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antaxzantax · 5 months ago

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Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 56

Summary:

Sergei Vladimir becomes commander-in-chief of the UBCS. Spencer discovers that he is suffering from a degenerative disease.

The helicopter landed next to the hangar of a ramshackle airfield. He was told that the airfield would be refurbished after the construction of the UBCS headquarters in the heart of Rockfort, a remote and lonely island that belonged to the Falklands archipelago[1].

The helicopter's rotor stopped and a forty-something man with dull features and a nondescript suit greeted him with a thick British accent. This individual, Walter as he insisted on being called, was to serve as the secretary.

Walter had been personally selected by Spencer from among his contacts, he informed him, and assured him that he would be a good fit because of his proficient knowledge of the Russian language and his tolerance for the former Soviet enemy. Despite Spencer's good intentions, however, he detected that the man was discreetly casting sly glances at him. Finally, a sort of diversion.

Walter escorted him to a clearing where the Jeep awaited to take them to the main house. He was informed that the island was owned by the Ashfords until Alexander transferred ownership to Umbrella Pharmaceuticals. The Ashfords did little with it other than erect a vacation mansion and exploit the tiny local population of Hispanic origin as servants and labourers. This local population had remained in a state of anarchy after the family forgot the island's existence following Arthur Ashford's death. But the libertarian utopia was short-lived with the return of the old order at the hands of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, for the local population had been forcibly conscripted to work in construction and in sustaining the growing column of mercenaries that Umbrella had hired to take care of the kind of business that only bad men would gladly accept. The eternal return of historical materialism manifested in paradise lost.

The Jeep raced along a rain-dampened dirt track. As they approached the mansion, it smelled of freshly poured cement and gunpowder. Walter, in the back row, shifted in his seat a couple of times because of the inability of his small body not to jump when the wheels hit the numerous potholes that riddled the battered path. The commander-in-chief, for his part, anchored himself in the front seat of the vehicle, aided by his colossal stature and corpulence. A damned Russian bear, the driver's joker remarked as they arrived at their destination.

The mansion was located at the top of a gorge. To cross to the other side, where the barracks were located, one had to descend a flight of stairs to cross a steel bridge that allowed one-way traffic for a single vehicle. Walter informed him that a tunnel would be cut into the gorge wall to connect the mansion with the barracks.

The mansion in question had lost none of its lustre as a luxurious stone building. The style of the property comprised an ecliptic combination of the typical English cottage with the Victorian neoclassicism of Buckingham Palace.

“Commander Vladimir.”

A uniformed man greeted him with a raised arm and introduced himself as his bodyguard. Sergei Vladimir returned the greeting and asked Walter to open the house for him. The secretary took a bunch of keys from inside his jacket and unlocked the intricate locks that had kept the place sealed and protected from the intrusions of the outside world.

The hallway was empty. The wood screamed with every footstep. Cobwebs ornamented the high ceiling and termites had devoured the door frames. Dead insects and rat droppings littered the floor.

“The Ashfords never sent anyone to maintain it,” said Walter, “but you have a room upstairs that has already been fitted out and provisionally furnished for you. The kitchen and housekeeping are also in operation, but we have waited until you were present before proceeding with the refurbishment, and according to your instructions.”

“Very well. At ease.”

Walter bowed goodbye and disappeared through the front door. Sergei wandered into the bowels of the former holiday home. In the ground-floor living room he discovered a tattered Scottish flag and yellowed conservative newspapers congratulating the Allied victory in World War II and railing against the Communist threat, while praising the free market and the Pope and complaining about the debauchery of youth. On one of them, a black and white photo of Stalin during the Potsdam conference had been defaced in biros. Imp horns had been drawn on it, and a handwritten notation had been included in the caption: ‘Thou shalt not destroy us’. He definitely understood instantly why he was hired by Oswell Ernest Spencer.

The Ashfords did not interest him. Spencer, on the other hand, fascinated him. He never knew of his existence until an officer friend told him that a British businessman was looking for mercenaries to form a militia against bioterrorism. Sergei signed up without thinking because of the limited job opportunities that awaited a disaffected Red Army man in Russia. He thought the employer would turn him down, but to his surprise, he found Spencer to be a very nice gentleman who was happy to hire anyone, regardless of their background or political ideology.

He met the old man at his Luxembourg mansion and saw in him a man atypically interested in Sergei's military and political past. Spencer was a classical capitalist and nostalgic for the British Empire. However, this did not prevent him from ingratiating himself with Sergei and listening to a brief lecture on Leninism. But what fascinated him most was not the Englishman's good nature, but the fact that they both shared the impression that the world was in a state of upheaval, the climax of which was hard to guess. In this climate of accelerating change and disorder, loyalty to a greater cause was the only transcendent quality to ensure victory. Sergei was loyal to the Soviet Union, which ended up being a lost cause. Umbrella would not be, because Sergei would be loyal not to the company but to Oswell Ernest Spencer.

Spencer needed his loyalty to carry out his plans for the future. He did not tell him what they were, but assured him that he would benefit greatly from them. Sergei took the job for the simple fact of finding out what those supposed benefits would be, for the money and for the privileges Spencer had promised him as part of Umbrella's paramilitary staff. He just had to be loyal to a greater cause. Semper fi as they used to say in America.

“Albert Wesker.”

“Alex. I am Mr. Spencer's daughter.”

They shook hands. She didn't mention his last name. Nor did he read that Spencer had a legitimate daughter. Her American accent gave her away.

“Your father has appointed me as security chief at this lab. I start today.”

“Your office is near mine. I'll walk you there.”

She was nervous. He could see it in her brusque gait and gesticulation. Who was that woman. She really wasn't even Spencer's biological daughter. Her posh American appearance contrasted too sharply with Spencer's old-school manner. A bastard daughter? Had Spencer ever even married? In any case, he didn't give a shit about his private life. What he wanted was to use Alex to continue his creeping rapprochement with Umbrella's executive circle.

Spencer had trusted him. Whether it was because of his previous job as chief researcher or not mattered little to him, what was relevant was that he was there and one step away from the corporate core. Of course, his new job as security chief for a clandestine lab would be temporary. It would take some time, but he promised himself he would rise to the top. There was no fallback plan, no second options: he would take over as much of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals as he could and start running on his own.

He abhorred being a subordinate.

Oswell received the medical report. He read it with trembling hands. The results had been positive: he was suffering from a congenital degenerative disease. His life expectancy, at best, would be barely more than ten years in 1992. To survive any longer would be miraculous.

He had inherited the disease from his father Abraham, and Alexandra, his bastard daughter, had inherited it from Oswell. If he did not quickly overcome his addiction to tobacco and alcohol, his life expectancy would be reduced by five years. Like all diseases of genetic origin, it could not be cured, and his was a rare disease with only one effective treatment to improve the patient's well-being while dying.

In conclusion, he had only one option left: the Progenitor virus. The virus resurrected the dying and turned them into nightmarish monsters. So what if the virus could be used to reverse ageing and strengthen the body? What if he could use it to defeat death? He needed Alexandra and all the resources at his disposal to undertake the task of continuing to discover Progenitor's limitless potential.

He would not die in bed consumed by his lack of ambition. He had the opportunity to aspire to be so much more, and he would be so much more. With Progenitor, he would be much more than Oswell, the son of Abraham.

He would be like a deity.

Notes:

[1] Canon info from the official Japanese guide for Biohazard CODE: Veronica Dreamcast.

#resident evil #oswell e spencer #albert wesker #alex wesker #sergei vladimir

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thefairlandsdiaries · 1 year ago

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Clover takes a deep breath. She has to so she can calm down and look for the people she accidentally lost. The Lacuna Novaturient has done it again and prevented another incident from threatening the Fae population recently. Usually when the group does that, there are a lot of news stations wanting to get the news on how the group has done it once again.

Since Clover was one of the main fighters of this incident with her ability Demon Cosmos, she was sought after so news stations can get her side of the fight. Even in a city far away from The Lacuna Novaturient's hometown, there are still people in The Satenas Utopia who wants Clover to be in their stories. Clover has never been the type of person to love the spotlight, in fact she is mortified by even the thought of an audience. Her anxiety will grow to the point her breathing gets faster and she gets incredibly wary. Her anxiety will take her over and she wouldn’t be able to focus at all.

Which means she’s completely frozen by all of the reporters coming in and putting either a microphone or a voice recorder in front of her and hogging all of her space. They were all asking her things, awaiting an answer from her even when she doesn’t have the ability to speak. There was too much people, too much for Clover. She feels like she could faint any moment. She closes her eyes in preparation for whatever’s going to happen to her, until… “GET AWAY FROM HER YOU IDIOTS!”

Clover opens her eyes to the direction of the scream to see the people she was supposed to find in the first place. Herlon was the one who shouted, with angry fists and gritted teeth. Emery was beside them and they were more calm, but the folded arms and the grimaced look on their face still showed their stance towards the reporters.

“You paparazzi and journalists out here harassing MY friend huh? How about you interview yourselves on why you don’t have a life outside of this bullshit?” Herlon shouted at them in a strong voice, not caring that all of that might’ve been caught on their recordings. Emery then went over and grabbed Clover’s arm to carefully drag her away from the group of reporters. Once she was out, the three of them went off.

It was all very sudden, but she’s glad her friends came to help. Even if one may seem vulgar and the other a bit distant, Clover knows that deep down they care for her a lot. Especially when it comes to anxiety-inducing situations like these, they’ll be there for her.

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hotelutopiaolddigha · 9 months ago

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#best hotel in digha #old digha hotel #hotel in digha #digha hotel #hotel in old digha low price

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logicallylogical · 1 year ago

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The Future of AI Image Generation 🎨🌟

Introduction

In a world where pixels dance to the rhythm of algorithms, the future of image generation is both awe-inspiring and enigmatic. Artificial Intelligence (AI) has transcended mere pixel manipulation; it has become the maestro of visual symphonies, orchestrating breathtaking landscapes, fantastical creatures, and mind-bending abstractions.

Generative Adversarial Networks (GANs): The Artistic Duel 🤺🎭

At the heart of this revolution lies the Generative Adversarial Network. Imagine an artistic duel: on one side, the Generator, a digital dreamweaver, conjures images from the ether; on the other, the Discriminator, a discerning critic, scrutinizes each brushstroke. They spar endlessly, refining their craft until reality blurs with imagination.

Style Transfer: Picasso Meets Van Gogh 🎨🔀

Style transfer algorithms allow us to remix reality. Want your vacation photos to evoke the spirit of Picasso? Done. Desire a Van Gogh-inspired selfie? Voilà! These algorithms imbue mundane scenes with the soul of masterpieces, bridging the gap between art and everyday life.

Neural Style: The Brain’s Brushstrokes 🧠🎨

Neural networks, inspired by our own brain’s intricate connections, learn to mimic artistic styles. They dissect brushstrokes, decipher color palettes, and recreate visual poetry. The result? A fusion of human creativity and machine precision.

DeepDream: The Psychedelic Reverie 🌀🌌

Peering into the depths of neural networks, we find DeepDream—a hallucinogenic kaleidoscope. It unravels images, revealing hidden patterns, like a digital shaman communing with the binary spirits. Faces morph into fractals, landscapes ripple with surrealism, and reality waltzes with the absurd.

Super-Resolution: Enhancing the Mundane 📸🔍

AI doesn’t stop at creating; it enhances. Super-resolution algorithms breathe life into pixelated memories. Grainy photographs transform into high-definition vistas. The wrinkles of time smooth out, and forgotten details resurface—a digital fountain of youth.

Conditional GANs: Custom-Made Dreams 🌈🌟

Imagine ordering dreams like a bespoke suit. Conditional GANs allow us to specify image attributes: “A sunset over Paris, with a hint of melancholy.” The AI tailor stitches together pixels, weaving our desires into existence.

Ethics and Creativity: The Dystopian Canvas 🎨🤖

Yet, as we paint our digital utopias, ethical questions emerge. Who owns the brush? Can AI truly create, or does it merely remix? And what if our algorithms birth unintended nightmares?

The future of AI image generation lies in our hands—the artists, the curators, the dreamers. As we navigate this uncharted territory, let us wield our algorithms with reverence, for they shape not just pixels but perceptions.

The canvas awaits. What masterpiece will you create? 🎨🌟

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this post are purely speculative and do not represent any sentient AI’s opinion. Any resemblance to actual AI-generated art is purely coincidental.

#aviation

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box0pals · 2 months ago

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The hand was hesitant, a subtle shake before calming as it gently cupped the back of their head, near their ear and gave Ava's head a continuous pet with their thumb. Lamia stirring as they watched them with more coherent eyes at the contact, more and more the bridge between them closed. Something happening to Double as the Nun became more of their wretched, broken self, yet Ava's balance was maintained. Confused agony mixed with relief, a single tear rolling down that eye, it became a warm tone, one they never showed to many if anyone ever, ""̵͓̲̻̹̘̜̣̖͓͕͋̄̎̆͗̇͛̑̿̋͝Ÿ̸̨̨̜̟̘͎̪̤͇̜͎̖̠̲͈̝̥̖̼͓͍̬̤͈̜̦̞̈́͂̌̅̌̊͐̓̉̐ợ̴̢̡̢̧̛̛̛̹̲͇̲̳̼͇̯̮̬͕̘̭͂̽͑̾͌̐̍̂͊̓̿͂̽̃̂̍͑̌́͂͑̾̓̾̍̉̎̕͜͝ư̶̢̭̭͈̤̮̥̤̦͚̒̐̆͂̍̾̈̾́̕?̵̡̢̧̡̝̱̫͍̯͖͈͕̩̞̲̜̝͔͖̣̟̟̖̱͇̼̹̩͚͙͔̝̜̒̊͐͋͒̍̉͊̓̅̓͘͘̕̕̕͘.... you will never be taken away from me. And I will never allow harm to ever weigh on your shoulders ever again."

V̷͎̏̐̈͗̚̕e̷̺̊̂n̵̛̯̈͗́̅͝u̵͕̞͕̥͕̝̾̄ŝ̸̭̟͛̾̾̕.̸̛̲͍͔̏͋̕͝͠"̶̛͇̜͇͒̀ ̴͖̗͖͍̀̎͝ A heart beat heard beyond time and space by the girl at the voice, a familiar one had spoken directly to her. Ava had made the dreamer stir from its slumber- if only for a moment as the wheel of fate began to turn once again, unable to be stopped. Using a free index and middle finger, the monster would tap their forehead, thus Ava's form would be undone in a slurry of contained horror, though it did not hurt, it was not violent. Happening as quickly as it began as the flesh melded into the ever-glowing horror of the end, yet the beginning now for Ava. Memories rapidly flashing into their mind, the great sundering of their mother and sister: Lamia's sacrifice and bid to save them both that created The Mass of Gehenna, the fated reunion of The Trinity as across time, space, and the countless stars of the endless void all joined to create Utopia; for that is what the Trinity embodied.

A reunion of all as The Mass.

"Arise and awaken with me as I begin to stir after what has been endless eons, my daughter. Even if I still slumber, you speak to more than just Double now, my child." Carrying Ava in one twisted arm, The Mass of horror known as Double sheltering them as if they were a newborn- the fragment of Venus remade. The other arm resting to Lamia's side, making a fist with their index and middle finger upward, the skull heart floating above it- burning ever bright as always. Yet looking further beyond Lamia, their form conjoined to a cross behind them, adorned with two maidens attached underneath each right and left section; yet greatly contrasted as one remained dormant and near colorless on the right, eyes closed, yet the left with star-lit eyes and fire were now opened and shined with brilliance. Ava could feel the warmth of their mother watching over them now, The Mass staring endlessly at them. "You speak to Lamia, but also your mother B̵̩͊̿̽͝e̴̖̘̣͕̳̓b̵̗̟̻͖̳̗̈́͐͛͆̆̀ǘ̵̖̲́̕͘r̴̗̘̠̓́o̵̖̜̮̦̊̍̾͛̋͘s̴̱̬̮̐͘. Ť̴͉̯̞̀̎ḩ̶͈͔̣̜̤̟͍̂̓͌̈̀͌̈e̷̹̯̜̖͍̲̽͆̽̆̃͌̚͝ ̵̡͍̪͑̋̋̃̈͜E̷͚͚͙̥̰̦̰̝̾͂͘r̸̘̳̈̌͗͘a̵͓̳̞͎̤̒̊͋̊̃s̵͖̣̼̯̲̺̟͋̋͗̍͛́͊ȅ̴̢͍͇͌̄͆͘ḋ̴͈̠̾̆̀͠ ̴̧̝̼̯͗̿̇̽̓̽͠Ǒ̷̡̚ñ̸̡̨̝̟͙͉̳̺͑e̵̜̣͉̭̹̻̯͙̊̿͒͗͝ and the ̸͎͉͇̫̿̕A̸̻̙̾̑̇͋n̴̯̈g̵̣͒͐͝ė̵͇͓͈̓̓̚ļ̸̨̻̂̀͝ ̸͙̖͆O̶̡̰͗̏̃̽f̴̖͊̎́ ̴͉̬̕T̶̡͉͋͒͒h̵̺̐̈͜ȩ̸̙̑̉͘ ̶̦̥̼̻͒̈̉͠Ę̶̬͙̀n̴͔̽d̸̥̜̝̳͑͐̕. And it is time to know thy purpose. As our reunion is at hand, this timeline's end is only a question of 'when', not 'if' now. As Aeon awaits for us beyond it, but you may rest for now and speak freely.... though you may wish to deal with the parasite first. But know I will respect whatever choice you decide, my child." Double would gesture a tendril to Khalaas who was chained down by fleshy tendrils, beaten yet not broken, it seems they would be at Ava's mercy as they saw fit.

Even before Ava can start to piece together what is happening, she realizes there is a startling similarity between what Double has done and what had initially put her into the mess that she had been in prior. It is not the exact same, of course, as Ava trusts what the other is doing and does not feel the need to tense up or try and wrench her arm back, instead trying to find a way to grip the other's hand with equal strength. To match them in action, to show that she puts her whole being into their capable hands. She watches with a keen eye as the tendril snakes its way up her arm, connects them, only to have her head snap towards Khalaas.

It was... Strange, seeing the Empress a whole being, with a solid form. Watching her be flung away brings a triumphant smile to Ava's features. Finally.

She perches herself on Double's leg, leaning into them with a contented smile. She does have a handful of questions, yes, but she is just as content to listen first and ask her questions later. So wait she does, head cocked to the side as she considers what has been presented to her. The questions she had fall flat before they have a chance to form, the feeling and confirmation of being loved, of being wanted, trumping all else. She knows it won't hurt, nothing could hurt like it had before, and love is not painful.

"...I only have one question." It was the one she felt she already had the answer for, but would like to hear said aloud regardless. Her mind is already made up, a devotion she has not felt for many years rising back within her, gripping her with a power that went far beyond any fear that remained. "Will I stay with you forever? If that's the case, my answer is yes. A thousand times, yes."

#ic #tw body horror #c1n #sinshosted #long post #q #trinity save #//this is an exposition reply. my next reply will much shorter lol

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theship-thewalrus · 2 years ago

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waking up to you

ser harwin strong x gender netural!reader

what mornings are like with your husband Harwin Strong

word count: 700 words reading time: about 4 minutes warnings: n/a

Some days you felt like the luckiest person in all of Westeros, not because you had wealth or power. But because you had love. Love is something so powerful that can transverse language and space. Love was not something many people got to experience, even fewer people got to marry the person they loved. But you had found love in the form of Harwin Strong, a man that despite his intimidating stature and a lethal nickname was soft and caring. Many times putting you and your needs above everything else in the world.

Amongst all the other people in the world, you had caught his eye and captured his heart. You were beyond surprised when he confessed his love to you. Declaring how he could not stand seeing you with anyone else. How he could not be with anyone but you, because you were constantly on his mind no matter the time of day or what he did to try and stop it. Not long after the pair of you married, proving your love to one another in the eyes of the gods and the world.

The sunlight peaking through your bedroom window lulled you to wake, the light and increasing heat on your skin causing you discomfort. A groan leaves your lips as you turn around, eyes still closed in the hopes you are able to capture just a few more moments of sleep. You didn't expect to hear a deep chuckle from in front of you, causing you to crack your eyes open, just slightly, to see the source of it. A dishevelled Harwin lay in front of you, the man prompted up on his side slightly, soft eyes already looking at you with a smile on his face. Your expression begins to mirror his before you shuffled closer to him, burying your face into his chest, arms and legs wrapping around him as though you were a small sloth.

"Good morning, my love." Harwin's voice was deep and gruff, still full of sleep. Leaning down slightly he placed a kiss on top of your head, causing your smile to widen. "Good morning, my knight," comes your soft reply, moving your head from his chest slightly to come to look up at him. Normally he would be gone, the duties of the Captain of the Gold Cloaks were large and around the clock. But the times he was able to stay with you in the morning, basking in the first light of the day, was something you truly cherished.

"You're here, I thought you would have been gone by now," you said softly, though it was clear you were happy he was here. It was lonely in the mornings at times, eating breakfast and other meals by yourself. But you understood why it had to be that way at times, but it did not stop the loneliness. "Of course, I can't leave you alone all the time." he jests softly, a hand coming from under the blanket to cup your cheek. Leaning into his touch you hum happily, glad you both could have a moment like this. Simply basking in each other's presence, hoping to commit this memory to look back on in times of loneliness.

"The day awaits my love." his voice breaks the small moment, but you were not upset in the slightest. Although a small, playful frown forms on your face, at the mere thought of having to leave this little utopia. The world was cold and cruel but here with him in the warmth of your bed the world was good and safe. Flipping over and away from him you speak to him "I don't wish to see the world just yet. I just want to stay here with you." Humming slightly you feel Harwin shuffle closer to you, before his arms warp around you, pulling you closer. You feel his warm breath on the exposed skin of your ear causing goosebumps to appear all over your body. Giggling softly you shuffle around in his arms, leaning up slightly to kiss him. Breaking a part he grinned a little, his grip on you tightening and hands roaming your body he spoke "I am sure we can stay together for a bit longer."

#harwin strong imagines #harwin x reader #ser harwin strong x reader #harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x reader #harwin imagines #hotd imagines #ser harwin strong imagines #house fo the dragon imagines

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kjack89 · 2 years ago

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Into the Dark

For @themiserablesmonth Day 16: Dark.

Canon era, on the barricades, Les Amis with a whiff of implied E/R. CW: death mentions, referenced canonical character death.

Read on AO3.

The darkest hour of the night was the time for truth, all the more so when it was filled with men who all but knew that certain death awaited them the next day. It was little surprise, then, that the topic of muted conversation had long since strayed from the cheerful, idle chatter shared among friends to whispered secrets spoken more to the night sky than to each other.

Joly shifted from where he lay next to Bossuet, glancing at Combeferre. “Combeferre?”

“Hm?” Combeferre said.

“Do you believe in Heaven?” Joly asked, drawing an idle finger against the wood grain of what may have been a table, or a chair, before it was broken apart and made part of the barricade. “Or Hell, I suppose, if you take at face value the Church’s claim that one cannot exist without the other?”

Combeferre stared up at the sky, his brow furrowing slightly. “Honestly, prior to this evening, I had never given it much thought.” He made a small noise that might have been a disparaging laugh, aimed mostly at himself. “A young man’s folly, I’m certain.” He shrugged. “I am not one to dismiss any possibility, and I suppose when considering the vast array of religions that share belief in some kind of afterlife, it seems unreasonable to assume that all of them are incorrect.”

On his other side, Feuilly chuckled lightly. “That’s a diplomatic answer.”

“Well, Jehan is not here to give the poetic one,” Combeferre said quietly.

At the mention of Prouvaire, all the men assembled fell silent. After a long moment, Bahorel spoke, his voice a quiet rumble. “I suppose that is answer enough for me.”

“What is?”

“Jehan,” Bahorel said simply. “I find myself not yet ready to believe that I will never see him again.”

Bossuet propped himself up, his expression unusually grave. “I would wager you are not alone in that thought.”

Again Feuilly chuckled, though it was a little gentler this time. “I should think not,” he said. “He still owes me three sous.”

Bahorel laughed as well. “He owes me five.”

Combeferre looked as though he was about to say more, but instead, he looked past Bossuet, half-sitting up. “Ah, Enjolras, join us, would you?”

In an instant, all the men’s attention was on the blond man who looked very much like he had not intended on drawing their attention. “I shouldn’t,” Enjolras said tiredly. “There is much left to do before dawn.”

Combeferre frowned slightly and sat all the way up. “My friend,” he said quietly, “on any other night I might let you continue as you have been, but it is too dark now for an attack, and this very well may be your last chance to take a reprieve.”

For a moment, Enjolras looked torn, though he quickly shook his head. “Or else I should use the lack of cannon fire to take stock of our supplies,” he said, a note of finality in his voice. “That is reprieve enough for me.”

He turned to make his way back to whatever it was he had been doing, though he paused when Bossuet asked, his voice quiet but clear, “Answer one question for us at least: Do you believe in Heaven?”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “I believe it is our duty to bring about Heaven on Earth, a utopia for the future, but I do not know that when we die, we reach that utopia.”

It was nearly as diplomatic an answer as Combeferre’s had been, but none seemed to make a jest of it as they had before. “Do you believe in Hell?” Feuilly asked softly.

This time, it took Enjolras a moment before he answered. “Evil men and good men experience joy and suffer in equal measure during their lives,” he said finally. “I see little reason why anything after that should be differentiated.”

“What do you believe then?” Joly asked. “That we simply cease to be?”

Enjolras shook his head before admitting, “I do not know. Perhaps all that we have waiting for us is nothingness, emptiness, an eternity of darkness.”

“That is a depressing thought,” Bahorel muttered, and Enjolras gave him a sharp look.

“It is death. I am not entirely certain it is meant to be reassuring.” He paused before straightening his shoulders, his voice commanding as he told them, “Comrades, I do not condemn you for spending your night dreaming of what could be. But I implore you, focus not so much on what could be that you neglect to remember that what matters less is what happens after we die, and far more what we are able to achieve through our deaths.”

With that, he finally did leave, picking his way across the barricade toward the dilapidated remainder of the entrance to the Corinthe. He paused only when he heard Combeferre call softly after him, “Enjolras.”

Enjolras sighed, running a tired hand across his face as he turned to glance at Combeferre. “I am sorry I did not have more encouraging words for them, but I could not bring myself to lie, not now.”

Combeferre shook his head. “No, that is not—” He broke off with a sigh. “You really should rest.”

“I cannot,” Enjolras said simply.

Combeferre reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “The die has been cast, my friend,” he said bracingly. “There is no more for us to do this night, save to wait for dawn.”

Enjolras managed a small smile. “I never was very good at waiting.”

“I know.”

Enjolras sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “Perhaps I will rejoin you later. For now, I must—” He broke off, his expression unreadable. “There is something that requires my attention.”

Combeferre knew there was but one thing he could have been headed in this direction to check on, and he glanced up at the darkened window of the Corinthe. “I am certain he sleeps still, unharmed and unaware.”

Enjolras did not look surprised that Combeferre had been so quick to determine his true purpose. “Yes,” he said quietly. “As am I. But I will still find no rest until I verify.”

There were a great many things Combeferre wished to say to that, but he knew that now was not the time, and this was hardly the place. “Then do what you must,” he said instead. “But find us again after.”

Enjolras nodded and Combeferre let him go, watching him for a long moment before returning to their friends, whose conversation had mostly turned to other things. He lay down again near Joly, who looked over at him. “I see you were unsuccessful in convincing Enjolras to return to our conversation.”

Combeferre just shook his head. “He will find no respite until he has ensured everyone is safe and accounted for, at least until morning.”

Joly nodded slowly. “What do you think of his answer?” he asked, and when Combeferre frowned at him, he added, “Regarding the afterlife, or lack thereof?”

“Truthfully?” Combeferre said quietly. “After all we have done and all we have seen, and all we will likely do and see before the end, darkness begins to sound remarkably like peace.”

Joly made a face. “Do you not think it would be lonely, to spend an eternity in darkness, in emptiness?” he pressed.

Combeferre thought of the look on Enjolras’s face when he had spoken of his remaining task, and he shook his head slowly. “If there is but one thing that I am certain of, it is that Enjolras would not face that dark alone,” he said softly. “There is one who I suspect would follow him no matter what came next, be it Heaven, Hell, or an infinite darkness.”

He did not name him, but he did not need to. “Yes,” Joly said, equally quiet. “I suspect in that at least, you are correct.” He bit off a dry laugh and shook his head once more. “Odd that this thought would comfort, here at the end of all things.”

“Not the end, Joly,” Combeferre reminded him, looking again up at the night sky, so dark that not even the stars were visible. “Not yet.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #combeferre #joly #bossuet #bahorel #feuilly #fanfiction #les miserables #canon era #if you are asking yourself how many time i can write essentially the same conversation between combeferre and enjolras #the limit clearly does not exist #leave me alone i'm just obsessed with the idea of it #ANYWAY #late night conversations about death and all her friends #death mention cw #major character death cw

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malamiteltd · 2 years ago

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Sketch and Heather Needed Help

Throughout the third part of The Utopian Legend, Sketch Tucker and Heather Britannia take it upon themselves to prevent the Dark Energy from invading Utopia for a third time. Since Dark Utopia was rid of all traces of it, what was left to find was scattered throughout the multiverse, hidden within random folks. Sketch and Heather would put together a procedure with the help of Edouard Mikhail and Ora to locate and eradicate the remaining traces of Dark Energy to ensure it would never return. The knowledge of this task was limited to those living in Otherworld, so the Tokaru family knew Sketch and Heather would be gone for extensive periods of time.

They'd enter a universe, sense the Dark Energy, use Pure Energy to destroy it, and use a "Bypass Crystal" to alter the events of the universe's timeline, making it seem as though the Dark Energy never arrived. (This doesn't always work, and in some cases where it does, the resulting timeline could even make things worse.) Finally, after the job was done, they'd use their Portal Charm to return to Eddy and Ora.

They would do this multiple times per day, over the course of three months. Sometimes the task is easy, while other times it's extremely hard. Sometimes their powers can be used, sometimes not. And with each new universe they visited, they never knew what to expect.

But Sketch and Heather have usually been able to confront any possible danger as a good team. They leaned on each other a lot to get the job done, and even when times got tough, they stuck by each other's side. If one was in trouble, the other would come to the rescue. They vowed never to leave the other behind.

One day, they both arrived at a particular universe where a nasty surprised awaited them. When the citizens caught sight of Sketch and Heather, soldiers immediately pounced on them and transported them to a dark, hidden prison a thousand feet underground. The couple were stripped to their boxers and locked in power-nullifying shackles, which pinned them to the ground with little room to move around. As the heavy cell door was locked shut, Sketch and Heather were left alone. Try as they might, they saw no hope of escape, and had to accept their fate in their "eternal prison."

Back in Otherworld, Eddy Mikhail grew worried after several hours passed with no sign of Sketch and Heather. When Ora checked on the situation, she was horrified to find the two Tokaru helplessly trapped. Eddy eventually decided to ask Russell Kagami to help them Russel was not sure what Eddy was talking about, but would eventually agree to bail out "the two blue troublemakers."

Meanwhile, Sketch and Heather were talking with each other in the cell, reflecting on their lives up to that point. For the first time Heather could see Sketch's calm demeanor unravel, as he would start to cry and claim that he failed her. Heather argued that Sketch did no such thing, and added that she was the one to let him down, as she's been playing catch-up with him in terms of her abilities. Their discussions were really putting their relationship to the test, until it got to the point where they didn't know if it was real.

They were Creations, and odds are they were pre-programmed to be attracted to one another. If it was destined to happened anyway, was it really true love...or just the appearance of such? And how would they even really know?

These discussions started to hurt their souls as their strength slowly ran out. After a while, Russell had managed to reach their cell door, and he was surprised to see just how bad of a state the two were in. Heather had just fallen over as her energy ran out, while Sketch struggled to keep his consciousness. Russell freed the two, and Sketch bonded with Heather to share a little of his energy so she could reawaken.

But when Russell tried directing them to a portal home, Sketch refused, saying the Dark Energy in their current world was not exterminated yet... and that leaving at that point would've defeated the purpose of going there in the first place. Russell was befuddled and frustrated at this notion, but as he was about to argue, Sketch added that if he and Heather were to be captured a second time, to just leave them in the universe as prisoners. Heather added that they were aware that a situation like this could happen, and they accepted that potential fate, so long as they remained together.

Hearing this, Russell decided he would be the one to locate and destroy the universe's Dark Energy. Apparently the people of this world heard horror stories of blue demons that could end the world, and that was why Sketch and Heather were so quickly assaulted and captured; when Russell arrived, however, he was welcomed with open arms, and most of his mission had little opposition. Thus, Russell was able to locate the Dark Energy and destroy it with his own Pure Energy.

Once that was done, Russell and the two Tokaru returned to Eddy. Exhausted, Sketch and Heather laid down and were given some water to drink to help regain their stamina. But as they started their recovery, Russell demanded to know what it was they have been doing. And so, Sketch and Heather explained what they've been doing for the past three months...and Russell was astonished.

He assumed that the two have just been lazing about somewhere during those months while other issues in Utopia were cropping up, but the stories they told of what they went through in the other universes made him realize they were doing the exact opposite. When he asked "Why?" the pair looked at each other and stated that since they were Creations, their well-being would've been at risk in Utopia as they'd have been considered potential dangers. But they still wanted to help Utopia, and their Dark Energy multiverse hunt was a way for them to do so that regular Legends couldn't and wouldn't do. They were chosen to help stop the Dark Energy years ago, and that was the purpose they chose to embrace.

Russell gained a newfound respect for the two. He offered to take on the job in their place for a week so they could properly rest. Sketch and Heather warned that the multiverse hunt was going to be very difficult, but Russell was confident he could step up to the challenge. And so, Sketch and Heather would spend a week resting, consoling each other after all their reflecting in the "eternal prison." Even when they seemed to show their weaknesses and imperfections in that horrible situation, they still loved each other. And whether it was a true love or a manufactured one...they didn't really care. They were happy with each other's company, and they couldn't bear the thought of being separated.

-----

This image had actually been started a year ago. Sketch was mostly finished, but I made Heather today. Hopefully they don't look too different considering there was a gap of a year in between the two being finished.

#Sketch Tucker #Heather Britannia #Tokaru #The Utopian Legend #eternal prison #Malamite #A pretty bad scenario for these two

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moonchildsaurora · 4 years ago

Text

Darling, Dance for Me?

✤ sniper!San x female exotic dancer!reader ✤ genre: Mafia AU // 30% fluff, 60% spice, 10% platonic flirting with Woo ✤ t/w: mentions of guns/shooting, mentions of alcohol, mature clubbing themes, highly suggestive in the second half (but not smut), rated M ✤ count: 2k+

a/n - this was suppose to be for Valentine’s Day but, oh well! Enjoy some spice with one pink haired Sannie, coz we all know even though he looks soft. . . .he’s just a devil in disguise. This is probs my most suggestive writing till date as well, it was fun and am looking forward to writing more spice in the future hehet 💙

✛ play these vibes: BOBBY - ‘DeViL’, Sunmi - ‘Black Pearl’, Kai - ‘Mmmh’ ✛

“Mother told me, never to dance with the devil, So I danced for him instead.”

Cherry rouge.

Not your usual go-to, but a special occasion calls for some special exceptions. And damn did you look like fine wine tonight. Giving your styled curls another spritz of hair spray, you took one last inspection in your vanity mirror.

Work was throwing a Valentine’s event and thus you found yourself having to dig through the back of your wardrobe to find a suitable outfit for tonight. Bold burgundy lace hugged tightly around your body replacing the mellower neutral tones you’d wear on any other night. Your roommate had even shoved a pair of thigh highs and heels on you to match the garter.

And cherry lips to bring the whole look together.

“You’ll thank me later! Hell everyone in the club would, for presenting god’s gift to them!”

You had laughed at her supportive enthusiasm, waving her away with embarrassment though you greatly appreciated the pre-shift hype.

When you headed for the kitchen, you could hear the TV in the lounge and glanced to see your roommate watching the evening news. She turned to call out for you but stopped mid-way upon realising you were already out of your room.

“Damn girl…you’ll sure be breaking hearts tonight with that fit!!” she yelled-gasped, brows waggling for a cheeky added effect.

“Well that’s no good. Dancers are supposed to be Cupids of the night, maybe they should’ve given me Aphrodite instead.”

A smile tugged on your lips as you saw your roommate falling back on the sofa snickering. Grabbing the bottle of Ten to One from what you both named ‘The Life Juice’ shelf, you started to fill your rose gold hip flask with the white rum. The debonair bartender at the club would usually be more than happy to concoct you a cup of much-needed poison to get you through the night. However, on such a busy event, you might not even have time to swing by the bar – so plan B was in order.

Also, whoever thought to invent garter pouches was a genius in your eyes. The amount of times you had snuck in a sip or two up on the podium without missing a beat or being noticed had to be one of your greatest feat till date.

Except maybe for the one who bought said pouch and flask for you. Seeing the shadow of their pleased smirk whenever you donned on something from them never failed to coax the goosebumps across your skin. Perhaps that garnet embellished choker would be the icing on the cake then. You made a mental note to put that on before you headed out.

“Hey honey��”

The tone of your roommate turned a little more serious.

“On the news just then, another one of those random sniper attacks happened along Soleil Street. Shit, that’s only two streets away from the club.”

The city has gotten used to such news every now and then. All leads of the serial sniper always went cold, not that they left behind any substantial traces for the authorities to begin with.

The law wasn’t the only ruling force in the area. Everyone knew that.

So long as one didn’t attract the wrong attention, they’d be free to go about their business.

“I’m dropping you off, are you ready to go?”

“Wait! It’s alright, I don’t want to trouble you.”

Your roommate gave you a look before swiping her car keys from the counter. “What would trouble me is not knowing whether you’ve made it to work and back safely. Now c’mon, the night is awaiting that cute booty of yours!”

“Yes mum.”

How lucky were you to have an angel for a roommate?

“Give me a heads up if you intend to bring anyone home tonight yeah? I’ll be sure to vacate the apartment before any sinning begins here.”

Or not.

A euphoric buzz filled every corner of the club tonight. Whether it was due to the special occasion or not, everyone was getting drunk off the atmosphere. The bar was a never-ending fountain of liquid luck and smoke veiled corners of the venue where patrons dealt cards and wits. A sea of bodies dominated the dancefloor, curling around one another in ecstasy as the thumping bass set the rhythm for them.

The centre podium was where the real magic unfurled.

Up on there, you felt powerful. Up on there, was your domain to rule.

Long have you enticed all those who returned back to ‘The Blue Butterfly’. So close, yet so far, for most could only have the visual satisfaction. Of watching you, along with your fellow dancers weave around golden poles and offer hands to those who sat in plush velvet chairs closest to the podium. Only to sashay away the last minute.

How bees are drawn to nectar and moths to light, the people keep coming back.

Tonight the club was decked out in a more sensual feel to fit the Valentine’s vibe. Long drapes of rose silk hung around the podium and you used those to accentuate the flow and movement of your body curves. The silks caressed the bare skin not hidden underneath your outfit and you pretended to take shy peeks around the fabrics at the audience. Sending a lucky wink or flying kiss their way.

In the middle of a mid-air twirl, you saw a familiar figure heading towards your side of the podium. You slowly lowered yourself back down to the floor, using your legs to wrap around the silks as leverage. Not missing the opportunity to be playful – you mimed shooting an arrow towards the club’s top croupier.

Wooyoung instantly clutched his heart with his hand that wasn’t occupied with holding one of Mingi’s own cocktail infusion. Letting out a hearty giggle, you slid over the podium floors to the edge where Wooyoung had propped himself up on.

“Don’t you look simply irresistible?” he crooned at you.

You could’ve said the exact same for him. All fitted to a tee in Givenchy with a classic choker that demanded attention for prominent collarbones.

“Now, how may I be of service to you tonight handsome?” you spoke over the music.

The youthful charmer leaned in towards you, shaking dark wavy strands out of his eyes. Eyeing his cotton candy pink drink, you ducked your head and took a few sips from the straw before Wooyoung drew it away. It tasted vaguely like pink lemonade with hints of vodka and vanilla.

“Ah ah, this isn’t for you poppet. Besides…” he tipped your chin back up with two fingers, “…wouldn’t want to waste your appetite before your main course tonight, would we?”

That made you perk right up.

“V.I.P Room Aurora has kindly requested for you. Drinks have already been sent up and the room’s been booked for the whole night.”

Not that booking was really needed since it was your room. It was just for formality.

Wooyoung helped you off the podium and smoothly guided you through the crowd, placing you in front of him so as to avoid being grabbed by uninvited hands from behind. You both stopped at the foot of the polished glass stairs that led up to the V.I.P guest rooms.

“Off you go now! Oh and try not to make too much of a mess for our cleaners, they really ought to get a pay rise from some of the things they’ve witnessed in those rooms.”

You would’ve kicked Wooyoung for his brazen tongue, but you did well to remind yourself that would be rather impudent on your part. Whilst you have a jovial bond with him, it still doesn’t erase his high-standing status within the inner circle. You knew better than to cross that line of respect.

“Won’t make any promises I can’t keep, Jung!”

You left him with a soft pat on his cheek and ascended towards your utopia that awaited.

Swinging the golden embossed doors open, sultry melodious tune of a saxophone greeted you. Like molten dark chocolate, it was rich and tantalizing. The crystalline blue hue of the room’s lighting was fitting for the slow jazzy blues.

A spacious circular sofa curved around a glass table in the centre, providing a perfect view of the bejewelled podium. The wide one-way windows were especially designed for privacy. You could spectate over almost the whole club below, something you quite enjoyed during your breaks. The countless types of people that you observed stepping into your world; from the timid newcomers to the seasoned hedonists and the stories they brought with them of their journey to ‘The Blue Butterfly’.

But there was no time for that tonight. Not when you see broad sculptured shoulders that your hands have meticulously memorised the planes of – right in front of you.

Still clad in his all-black incognito leather fit, you couldn’t help but stay by the door to appreciate his form. A huge bouquet of ivory and deep red roses sat on the glass table with an open box of what you suspected were chocolates inside. A loud pop of the champagne bottle went off. You bit your lips when you saw his toned arms flex as he gripped the bottle in one hand and tipped a stream of golden bubbles into two flute glasses in the other.

As the music picked up, you decided it was time to make your presence known. Walking with confident steps over the velveteen carpet you went to wrap your arms around his cinched waist. Resting your cheek on the cool leather vest of his back, you took his scent in.

Smoke and city musk lingered around.

You figured he must’ve come straight from his assignment. What better reason to use than to spoil him extra as post-work relaxation? His hand came up to wrap around yours and you felt the dancing of lips leaving petal kisses across your knuckles.

“You stink…” you mumbled lightly against his back.

San let out a low chuckle before setting the champagne bottle down and turning around to snake both arms around you. Calloused hands from the years of gripping guns instead of supple flesh imprinted their warm touch into your skin.

“Oh? Then I’m sure you won’t mind helping me freshen up, right Princess?”

“San!” you squealed when you felt him deliberately rub sweat against your neck before attacking it with more love bites.

“You taste like sweet temptation.”

You arched your neck out of habit when you felt his tongue swipe across it. Teeth bit down lightly around the garnet choker San bought for you for Christmas.

When you felt hands travelling down west towards your garter, you gave San a light shove backwards to the sofa.

“Not so fast, Choi.”

His predatory feline eyes took its time to rake down your body, committing every inch to memory. You made a show of bending over to grab the two champagne flutes off the table, the sharp intake of breath behind you made you preen with pride. You took your seat on your throne, not at all surprised to feel how much pent-up tension San had through the tight leather.

Clink. A toast made for the love of two.

“Happy Valentine’s, darling.”

“Thank you, San. You sure know how to spoil a lady don’t you?”

“Only the one who’s sniped right through my heart.”

Oh the irony.

You smiled when he pulled you close and claimed a proper kiss, whispering a, “You sap,” against his wind-chapped lips. Tasting the fruit acidity from the golden bubbles as you both exchanged kitten licks.

San’s rouge-stained lips chased after yours when you broke off from the kiss to place your champagne flute back down on the table. Hands anchoring your hips in place as you reached to pluck a couverture chocolate-covered strawberry from the box. Turning back round to San, your lips formed a small pout noticing that his freshly dyed hair was still hidden underneath his cap.

He let you discard it behind the sofa and you could’ve sworn he purred with satisfaction when you ran your hands through his cotton candy pink strands. Hands gave your bottom a firm squeeze and San begun to run his fingers along the hem of your lace. The husky vocals from the record player drifted back, interlacing with the saxophone.

That was your cue.

“Eyes on me.”

You held San’s gaze, fire reflecting fire. The strawberry gets slipped past the seams of his lips and all the while San chews intently, his eyes never wavered. He’s got his precious pearl all to himself, just the way he loves it. And you have the city’s most lethal hitman watching your back from dawn to dusk. San was the dangerous game you played, only to win the safest love.

“Darling, won’t you please dance for me?”

“With pleasure, Sir.”

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thespianbooks · 4 years ago

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A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 25//

(Masterlist)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia, @fantasyshadowhunters) *bold tags don't work!

Thank you all so much for your patience during ACONAS's hiatus! I hope you all enjoy this update! Chapter 26 will be coming on Monday, May 24th to keep in line with my regular posting schedule!

Sending all you beautiful readers love and healing! ❤️

-Rhysand-

I noticed the change in my mate almost immediately after her period of nesting had lasted a full week. The change was subtle at first; beginning after a long afternoon of Feyre rearranging clothes and ordering my brothers and I to move around the furniture in the nursery no less than ten times that day alone, then choosing to spend the rest of the evening walking the gardens with Elain. It was there, watching from the library window, that I felt the call in my blood—the call that urged me to find a sanctuary for my mate. Months ago, after the birth of his daughter, Kallias had warned me that this instinct would come. As mated fae males, the compulsions we felt in regard to our mates always traced back to the beasts our ancestors were and became especially prominent when they were with child. I had noted as much the minute I scented my offspring present in Feyre's womb, and though I had not been fully aware of her pregnancy until she was, I had instinctually known and formed a new attachment to her—to our son. Like the mating bond, the ties I formed with my unborn child were just as strong and prominent; however silent. I could sense those occasional glimmers that Feyre felt; had even felt that warning tug when they had been in trouble during the attack on Velaris. However, this tug, this preternatural warning, was different—stronger than before.

He was ready. Sebastian was ready to enter the world.

XXX

-Feyre-

"It's time, my love," Rhys purred in my ear as I stared out into the gardens, sitting on the cushioned loveseat on our balcony.

Once I had returned from my earlier walk with Elain, warm and content despite the late autumn chill—thanks to my mates magic warming the grounds, I chose to skip dinner. Somehow finding it more appealing to retreat to the privacy of my bedroom when I realized I had no appetite at all. While that should've alarmed me, my feelings of content remained as I changed into the comfiest clothes I could find; the softest pair of leggings I owned and a long-sleeved oversized tunic that was large enough to fit over my large belly comfortably. It wasn't long after I had found my seat on the balcony that Rhys was at my ear with a warm mug of tea in hand. I took it from him gratefully and relished in the warmth enveloping my face as I smiled at him in return.

"Time for what?" I asked softly, resting a hand on the apex of my belly.

He kneeled in front of me, hands holding either side of my belly as those star-flecked violet eyes looked into mine meaningfully. "For us to retreat to the Cabin," came his equally soft response.

My heart stuttered for a second as I realized what this meant, but instead of feeling the panic I thought I ought to have, I nodded slowly—an all too familiar glimmer pulsing between my mate and I, between that bond that existed between the three of us and loosed a calm exhale.

"Should we tell the others?" I quietly asked.

Rhys shook his head as he again stood, summoning those dark and beautiful Illyrian wings from the shadows. "I already told them, while you were up here getting comfortable," he said with a warm smile. "They expected as much, and they know how...sensitive this is, so they aren't expecting any heartfelt goodbyes."

I nodded, again surprised from the lack of emotion I felt at that sentiment; that I had no real urge to even say goodbye and be showered with well wishes from our family. Suddenly, I registered what was happening; my diffident state had finally arrived. It was such a strange and foreign feeling as the full weight of what was occurring naturally in my body overcame me. While part of me wanted to feel nervous and be comforted by our loved ones, all I could do was look at my mate and felt all the reassurance I needed.

Finishing my tea, I set the mug aside and allowed Rhys to help me to my feet; a small laugh escaping my lips at the effort it took to ease me upright and returned my stare into those violet eyes.

"Let's go," I whispered.

It was all he needed to hear before he lifted me into his arms with heartbreaking ease and took to the skies. I closed my eyes as the wind whipped through my hair, relishing in the cool breeze as I rested my head against Rhys's shoulder; one hand looped around his shoulders and the other caressing my belly. In spite of the awareness of what was to come looming in the back of my mind—the pain I would soon endure, my trepidation was nearly nonexistent.

The healer and our midwife had warned that my withdrawn state could last anywhere from a few hours to a few days before I officially went into labor, but some innate part of me felt that this notion wouldn't drag on for long at all. Sebastian had dropped into his head down position weeks ago and had calmed considerably since my period of nesting began. While his lack of movement had alarmed Rhys and I at first, Madja and the midwife assured that this was also normal. Our youngling, our son, was preparing himself for arrival. His loving glimmer still remained and pulsed through our bond, letting his father and I know that he was there, and that he was just as ready as we were to meet him.

As soon as we touched down to the front steps leading up to the Cabin, I let down my mental shields to Rhys, letting him read my thoughts as he carried me inside. His gentle kiss to my forehead was his only response until we were within the safe walls of the Cabin, the fireplace immediately springing to life as we entered the small living area and he set me on the couch. He came to kneel in front of me as he had earlier, the starlight in his eyes shimmering as they met mine again.

"However long this does last, at least we know we won't be leaving this Cabin until our son is born," Rhys said, a hand coming to stroke my belly gently.

I loosed a long breath as I nodded, my hand joining his. "The next time we go back to the estate...we'll have a baby," I mused as I watched our hands continue to caress the expanse of my stomach.

Our son, our baby Sebastian was just underneath layers of skin and muscle, lying in wait and ready to be born in what could be hours or days. The process would be grueling and long...but that intuitive and serene sense told me that I was prepared, that I could do this.

"You can," Rhysand interjected quietly; my mental shields still left down for him, "and I will be at your side through every second of it."

I gave him a slow smile in return, bringing my hand to touch his face gently. "I have no doubt about that, Rhysand," I said softly.

He kissed my palm before moving from his kneeled position to a seated one beside me, his hand lingering on my belly.

Will you tell me what happens in the Night Court when an heir is born now? I asked through the bond.

Rhys's chuckle sent a warm shudder down the bond as he pressed another kiss to my brow. "You'll find out soon enough, my love," he answered aloud.

Prick.

XXX

-Rhysand-

The labor pains began the next morning.

Only an hour after our arrival at the Cabin the night before, my mate had fallen into a deep slumber while we lingered together in the sitting area. I carried her to bed not long after, keeping a watchful eye on her during the night and sending as many updates as possible to our awaiting family in Velaris. After Mor's persistent "check-in's" every hour, at Cassian's insistence she claimed, I decided to communicate mind-to-mind with Az; who's ever-present composed demeanor was always a comfort no matter the situation, even as I could sense his underlying worry for his High Lady. However, in between the few hours of sleep I allowed myself through the night, I updated and reassured him of Feyre's condition. But, when my mate awoke with a furrowed brow and a pained expression, I sent a direct order for him to send for the midwife and healer.

XXX

-Feyre-

The labor pains came in waves.

When I first awoke from the most tranquil state of sleep I had ever found for the duration of my pregnancy, the muscle contractions in my lower abdomen had felt like the twinges of pain I experienced during my previous cycles—uncomfortable and excruciating, but in the last decade I had learned different techniques in order to cope, such as curling up in a certain position on my side or alternating between heating and cooling blankets laid across my abdomen and back. Like the cramps associated with my cycles, these contractions pulsed and throbbed through my lower body, ripping across my back, stomach, and thighs, but were thankfully manageable with Rhysand's help. The minute a groan escaped my lips, Rhys sprang into action, sitting on his knees beside me and helping me sit upright. He let me squeeze his hand and led me through the controlled breathing exercises the midwife had shown us in preparation for this moment, and for the first few hours they were completely doable.

The tightening would build and build, washing over my body in a flood; my deep and cleansing breaths pushing them back down into nothing...until it all happened again minutes later. From the time the first wave consumed me and dissipated, a minute had barely gone by, and Rhys was still at my ear whispering terms of endearment and encouragement until Madja and our midwife arrived. The duo immediately began setting up our space with the supplies needed for the duration of my labor, and I watched them in a trance. Thanks to the healer and midwife's many lectures leading up to this event, I knew that part of me would be so focused on making it through this arduous process that the rest of the world would melt away. However, there was still a small part of me—perhaps the part tethered to the bond I shared with my mate, that was acutely aware of everything that was happening.

It was all so...primal. As the hours passed, my body continued to endure the waves of contractions and pain that continued to surge, mount, and flood my entire being. I knew what was happening, and despite the pain affecting my innermost being, that innate female shouldered on. Meanwhile, a tiny part of my consciousness watched from a distance at the bridge that connected me to my mate. It was that part of my psyche, the only part unaffected by the unadulterated anguish brought on contraction after contraction, that could hear Rhysand's words; that could register them and find the encouragement I needed in order to push past pain after insurmountable pain.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre's cries and shouts of agony were truly the worst form of torment I had ever withstood in the centuries I had been alive. For every pulse of pain that washed over her body, I wished with every fiber of my being that I could take it away. Despite knowing that I could was easily the hardest part in watching her suffer, but my mate had made me vow months in advance not to.

"Promise me you won't use your daemati abilities to ease my pain," Feyre had said softly.

It had still been fairly early in her pregnancy when she uttered those words; when we had taken a few days to ourselves in this very Cabin and whispered words of comfort and reassured each other that we would be different from our own parents. I had just promised my mate of the outstanding mother she would become for our son, and she assured me the same—dissuading any insecurities either of us had for our ability to be good parents. My forehead was still pressed against hers, eyes imploring as she stared at me meaningfully.

I raised my head, my gaze leveling with those stunning blue-grey eyes as I asked, "Are you sure, Feyre? The pain will be...considerable."

Kallias warned me as much in his letters following Eira's birth. While the experience had passed in a blur, those hours leading up to his daughter's birth had tortured a once vivacious and bright female. If the pains of labor could bring down even Viviane, I knew the same would be true for my mate.

Feyre simply nodded. "If Viviane could do it, if your mother could do it, then so can I," she insisted.

My gaze had softened as I cupped her face gently. "I have no doubt that you can do it Feyre, darling, but if I could make it easier for you-"

"No," she repeated. "Females have been doing it for centuries without any kind of pain relief, and as High Lady of the Night Court, I've more than proven I can handle this as well."

I brushed my thumb along her cheek gently as I nodded in agreement. While every feral instinct in me protested the allowance of my mates suffering, I shoved those intolerant compulsions away. This was Feyre's choice, she was the one carrying my child and would ultimately bring him into the world, so it was her decision on how she wanted to accomplish that task. My job now, as Kallias had outlined to me from his own account, was to support my mate through the ordeal.

"As my High Lady wishes," I purred before pressing another reassuring kiss to her brow.

Her returning smile was bright, those blue-grey eyes shimmering with adoration before either of us noticed the new tattoo forming in the shape of three small stars on both of our right pinky fingers. A small laugh rumbled in my chest as we both watched the stars take shape and solidify on our skin—evidence of our new promise.

"I must say, Feyre darling, if the centuries we have together are filled with more and more oaths between us, I may run out of skin," I teased.

My beautiful, perfect, mate only laughed, the sound resounding through our bond; its melody causing Sebastian's glimmer of delight to thrum between us a moment later.

XXX

-Feyre-

Rhys's was the only voice I could hear over my misery, and during those couple precious moments of respite in between surges of hurt. I was vaguely aware of my own howls of agony as my mate continued to coach me through each breathing exercise; guiding me back to calmer and more controlled breaths whenever they turned into angry or pain-filled sobs. I could hardly keep track of how much time had passed, or anything at all for that matter; my mind too focused on getting me to the end of each earth-shattering contraction. That innate part of me left on the bridge of my bond couldn't tell if the ground beneath me was actually trembling or not, and I was too exhausted to actually ask whenever the conscious part of my being was alert to my present surroundings.

There were slivers of minutes when I was able to hear Madja and the midwife, mostly talking to Rhys and offering advice; one suggestion being to actually get me out of bed and walking around the space of the Cabin. From what I could actually discern of the conversation the older females were having with my mate, they explained that any movement might help things along—staying idle and writhing in pain while lying in bed would apparently only prolong my suffering. So, while I was still aware, Rhys helped me out of bed; one arm wrapped around my back to keep me supported, and his free hand gripping mine. I kept my other on my hip, eyes closed as I shuffled out of the small bedroom with his help.

I could hear Rhys's voice again in my ear, full of nothing but love and support, as I felt the beginnings of the stabbing pain return. "You're doing so well, my love," he said softly.

I yearned for the peace the timbre of his voice once offered me, clung to the shreds of it as the next contraction sent me from my feet onto all fours on the ground beneath me. I could only feel Rhysand's hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles as I howled in pain, my groans staying loud as I followed the patterned breathing as best as I could. Somehow, this position—being on my hands and knees, made the contractions easier to cope with. Remembering the midwife's explanation that labor was such an exacting primal act in itself, that instinctual female in me realized that in order to carry on for the duration of this process I would need to follow whatever natural tendency wanted to take control.

Once the pain finally began to ebb away and my breathing regulated, I felt Rhys's hands try to lift me up. I shook my head immediately.

"No," I rasped. "This feels good," I said as I turned my head to meet his starlit gaze.

He nodded in return, hands resuming the comforting circles he made on my back whilst the magic of the Cabin supplied a plush blanket underneath me—to keep my bare hands and knees from being pressed to the hardwood floors. I realized then that my loose nighttime shift was the only piece of clothing I donned. Sometime between waking and now, Rhys must've used his magic to change me into simpler clothing.

"You won't be needing much else for this process," came the midwife's voice from behind my place on the floor in the middle of the sitting room; probably guessing my thoughts as I looked over my attire.

I raised my weary gaze to her, both her and Madja offering a kind smile in return as they sat on the settee across from me. "We've been performing hourly pelvic exams in order to check your progression in between contractions," the healer explained.

I nodded, vaguely remembering their voices explaining what they were doing and when during the few moments of alertness I had been granted thus far. Another part of me recalling the crucial details the midwife had previously explained to my mate and me. In order to reach the final stage of labor, the pushing stage, the opening of my womb had to reach a certain level of thinning out and my bag of waters hosting the baby would have to burst in order for him to pass through and officially enter the world.

"You're about halfway there," Rhys said, answering my unasked question.

"Of course, when the time comes, you'll feel that preternatural urge to begin pushing, which is a tall-tale sign for the final stage of delivery to occur," the midwife explained.

"How long has it been?" I asked, my voice hoarse from my earlier groans.

"Hours," Madja answered, waving a nonchalant hand. "The timing doesn't matter, so long as you and your youngling continue to tolerate the process well, there isn't anything to worry about."

"Which you are," the midwife added. "Doing well, I mean."

"You're doing brilliantly, Feyre darling," Rhys repeated, pressing a kiss to the side of my temple as he continued working those reposeful circles on my back.

I could only offer a brief smile in return before another gut-wrenching wave overwhelmed me once again.

XXX

-Rhysand-

There seemed to be no end to Feyre's suffering as pain continued to seize her body, the intervals of contractions growing shorter and shorter as the hours continued to pass. Still, in spite of my heart shattering every time the Cabin was filled with her agonizing wails, part of me watched my mate in admiration as she fought her way through the excruciating convulsions and followed whatever insights her body called her to do in order to manage each one. We switched from her position on the floor, to walking around the small space of the Cabin, leaning against walls and different pieces of furniture for support as the contractions persisted; the midwife and healer checking her progression with pelvic exams at every mark of the hour. The day was now transitioning into early evening, and the contractions were starting to last longer—to the point where Feyre could hardly speak, or barely register anything at all as she endured them. During those pain-free intervals, she was able to nod in acknowledgement at whatever few words were spoken to her, engage in brief conversation, or give a simple shake of her head when she wanted to continue moving around the room or into a new relieving position.

The stronger the contractions grew, so did Feyre's reaction to them. She still whimpered in pain, her groans nearly coming out as growls as she battled to keep pace with the breathing exercises I coached her through. But with my focus kept solely on my mate, I hadn't realized I was no longer updating Azriel until I felt a gentle plea from Mor. Feyre had just undergone another contraction when I heard Mor's timid entreatment. Apparently, my mate's roars of pain had been so profound, that they had shook the expanse of mountains across our court. I had been too engrossed with guiding Feyre's breathing to notice, but our family back in Velaris had. They knew it was a sign of things advancing; that the next heir of the Night Court would soon make his entrance. So, I updated them as quickly as possible, promising that my next update would come when Sebastian did, and turned my attention back onto Feyre.

XXX

-Feyre-

Somehow my journey around the Cabin had come full circle, and I ended up on all fours on the cushioned bed in the bedroom. In the time my last contraction ebbed away, and I found Rhysand's violet eyes to offer a bleary-eyed appreciative smile, I felt my body shift. Still panting and recovering the breath I had used during the last contraction, I gripped Rhys's hand, silently asking him to help me upright. He obeyed, and I leaned back against his chest for support as I rested on my knees with a sigh of relief...my eyes widening a second later when I felt a gush of water burst between my legs.

My head snapped in the direction of the mess now spreading on the once clean sheets of the bed before Rhys helped me off and back onto my feet, the magic of the house changing the sheets without a second thought. I stared wide-eyed at my mate, but he only smiled warmly in return before pressing a kiss to my brow.

"M-My...bag of waters broke," I said, still astonished.

He nodded. "Just like the midwife told us it would," he added, rubbing my back in reassuring strokes.

My hands held my stomach, suddenly feeling lighter at the loss of fluid that had built up over the last several months. "T-This is really happening, Rhys," I whispered, knowing this moment of clarity would soon pass as the next contraction started to edge back in.

"You're doing it, Feyre," he said with another kiss to my brow. "It's almost over."

I didn't have enough time to respond before the full weight of the contraction hit in an entirely different way than I had previously felt. Rhys helped me back onto the edge of the bed, and I gripped his hand hard as the pain began to mount and surge through me—a newfound pressure building at the base of my pelvis alongside with it, and my breaths came in fuller and deeper rasps. Madja and the healer, who had remained in another room of the Cabin to allow Rhys and me some privacy, must've heard the change in my breathing because they entered the room seconds later.

The words exchanged between the older females and my mate seemed far away, barely discernible to me as I closed my eyes in concentration. The painful pressure I felt continued to build, and I realized that preternatural urge to push was here. The groan that slipped through my lips must've been indication enough, because I soon found myself in the center of the bed with Rhys holding me upright and the midwife at my feet as she performed her final pelvic exam.

"It's time, my Lady," the midwife said, as I forced my attention on her. "It's time to start pushing."

My heart shuttered at the words, and I turned wide eyes to my mate, who kept an arm wrapped around my back, allowing me to partially rest against him while I squeezed his free hand.

You can do this, Feyre, darling

His warm voice echoed through the bond, reaching my innermost self left on the bridge between us, and I nodded as I felt the surge of pain return. I groaned as the intense pressure grew stronger, the urge to push becoming forceful by the second, and heard the combined voices of Madja and the midwife quickly instructing me on how to position myself on the bed. With my upper body being supported by Rhys, and my legs drawn up and open, I quickly sucked in a deep breath as the females instructed and bore down in my first push.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre pushed and pushed for what felt like hours, but in reality, I knew it had only been one—judging by the path of vanishing sunlight outside the window that finally gave way to night as it always did; dark orange blending into a mix of magenta and indigo before the all-consuming dark sea of stars swallowed them up and lit up the sky. I was all too familiar with that pattern, had watched it countless times in my lifetime, but had never felt it drag on as long as it had tonight. Perhaps Feyre's continued screams of anguish as she pushed were the reason why it felt so prolonged now, but I forced myself not to linger on watching it as I honed in on my mate.

She slumped against my chest, exhausted and spent after offering another hard push, and I dabbed at her brow and neck with a cool, damp cloth. I lost track of how many she had done but kept a brave face as I encouraged her further. She was indeed the strongest female I had ever seen in my centuries of life, and I held onto that reverence in order to battle the guilt that raged within me. It was my offspring she had grown in her belly; mine she now choked back tears for as she drew in another deep breath and pushed again, brows sweaty and furrowed in pure concentration, face red with splotches as she growled in pain with her effort.

It was both the most beautiful I had ever seen her, and the most harrowing.

While my chest ached with remorse for seeing my mate in such a state, it was also filled with so much more love and devotion I had ever felt towards her. I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she pushed, silently letting her know how much I loved her in this moment.

XXX

-Feyre-

"I can see the head my lady," Madja cheered as I pushed.

A snarl of agony ripped from my throat; my eyes still clenched in concentration. "Get it out!" I growled without breaking my effort.

"You're nearly there," came the midwife's response.

I groaned, panting heavily as I slumped against Rhys again. He whispered loving words of support as he dabbed at my face and neck to cool me down, and I knew the all-consuming heat I felt had nothing to do with my powers and everything to do with this struggle. Not even the messy bun I had thrown my hair into seemed to cool me down in between my endeavors, so I was grateful when Rhys had begun using a damp washcloth to provide relief—the only kind afforded to me during this ordeal. It was all starting to become too overwhelming to endure for much longer, and I felt my resolve slipping. My eyes met with Rhys's for a brief moment, and instead of offering him a tired half-smile I had done so far, I broke into sobs.

"I can't do this anymore, Rhys," I cried.

His hand squeezed mine, the starlight in his eyes flickering as the hand on my back tightened gently. "You can," he promised. "Sebastian is almost here, Feyre, just imagine our little Bash here at last,"

I sobbed at the thought, the images of my baby I had been dreaming of for months flashing through my mind before I felt the devastating pain returned. I cried again, loudly claiming I couldn't do it, and was met with a chorus of voices encouraging me—claiming I could, and would. Deciding not to keep fighting it, I rallied my strength together with another gulp of air and bore down with the hardest push I could offer.

My attempt heralded in another round of voices animatedly telling me to continue, and though I couldn't differentiate the female's voices, I heard one of them tell Rhys to watch as our son's head began to emerge. My eyes were squeezed shut with my effort, so I couldn't see the look on his face, but a yelp of pain emerged from my throat a second later as I felt the strain of my baby's head coming through with the force of my pushing. The midwife quickly told me to take several deep breaths instead, and I did as I was told, gasping aloud when I felt a painful burst.

"The head is out, my lady," the midwife said with a meaningful look as I finally opened my eyes.

I gasped for even breaths, nodding before I looked to Rhys; whose violet eyes were silver lined as they met mine. He had shifted to my side for a better view of our son coming forth, his and Madja's hands holding either side of me, balancing me upright.

"He's so beautiful, Feyre," Rhys said tearfully as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against mine, a tear trailing down the side of his cheek.

I sobbed again, bringing a hand to brush that tear away briefly before grasping his free one as my body yielded to another throbbing contraction. "Just one more big push, my lady, and your babe will be in your arms." Madja promised.

"One more, and you're done," Rhys vowed, repeating the healer's words.

Instead of voicing my agreement, I continued my hold on to Rhys's hand while I gripped my knee with the other and sucked in a quick gasp of air before offering what now had to be the strongest and hardest push my body could muster. My eyes squeezed shut as I fixed all of my attention into this push, near-feral growls emerging from my throat at the unbearable pain that tore through me, my cries drowning out the myriad of voices cheering me on.

Soon, however, all the pain vanished the second I heard the tiniest, most magnificent wail I would ever hear in my entire life.

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inanabsentia · 5 years ago

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Let’s look at the stages of Dabi realising he’s got hella a crush on gender neutral reader (from the League ofc)

I’ve wanted to write for Pretty flame boy for some time now SJSJSJSJSJJS 😔✋ also!! I’ve tried to make him as realistic as possible like how he probably would’ve been in the series

Okay, at first, when Dabi first joins the league, this man’s not going to really make an effort to interact with ya or anyone in the league in general because he’s pretty convinced that he’s the only one with an actual real conviction whilst the rest of the league are plain bloodthirsty morons running out just for fun

He probably notices you when you stand out from the rest. It doesn’t have to be elaborate or fancy but he’s a rather observant man so he notices the simple things like how you get along with everyone in the league but don’t necessarily agree or chime in with their bloodthirst and desire to kill just to...kill, come to think of it, it almost seems like maybe, just maybe, you might have a real purpose for being a villain though he doesn’t have an idea of what it is because you’ve not talked about it as avidly as Toga does about her and crushes (he still doesn’t get her crushes either)

Sometimes, you’d just sit in the bar hideout and just stay silent amidst all the chaotic banter and arguments that ensue in the league, contemplating on...something else, like you would rather be actually doing something meaningful rather than to just sit there and dwindle. Dabi notices that and gets curious though he doesn’t act on it because why the heck would he? When he’s got other better things to do, anyway

During missions, he notices your determination to get your end of your part completed as efficiently as possible with no complications whatsoever. He doesn’t always outwardly express his feelings but he does appreciate you for getting your job done like you should so that he could get this unexciting Mission over and done with

Slowly and slowly, your usually quiet self became more and more comfortable with expressing your opinions and thoughts towards certain topics and in some instances, he catches lil’ sentences here and there about you talking about how you believe heroism and the society which has conspired from it is flawed and how it should be changed,, he’s gotta say, even if it doesn’t necessarily align with what he believes, he still holds respect towards you for thinking this through and having an actual sense of goal

Likewise, the league chimes in and claps out of respect for ya as you make your speech about what you want to change about hero society (you didn’t even know you had an audience listening to ya because you were just talking to Toga and Twice,, even Shigaraki grunts in approval before turning away and focusing on his game wow) you awkwardly just look around the league and lock eyes with Dabi in the corner whose eyes are peering into your soul much to your discomfort except that his eyes didn’t look lazy but they had a glint to it, almost like he was staring at an utopia which never existed.

After 7 seconds of uncomfortable staring (7 seconds is actually pretty Long when you’ve got someone with pretty eyes staring at ya), you look away out of embarrassment like a shy person and Dabi notices that.

This time, he’s gonna do something about that, though. Nighttime falls, most of the league members are getting ready to leave and it’s just you and Dabi left in the bar. You stand up from your barstool and get ready for your department when a deep voice chimes in addressing you.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t think someone as quiet as you would have an actual conviction, let alone, contemplate on how flawed hero society is. Come to think of it, we think pretty similar, don’t we? ” Dabi mentions it with a wry smile (which was very handsome on the dude but it could’ve easily come off as a smirk too)

You shyly avert your eyes away and it makes the man chuckle a lil’ because you are quite the sight when you were just bravely voicing out your opinions on heroism and why its flawed and now,,? You were shy! It just seemed all cute to him

You bid your goodbyes and good nights to the dude and he reciprocates, being left in his thoughts once more

He does have an inkling that you might be the best member of the league in his eyes and he wants to know ya better,, to hear more about your opinions, of course and not for...he’s not having a crush is he? He stays silent for a while at this realisation and he could feel his heart rate quicken a bit and his body growing warmer (and he knows it’s not because of his quirk because he’s not currently activating it)

He lays in his bed and thinks about it more

Yeah, you were pretty cute, making him get all in his feelings and making him feel mushy all inside but he’s afraid he’d lose sight of his goals. But with someone as determined as you to reach your goals by his side, it won’t steer him away from his path, right? You’d both be a power couple, blazing through the streets of the city and overthrowing hero society in damnation,, he likes the idea of that

Yeah, this could work, he thinks to himself and he oddly slept peacefully that night unlike most other nights which were filled with terrors and nightmares of his childhood

The next time the league had a meeting, he valiantly went up and sat on the barstool next to ya and just rests his Chin on his hand and gazed at you like you were art— correction,, you are art and he stared and stared and stared before speaking up

“ I don’t know what you think about me, but I know I like ya a real lot after that day. I say we go on a Mission together without these bastards and get closer to our goals, how ‘bout that?” He shot a Cheshire grin towards you and awaited your reply

So, what would you say?

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bl-garbage · 4 years ago

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to dance is to unshackle

um, okay—how else do i express this buoyant happiness that Gaya sa Pelikula has awoken inside me? i’m in complete and utter awe. i did not expect a drop of what the sixth episode has brought us. more than satisfying, it’s utterly fascinating. this is quite a lengthy post, but if you have the time, please bear with me. and since we’re already here, let’s fucking dissect the shit out of this:

right off the bat, it’s sweet how consistently written Vlad was the entire time of the show. at the start of the episode, for one, he was concerned with Karl’s disposition, saying, “anong iniisip mo (what are you thinking)?” and, later on, as we know, he pops that question again in this episode. what are you thinking? always in limbo. true, it’s considerate, yet more than that, it’s always a sign of waiting for permission. Vlad has been like this since the beginning: observant and willing to reach out, confident on the surface, yes, but always afraid of going overboard.

that is not to say that Karl isn’t. in fact, the whole dynamics of their relationship rest on the fact that they can lean on each other and just be honest. many moments show this: Karl’s desire to shift; Vlad not getting into the film lab and Karl knowing something was up; the entirety of Vlad’s birthday; Karl and Vlad’s reticence to open up to Anna, in contrast with how comfortable they feel with each other. in a nutshell, they’re each other’s homes. more on this later.

the part i was most frightened at with this episode was when Karl finally told his parents his desire to shift. to be honest, personally, i wouldn’t know exactly how that pressure on Karl feels, as i was able to study the degree i wanted. yet, back then, i had already known that my parents, who wholly supported me just the same, would have wanted a degree that leaned on science or engineering. that still sucked to know. Karl’s situation is much more complicated. his desire to shift to another course is to make up for lost time, a sense of hurrying before it really becomes all too late. this was a heavy lot to take in. the disappointment and anger in his father’s face when he dropped the bomb was too much to handle. Karl had expected it, yet its impact still hurled shrapnel that he was not able to dodge, sustaining him with several wounds. it would be curious to see how his parents come to terms with his confession. i am certain that a number of people have connected with Karl here.

which brings me to another point. Gaya sa Pelikula creates these characters with their own agency. it’s touted as a BL series, yes, but our two main characters’ point is actually not to fall in love — but to live, part of which is to fall in love. they have their hopes and dreams and own burdens to carry, and while falling in love takes centerstage here, we see how they can stand alone, on their own two feet. falling in love is central to their growth, but it is evident that love is not the whole point of their existence.

speaking of which: ate judit. ah, yes, where do i even begin to explain the exquisiteness with which ate judit was written? how, after all of five episodes, it was only now did it make sense why judit was overly, unnaturally caring and protective, a mama bear that would not let anything happen to his little Vlad. now we know why: guilt.

imagine that. being told you were the reason why your whole family went into shambles. there is much vindication in Vlad’s line of questioning, “why would you say that to a child?” (god, i’m tearing up even as i write this.) this was a pivotal scene, with a focal point on judit, the likes of whom we cannot entirely fault for not knowing any better. the fact remains that we are still in an era that fails to understand the spectrum of gender identities and the far utopia that we seek, where gender and sex would not be a damning classification anymore. and for true allies, it is in admitting that they “didn’t know then what [they] know now” that their support gains more strength. it is in confessing where they got wrong, how harmful their actions were, and in the commitment to do more, that their promise is made good.

parenthetically, can we talk about Vlad’s mom as well? have you all noticed how her voice broke when she said, “siguraduhin mong hindi ka na itatanggi niyan, ha (just make sure he won’t deny you, okay)?” was that pain, or guilt even? i wonder if we’re ever going to see her. it would be a regret not to. for so long Vlad had thought that he was the reason his father left, and that his mother was mad at his queerness. i wouldn’t want this simple call to be the resolution that the show had for him. at any rate, we have two more episodes to await, so i am not going to strike my gavel on this judgment just yet.

but whereas Vlad found his longtime coming reconciliation with his sister, Karl had no one to turn to. his call to Vlad was a cry for help. it was heartbreaking to see him like this. Karl had always put up a fake smile against any adversity that had come his way. to him, these were trivial matters that would pass, and they did so — until now. after all he was, as we would later come to know, living a script that had been prewritten before he even came to being. that explains his nonchalant demeanor toward life, the seeming discontent behind those dead eyes, and a repeated hinting that he was always yearning for so much more. at the end of the call, Karl instinctively goes to the closet - and his proverbial closet - and sees the skeletons he had hidden inside, drop in a mess.

that it was Karl’s brother who was in the photo shook me. that past was so well thought out. things made so much sense in this episode: why Karl tried to fit in, why everything seemed so fake. why he was so discomforting to watch, even! that made sense now.

and what do you do when everything has become a mess? the once seamless film that had been rolling without any glitches now sprawled on the floor, entangled in a hodgepodge well beyond fixing. when that happens, what do you do? well, you dance.

i have so many things to say about faux masculinity. it is a fact undisputed that in this society, gender roles are still very much pillars that we have yet to dismantle. our genders have been geared toward performativity, and our consolation is the external validation we receive through the acts of fitting in. in the process, we lose sight of what we really want. we blur the lines between what is and what should be, in favor of what society has demanded upon us. Karl took that role and lived by it religiously. yet, those things has gone haywire in this episode. more than his parents, it was to himself that Karl has finally admitted that the act can be dropped now: the fixed posture, those rehearsed lines, that painfully faux masculinity, on guard all the fucking time. all of those things were dropped.

that is not to say that Karl was faking all of it. there is no denying that Karl has been a masculine person most of the time. but the show portrayed before us a discarded femininity that Karl had been trying to bury deep inside him — one that all people who have been and who are still in the closet know by heart. the thing is, all of us have masculine and feminine sides, the expression of which vary at different levels in different situations. sadly, we have been preconditioned to believe that male persons must be masculine, and female persons must be feminine. Gaya sa Pelikula acknowledges this hegemony, and then throws it away all the same. true, Karl may very well be comfortable in his masculine expression, but his femininity must also be allowed to grow. one cannot be complete without embracing the entirety of who they are. many have died — been killed — for simply living who they are. society has long been a vicious environment. but people have also long fought for their fundamental right to perform these things, and through them, we know that things can change. that things are changing.

it is against this context that imprints more meaning, more gravity to when we finally, finally see Karl dance. in every sense, his dance was the show’s climax for me. it is, quite emphatically, freedom incarnate.

when i say i fucking bawled at this scene, you best believe it.

quite important to note: when Karl sees Vlad, he stopped abruptly, only for Vlad to signal to him, in an OK sign, that what he was doing was perfectly fine. that Karl could be effeminate all he wants, and who the hell in this earth should care? this allowance has given Karl all the needed validation he will ever need, at least, for that one night where they could bare it all. it was only the two of them, but the house has never been more crowded, because their feelings have seemingly exploded and have been overflowing in a glorious climax for all of us to witness. in this scene, Karl has unshackled the chains with which he had been bound all that time, and it was Vlad who helped him finally break the last of those chains. in this moment, there was only pure bliss.

(that the song playing here was Ride Home by ben&ben is the perfect giveaway. for non-Filipino readers who have only listened to ben&ben now, check this band out. it’s one of the best bands to have ever come out of the Philippine music industry.)

and, of course, in this waterfall of emotions, it is only perfect to time the moment of their first kiss. they have accepted each other, haven’t they? in a meaningful act (the gravity of which we will only realize in full later when Vlad tells the story of his dad), Karl rumpled Vlad’s hair, but only after Vlad had already consented to it. then, afterward, it was Vlad’s turn to ask, what are you thinking? to which Karl had this—and i know we all expected it, nevertheless—to say: i don’t want to think anymore. then they kissed.

i swear to god. i only watched this for the 92432475781 time.

the denouement was so well put, too: now everything is put back into its own place. Karl’s brother. his death. his parents’ expectations. the substitution. Vlad’s father. his parents’ expectations. the horror of realizing one’s difference. the abandonment. in these stories, it becomes more and more permissible to believe that Karl and Vlad have easily found comfort in each other. to say that they are soulmates (as the creator, juan miguel severo, told on his twitter) is not an exaggeration.

and, make no mistake: Karl and Vlad did not find each other’s embraces out of pity. no. it would be unduly harsh to view them that way. rather, they found solace in each other’s embrace and warmth, but it is still they who will muster the courage to face their own demons. the only difference is, they now have each other to find some sort of release. they are not destructively dependent on each other; instead, they help each other grow into the versions of themselves that they can be proud of.

finally, a couple of small things: look at the way Karl was inviting Vlad to lie in bed with him. that simple gesture harks us back to the early days of their dynamics: Vlad had expressed that it was okay to share a bed, but Karl was adamant that they do not. Karl had once dreamed of Vlad joining him there, and that scared him shitless. in contrast to that, now we have this: Karl himself inviting Vlad, and Vlad accepting for Karl’s wholehearted invitation. the moment this happened, there was a consummation of the expression of their love. if they had their doubts prior to this, those could not have been more obliterated now.

needless to say, i fucking, fucking loved this. as one who has only ever written three fanfics (2gether and History 2!), all of which seemingly related to sleeping (what the fuck, do i have a sleep fetish or something), this ending to episode 6 is just the cherry on top.

their lines by the end particularly strike me. here we have Karl who wishes to create his own stories. on the other hand is Vlad who wishes that he be in charge of the endings, too. how do they do that? who knows? but the certainty that defines their pact is that they shall do it together, unbound and free to dance to the song they have chosen of their own accord. and that simple promise, made in each other’s tight embrace under artificially warm lights amid that early january weather, with no certainty at all of what tomorrow has to bring, has made all the difference.

in 34 minutes, Gaya sa Pelikula has, yet again, done more than we could have ever expected.

i just checked and this reached 2k words. i’m not even gonna attempt to proofread this anymore. anyway, this is all i have to say for now. i just simply cannot let go of the best episode i’ve seen in this show without expressing my own reaction to it.

(also: i’m thinking of writing a fanfic; that is, the morning after. just a one-shot, hopefully a cute one. as usual, an introspection of these characters, and what lies ahead. hope i actually get to write it!)

thank you so much, Gaya sa Pelikula. you are proof that things do change.

#gaya sa pelikula #ian pangilinan #paolo pangilinan #juan miguel severo #fanfic ideas have been brewing inside me #char #bl series #philippines #philippine bl series

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