars of evening were mirrored in the rippling line of the sea. “It was Alphinaud who comforted me, on an evening much like this one. I was sitting alone by the lake—more like sulking, really—when he joined me out of nowhere.”

“We all miss her, in our own way.” That’s what he said. “Some of us more than others… but if there’s anything you can count on, it’s that she’ll come back to us when we need her.” And he was right. You’ve always came back to us.”

“Oh, Alphinaud… that dear boy.” She smiled, though it was more of a grimace. “I’m afraid I’ve caused you both more pain than you deserve. The others, too.” G’raha shook his head.

“No, no. People like you were born to chase the horizon. It’s the rest of us that have to make our peace with that.”

“But once we do, we realize that love can stretch almost indefinitely… to the ends of the universe and back again. I will admit,” he chuckled sheepishly, “I never enjoy watching you go. But I realized long ago that if I were to acknowledge these feelings I have for you, I’d have to learn to wave you off with a smile. I rest easy in the knowledge that if you do need me, you won’t hesitate to call.”

“And I rest easy in the knowledge that you’ll move the stars in the heavens to reach me, no matter where I am.” She bumped him affectionately with her shoulder. “Even if that means carrying everyone else along for the ride.”

“That’s right.” They were quiet for a long moment, shoulder to shoulder as they watched the fish swimming circles below their feet. “Just tell her honestly, from your heart. Wuk Lamat will understand.”

“The Second Promise, though….”

“Eachna, you’re the Warrior of Light. You’ve traveled to the edge of the universe and fought despair herself… and won! I can’t believe you’re cowering at the thought of a man nearly half your size.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?! If I’ve learned anything in Tural, it’s that brothers can be very intimidating….”

Author's Note: I think it's good Wuk Lamat figured out on her own that the WoL was not about to hang around Tural forever bc that was literally Eachna's nightmare scenario??? She doesn't stay very long in any one place so it would be interesting to think about what those who care about her feel when she goes.

#ffxivwrite2024 #ff14 #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #fanfiction #Warrior of Light #G'raha Tia #7.0 spoilers

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misspermitted · 2 years ago

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So after my 50th time rewatching the "I need you Hannibal" scene I've gotten so obsessed I'm doing a close analysis. Also I'm procrastinating. Yes I purposefully subtitled Hannibal with a black box and Will with a white one, because symmetry.

So firstly, I love how the first shot is Will walking towards the open gates in Hannibal's mind palace that he symbolically opened to leave in the previous goodbye scene.

It's noteworthy that Hannibal says 'goodbyes.' He's not just referring to Will's previous conversation with Hannibal, but Will saying goodbye to Jack, Alana, and this old life.

The response "we have one last good bye between us" is, like all things in this scene, dripping with subtext. On the surface Will is saying, 'we're not finished yet, we have to do one more thing' but I almost think, subtextually, he's not referring to saying goodbye to Hannibal at all, but the one last goodbye from them to Jack and Alana. Will has fallen, Hannibal has spent enough time playing with them, it is time for them both to leave. For good.

I think this shot is really cool. It shows that, in the current dynamic, Will is essentially coming back to grovel to Hannibal. He is looking up at Hannibal in the shot. Hannibal is physically higher.

Hannibal's dialogue is also really interesting here. He is desperate for Will to apologise to him, yet he won't fully admit his vulnerability. He feigns ignorance of what exactly will says. He's trying to mock Will for having to come back and grovel without admitting that he was hurt.

This is the first closeup of the scene and it's powerful. It shows us Will's hesitation as he repeats it. Yet also the camera has a slight upward tilt; this isn't him grovelling and saying sorry. He's stating a fact. I've seen a lot of metas about this scene which say this is Hannibal regaining control by getting Will to say please, but I really don't think it is. This is them becoming equals. This is Will saying: I can hurt you, but I need you, so you can also hurt me.

Hannibal WINCES. Like the significance of Hannibal being so hurt by just hearing Will say that again that he winces and drops his superiority act. This is Hannibal expressing vulnerability. And this expression drops the mind palace, the make pretend that Hannibal is looming over Will. They're in reality now.

Ignoring how jarring it is to hear Hannibal say 'mic drop', Hannibal mimics Will so many times during this exchange. I'll point the other out as they happen, but I think this is the first time . I think it's such a weird but fun role reversal, we see Will mimic Hannibal many times during the show, as he feels the lines between them blur. The beginning of Will's villain arc is him getting all groomed and suited up, having cannibal dinners, echoing Hannibal's behaviour. Now, Hannibal is locked up like Will was, and he's mimicking his slang. It's kinda like how whenever they did the mirror effect between Will and Hannibal in season 3B Will is projected over Hannibal. It's like how Hannibal betrayed Will and ran off to get married, and then that's what Will did to Hannibal. Will blurred with Hannibal, Hannibal is now blurring with Will.

It zooms to a contextual shot as Hannibal acknowledges that Will has come back, after such an epic goodbye. Will is vulnerable, just like Hannibal is. They're at equal standing, and this is shown.

Will isn't going to apologise to Hannibal. Like Hannibal was never gonna apologise to Will. But Will is gonna do what he wanted Hannibal to do in season 2: he's going to admit his behaviour. Which is a big deal for one these emotionally constipated gays. Hannibal tries to prod Will into admitting his manipulations in their previous conversation, where Will responds "Are you accusing me of something?" Will never admits his behaviour. Even his 'goodbye' isn't an admission, it's just a statement that Hannibal wouldn't of turned himself in if Will hadn't of rejected him. Not that Will knew and planned it. But this is an admission.

But Hannibal, who is clearly smiling and impressed, still needs more. His 'and you did' prods Will. I have admitted I need you. Admit that you need me. Stop dancing around it.

I'm crying. Hugh Dancy is such a great actor oh my god. Will hesitates for quite a moment. He doesn't want to admit it. When he actually says the phrase 'I need you' he can't even meet Hannibal's eyes. Given how much eye sex Will and Hannibal have, when they break eye contact it's a big deal. Will breaks eye contact another time in this scene as well, in the next big statement, and I think it's important to consider that Will sees eye contact as distracting and overwhelming intimacy. He barely makes eye contact with Hannibal during his first prison visit in a desperate attempt to close that intimacy between them.

If I'm right Will does not call Hannibal by his first name at all in season 3B. Hannibal comments "are we no longer on a first name basis" and Will emphasises that he doesn't want to be personal. Will calls Hannibal his name twice in this conversation. The last time he called Hannibal by his first name was when Will rejected him. It is such a manipulation technique by Will yes, emphasising their connection, but it's also an acknowledgement of their intimacy. We are on a first name basis.

The second example of Hannibal mimicking Will! Directly repeating Will's slang from their last conversation. Also Hannibal looking so pleased with himself. It's a lot. This scene is like my favourite scene. I'm emotional.

Okay so the next bit is, in my opinion, two conversations. One for the listeners and one between Will and Hannibal. I'm going to say my interpretation of the secret conversation.

I have been contacted by the dragon, he wants to meet you. There's no way Hannibal didn't get that from the 'maybe.' Will never says 'maybe' if he's profiling. He's been contacted.

I am serious about this. I rejected you before. I have come back. i am staying back. This is a serious invitation. I'm interpreting this because Hannibal's previous 'ding dong the dragon's not dead' is somewhat mocking Will's previous certainty the dragon died. "You were wrong. And now you're wrong you're so quick to turn back to my help." Will's responding "I'm not being hasty. I need you. What I'm planning, I can't go back. This is a serious offer."

If Will wasn't being clear enough that he has another plan, the 'personal ads' reference was a straight communication. When Will accuses Hannibal of communicating with Dolarhyde he says "How do you think I'm doing it? Personal ads?" It's a clear point of mockery: so boring, so obvious.

Another important aspect of this is that Will doesn't say after we fake the escape. If you didn't know the context, you'd think he was talking about a real escape. This is a purposeful choice: We're escaping. Dolarhyde knows this.

3rd time Hannibal mimicks Will in this scene! Will raises his head, Hannibal follows suit. It may seem small, but this is a large part of what Will would do to Hannibal in season 2. They'd be sipping wine, Hannibal would take a sip, and Will would mimic Hannibal swallowing has he did. It plays into the 'doing the same thing at different times' 'you and I are beginning to blur' symbolism.

Also this conversation has turned to entirely subtext. Hannibal understands the plan. This is a discussion:

'He won't go near a mail drop': You're expecting me to meet Dolarhyde with you when he wants to change me?

'He might be curious enough to look at one, see if you sold him.': Aren't you curious what will happen? Aren't you curious if I'll let him? The use of curious clearly shows that this exchange is about them. It is the documented reasoning behind Hannibal's plans, he's curious. Curious as an adjective are only used to describe Hannibal, or by Will to describe his reasonings when he begins his villain arc. Aren't you curious if I sold you? Essentially.

'That sounds weak to you, even as you say it': How did you convince them of this? It sounds weak. Hannibal doesn't need to call out that Will is lying. He knows this. That's why he's so intrigued. But Hannibal loves asking Will how he manipulates people: it's enjoyable to him. 'What a cunning boy you are.' etc.

I honestly don't have a very convincing interpretation of this next part. If anyone else has some ideas? But I really like 'You're our best shot Hannibal.' It communicates: They're desperate enough for this. They need me, so they need you. Also it's the second time he uses his name in this discussion.

Will's expression at the end, with the raised eyebrow. Firstly, this is the closest I come to be sexually attracted to someone, flirtatious fucker. Secondly, it's such a clear: you in? Like, Hugh Dancy, how are you this good!?

This meme is such a clear description of what that facial expression means haha. Anyway back to the analysis.

This, despite being a clear, I'm always a slut for murder, is also so clearly: Will, I had a request.

Also! The change in perspective to over the shoulder blocks out the people in the background, which shows the growing intimacy again. In their heads, they're now the only ones in the room. The person suit for listeners conversation is over.

Firstly, very whore of him to move closer and whisper the please. This is such a clear flirtation. The whisper also makes it more personal, not for those watching, just for them.

Yet, despite the intimacy, Will can't meet his eyes. He still shies away from these very vulnerable requests. Another interpretation I have seen is that he is teasing Hannibal, not looking him in the eyes, clearly not desperate with his please, as if: make me mean this. Which is also very Will. So I'm on board with that. Especially with him backing away with the expression: is that good enough? Definitely very: you want me to beg, put some more effort into this and slay the dragon with me.

This is contentious shot. This is the main shot that metas have based their interpretations that this ends with Hannibal's victory. And in a way, it does. Will had admitted he needs Hannibal, and has asked Hannibal to run away with him, with a please. Yet this whole scene is much more than this shot, and most of it is equal. This shot, I think, with Hannibal's smile, does show that Hannibal has gotten what he wants. His happiness. But so has Will. They're equal.

Anyway that's the end of this meta haha. This has been really goddamn long, your welcome I guess.

#hannibal #hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannigram nbc #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal meta

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jugheadvarchoni · 1 month ago

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Alright! Riverdale season 2 rewatch is DONE!

Here are some of my thoughts:

This whole season is sooooo teen campy horror and I’m obsessed. I prefer this season over S1 for sure.

TONI FCKING TOPAZ. MY BEST GIRLYYYY. 🥹

The Black Hood is actually such a good villain idc

LOOK. I love FP, but he DID clean up the Blossom’s crime scene, he WAS involved. Whether he was blackmailed or not, he did it. So Betty blackmailing Cheryl by threatening to release the video of Jason’s murder is… very fucked up.

Speaking of Betty… she lowkey annoys me several times throughout this season. She’s such a bad friend 😂

I may be in the minority, but I LOVE all the Serpent drama stuff

Jughead is my extra-brooding broody emo boy this season. Complete with a dramatic ass Bughead breakup lol.

The scene where Fred imagines Archie’s graduation day and says “I didn’t think I’d live to see this day” actually made me cry because Luke Perry passed away before S4 so Fred really didn’t get to see the day…

CHONI CHONI CHONI. Their first meeting, the “you’re sensational” scene at Pop’s, Toni leading the charge to save her, Cheryl (and Jughead) saving Toni from the Ghoulies. Choni’s FIRST KISS. Ughhhh I love my babies so much. 🥰

I was wrong in my S1 post, Alice Cooper is still fcking insufferable this season.

Archie starting a team of teen vigilantes to hunt a serial killer lmfao

Nick St. Clair deserved JAIL. God.

The fact that Kevin has known about the Sisters of Quiet Mercy being an illegal conversion camp for some time and has never done or said anything before, while hooking up with boys from there and being the SON of the sheriff is… concerning.

And then the gang literally does nothing after either

CHONI

VARCHIE. Her being right by his side after Fred was shot, Archie beating the shit out of Nick for hurting her. Their “I LOVE YOU’S”, which was hard for Veronica and caused some tension, but they worked through and came out stronger for it! Dealing with Hiram’s shit lol.

Cheryl Blossom deserved a stint on CW’s Arrow!

Having the Serpent/Ghoulie war off screen was not it… like… that was such a huge point and we saw none of it

Hiram Lodge was a GREAT villain, but at the risk of sounding like a broken record, he was just sooo overused.

Veronica girlbossing & getting ownership of Pop’s because she knows how much it means to people. My girl :’)

FP retiring, making Jughead king, and then Jughead’s first act being inducting Cheryl into the Serpents? Beautiful symmetry that mirrors his own start with the Serpents at the end of S1.

Oh, did I mention CHONI?

The cliffhanger being Archie arrested right after winning the student body election… like goddamn.

I love this fcking season, and idc what anyone else says! It’s better than S1! 💋

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backjustforberena · 2 years ago

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Thoughts whilst watching Corlys and Rhaenys fight in 1x07 (YELL AT ME AND I MIGHT ADD GIFS):

The establishment of this scene. Beautiful. We’ve got those first two angles highlighting how alone and in private they are. How quiet it is. How dark the room is. Peeking over the banister and through the doors; as an audience, we’re trespassing on two parents in the throes of grief but as the scene will go on, we get more in their head as we push in with close ups. No music either. All that is left is them.

The visual separation of Corlys and Rhaenys. This scene would have been totally different if Corlys had been sat down from the beginning, and we’d been subliminally been cued into some sense of mirroring and symmetry as is usual with these two. As such, the opposite happens. We start with Rhaenys sat and Corlys standing. Both of them on the same side of the room. Both with their backs to the other. Opposites. Him in darkness, her in firelight.

In every scene (okay, three scenes total) that Rhaenys and Corlys have alone, there is always some physical layer removed on each of them. For Corlys, this usually means his second layer; his robe, except in 1x10 where he’s just all sorts of vulnerable because he’s in his nightshirt and dead-looking. Rhaenys, meanwhile, in 1x05, she’s taken off her own jacket to be left in her tunic. In 1x10, she’s taken off all her armour etc. But in this she’s taking off her rings. Ergo, they are always at their most stripped back with one another.

“She wanted to come home. And he denied her.” - as an opener, it doesn’t pull punches, does it? Rhaenys has the habit of getting straight to the truth of a matter. It’s heartbreaking to think that, throughout the funeral and the wake, all she has been able to think is: this was preventable.

“The surgeons in Pentos are as well trained as our maesters. You are looking to place blame for an act of the Gods.” - I’m always fascinated by who is the “actor” in each exchange. By which, I mean, who is wanting to act vs who is more passive. Physically, Corlys is the most active. He’s stood, he’s moving, he’s turning and stepping and all of that. But emotionally, and towards the events, he’s not engaged. He isn’t looking to place blame, he’s not insulting Daemon, he’s not thinking there was something they could have done or should have done. Meanwhile, Rhaenys, sat and still for the most part, is burning to do something. She’s saying they should have done something, that it wasn’t the gods, it was them. And you can see the frustration in her face when Corlys refuses to engage. So her statement about the gods forsaking them is not only there as truth, but to deliberately provoke him.

CORLYS TURNS HIS WHOLE BODY TO RHAENYS. SHE DOES NOT BLINK. IT IS THE FIRST TIME THEY’VE LOOKED AT ONE ANOTHER, AFTER 51 SECONDS OF THE SCENE ALREADY.

Ahhh, the Crown. Corlys’s speech here reads like a script and it’s said like it should be the answer to everything. It’s tried and tested. It’s the reason for all of his actions; their actions. It’s what he’s been telling himself again and again till it becomes irrefutable, in his mind. It’s not pride that drives him, as his wife suggests. It’s something nobler. It’s a valiant quest for justice: is it such a terrible thing for your husband to wish to win it back? - this is so important to how Corlys sees himself and his ambition. And he’s HURT. He’s not angry at her words, he’s bewildered and shocked that she’s suddenly just characterised in in what probably seems like a really base way.

This shouldn’t make me emotional but it does but... the way Rhaenys pauses between “Tonight of all nights, let us lay aside this falsehood” and “Tis not justice...”. It goes to show how considered it all is. She’s not saying it out of anger. The first sentence is - she says it to shut him up. But then, she pauses. And she looks at him. Rhaenys tells him what she thinks of it all but it builds and it builds because it’s a truth that has been in her for years and born of not just grief, but fear. Fear that it’s all for nothing. That it’ll change them. That she won’t be able to keep control.

I also think there’s a part of her that fears that Corlys’s ambition will override the love they have. There’s a little bit of an assumption she can make: the whole realm said no to her. What can Corlys possible know about her that makes her so worthy, that the realm cannot see? Especially when there is now a female heir? What is so special for him to undertake all this plight, other than his own proximity to the Throne?

Rhaenys fighting for control, and looking away from Corlys. She’s doing it to keep her emotions in check. She doesn’t want the conversation to become a fight (she’s already got her wishes in mind r.e Baela, and it will do no good for her to come to the debate with her voice raised and his hackles up).

Corlys wants Rhaenys to understand him and forgive him and love him at exactly the point in the scene when she can’t:

She looks away from him. Physically turns her body away, and then moves her head to avoid his gaze when he draws closer. He sits opposite her and his whole body is all about being close to her, drawing her gaze, seeking her eyes. Corlys needs and wants his wife to understand his perspective.

He says his line about legacy that’s really just the crux of him as a person. This is why he’s done all he has done, why he sticks with it. In being so profoundly vulnerable in that moment.

But, she’s unwilling and incapable to meet him in the middle, to appease him or console him. Rhaenys doesn’t even look at him. And she separates them: “Legacy might be why you live YOUR life, Corlys.” - when before, they’ve always been a united front. Even earlier in the conversation when she spoke of their JOINT pride. Now she’s severing herself from his views.

Now to the matter of Driftmark’s succession. Two things strike me about this:

One - it’s something Rhaenys has thought long and hard about. She turns away from him in order to school her emotions. She has thought about his arguments against it, she has thought about perceptions and declarations and the hows and the whys.

Two - Corlys is the one that turns this fight into an emotional one by his phrasing: you would have me cast an even darker shadow over those little boys... His turn to provoke her? Except it doesn’t work. He can’t use that as a defence and you see his face, again, just drop into a state of utter vulnerability when she says they need to acknowledge the facts.

SHE TAKES HIS HAND. I REPEAT, SHE TAKES HIS HAND.

Not just that, but she takes his hand in both of hers. In this, she’s turning herself physically back into his space, leaning forwards towards him.

Rhaenys wants Corlys to understand her and forgive her and love her at exactly the point in the scene when he can’t:

She’s being the most vulnerable that she can be and is asking for him to do things as she suggests, to see things from her perspective and change their definition of legacy, honour their daughter even at the cost of their son, let go of whatever dream he has of both the Iron Throne and the Driftwood Throne belonging to Velaryons.

She reaches out physically, holds his hand in both of hers because she doesn’t want to hurt him. Rhaenys is looking right at him. She knows she’s asking a great deal of him. She knows it’s hurting him to acknowledge the truth about the boys’s paternity. It’s all his best efforts and plans and she’s the one telling him it’s come to nothing. It’s her moment to ask: Hear me. Look at me. Love me. Forgive me. Understand me.

And, like when the roles were reversed, Corlys doesn’t engage. He doesn’t even look at her. She may take his hand in hers, but he does nothing to hold on, he barely even registers the touch. And then he takes his hand away. And he leaves her alone.

For Corlys, perhaps, it’s too much, too soon. It’s three, maybe even four emotional gut punches; it’s stripping away a world-view, it’s the tearing up of a façade, it’s the revelation of truths he’d not wanted to face. For Rhaenys, it’s a culmination of everything. It’s something in her that needs to be voiced, needs to be acted upon to safeguard the future.

#bad meta #i could go further on that last point but I'd need to think on it more #house of the dragon #rhaenys x corlys #rhaenys targaryen #corlys velaryon

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