#like they don’t realise how badly their deaths would impact the other

[theotherbuckley]

I know we say it a lot but a lot of our “I can’t believe Buck and Eddie can’t see what’s right in front on them” moments are the near death experiences. And it’s like we see how much they love each other. We see Buck clawing at the ground and screaming for Eddie so bad that he has to be pulled away by Bobby. We see how Buck needs to be pulled to the ground by Mehta because in that moment Buck can’t think about anything other than the fact that Eddie just got shot in front of him. We see Buck rolling under the truck to save Eddie despite being crushed by one just to save him. We see Eddie screaming for Buck and trying to lift his dead weight before resigning to lowering him. We see Eddie yell “do more”. We see it. But they don’t.

They feel all that grief but they don’t know the other one does too. Most of the time the other gets better and then they pretend that nothing happened or they dive into another relationship and run away. They don’t talk about how it felt to be the one watching (because it’s “not their trauma”).

I want one of them to see the footage of one of these incidents. I want Eddie to see Buck clawing at the ground or pulling him under the truck. I want one of them to see the other break and go:

Oh. I love you too.

[rurpleplayssims]

Thomas tried to smile through his panic but worried he would come across as ingenuous. 

His wife looked so small and yet so firm as she stood before him, her eyes tight with what he guessed was holding back her own tears of fear. They’d been married for just over three weeks and neither of them were about to give up a marriage, especially when Thomas remembered how hard he’d fought to get into a relationship with Althea in the first place.

He pulled her to him, desperately clasping onto her, almost too tightly as he felt his heart beat faster and faster. “Please don’t leave me Althea, please don’t!”

He heard Althea gulp audible in his ear “I don’t want to say it” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “ I don’t want to think any of it! I hate the idea of issuing an ultimatum. How does that make me look to you? I sound like I’m pressuring you into conforming with me. I don’t want to take any of your choice away from you, but you...”

She closed her eyes, trying to remain composed, despite how much she felt like her whole world was being turned upside down. 

She continued, her voice growing. “But...Thomas you didn’t tell me how you felt until after we were married. About something so important that would have far reaching impacts on both of us!  And what did you think I was going to say? You are asking me to give the blessing to your possible death! How...how could you?!” She sounded angry as she too clung to him.

His eyes watered and his voice trembled “I’m sorry, I’m a selfish bastard.”

She was taking deep breaths, trying to compose herself. But she shook her head every so slightly when he called himself selfish.

“I should’ve say this before” he admitted. “I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t realise how much it was important to me, I swear it! I didn’t want to not tell you....I just didn’t realise!”

She let him talk, feeling numb.

“I love you above everything else” he told her as she pulled back to meet her tear-filled eyes. He stroked her cheek and was reassured when she didn’t pull away from him. “I don’t want to lose you but if what I’ve done is unforgivable, I won’t blame you if you walk away.”

“Why should I be the one to walk away?” she hissed angrily. Her eyes were small and tight with her own irritation. “You brought this on us, not me!”

He nodded “I did, and I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause in which the pair of them stared at each other, eyes searching for truth and the belief in themselves to see if they could repair the damage that had been done to their young marriage.

Finally, Althea loosened her grip but still held onto his warm frame. “Do you want to start trying for a baby with me?”

He blinked, a little stunned. “Di-did you want me to father your children, after this?”

Althea rolled her eyes “I never stopped loving you, you bloody idiot, I’m just still so angry.” 

Her eyes narrowed again. “You knew I wanted a husband who I would have children with which is what you wanted as well. You knew this, and yet never once thought to voice your fear! It’s just so painful to find this out when you’re hurting me so badly, forcing this choice on me just because you didn’t tell me beforehand, and refuse to chose for yourself.”

He looked sadly at her, tears finally cascading from his eyes. “I love you so much Althea. I want to have a family with you...but how can you be happy with a man whose unhappy with himself? Do you want to see me depressed for the rest of our lives?”

“Is that how you view your future marriage with me?” Althea asked dryly, with ice behind those words. He cringed; he was just making this worse and worse!

“No, that’s not what I meant!” he hurried to say. “I mean, do you want me to be ashamed to even look at my children who share the fate as me? Do you want to see your husband flinch every time he looks at his kids because he sees the karma for that one stupid action? Them paying for my fuckup?”

Another pause as Althea thought over his words. From that angle, she could see what he meant. 

If only he’d told me this before! she thought in aguish. I could've prepared a much better response than divorce! For fuck’s sake Althea! I could’ve put the baby plans on hold and supported him through this time, rather than be angry at him! What kind of wife am I?! Clearly one who doesn’t deserve him!

“You should’ve told me this ages ago” she repeated, her words stern but her voice gentle, as were her eyes. “I know we cannot change that, but if anything, this should teach the pair of us to never lie by omission again. I need to trust you, as you need to trust me. This is a partnership and we are a team.”

“We are” he said, tears still falling down his face. He didn’t want to let her go in case she walked away and never looked back. She was much stronger than he was and already he’d let her down.

The third pause was one in which they both tried to decide if the damage was too much and to not think with their hearts so much. There was no doubt that they each loved each other, but was that enough anymore?

Thomas hesitated before he met her gaze again. When she looked at him, he saw a slight softening in her eyes and he steeled himself for rejection.

Very carefully, he lent forwards and brushed his lips to hers, paying attention to every sense in his body in case he needed to back off. 

As soon as he kissed her, he felt her tears escape as they washed down her face. He closed his eyes, cursing himself. He’d done this, he’d hurt her by not thinking, for not realising sooner, for not deciding for himself and inadvertently hurting her.

He didn’t kiss her for long and he pulled back to gauge her reaction, eyes full of concern. The fact that she saw that he was more worried about her than himself made the choice for Althea.

After taking a deep, steadying breath, she looked up at him. “I need some time to finish processing this” she told him, her voice giving no indication that she had tears silently running down her cheeks. “But I still want you as my husband. I want you, as you are. But if you’re not happy with who you are, I will not resent that. I respect that your fears are not meaningless and I will accept this burden with you, as a loving wife should. I still love you, despite how much you’ve pissed me off.”

His voice was shaky “I...I won’t do the testing if you truly don’t want me to do it, if it’s too much of a risk.”

She scowled at him “We’ve not had this fight for nothing Thomas. You’ve made your bed and we shall lie in it together.”

He wanted to grin but he just felt empty. He didn’t want to not get a cure, even if that made his wife happier. He was an awful person, a worse husband. 

She put her hand to his cheek and her eyes were the warm and kind ones he knew and loved. “I will not demand that you stay in a way that makes you unhappy” she told him firmly. “I will support you in your choice, even if it makes me very scared. And the reason why I’m scared is because I don’t want to live in a world where you don’t live and breathe. For that reason alone, I know that we can get through this.”

He released a breath, eyes still streaming from his eyes. “We can?” he said, words loaded with the hope he wanted her to hear.

She smiled, albeit it wasn’t a full smile but a smile nonetheless. “We both need some time, or at least I know I do.”

Thomas watched her face contort with pain and she spoke again, looking ashamed and guilty. “I’m sorry I that mentioned divorce. I thought you hadn’t told me because you didn't trust me. If you didn’t trust me, then did you want to be rid of me? It was a way for you to get out a marriage that would make you unhappy.”

Thomas stared at her in disbelief. “I never want a divorce” he told her with conviction so strong she couldn’t doubt him. “Never.”

Althea’s eyes watered again “I’m sorry” she whispered, putting a hand on his cheek. “I hurt you by saying that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Thomas pulled her close again and kissed her forehead tenderly. “We’ve now hurt each other and had our first row. Want to call it even, at least for the meanwhile?”

Althea clung to him and began to sob loudly but he saw her nod once before she sank into his arms.

Not the happiest way to end a round but we now move onto the Morgan household!

[bestofbucky]

The Signal (1/2)

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Angst, death, blood, canon level violence, swearing.

Summary:  You go on a mission with Bucky.

A/N: Part 2 will hopefully be up sometime soon.

“You ready doll?” Bucky asked as you were nearing your drop off point. 

You nod back, not trusting your voice. No matter how many times you have had to parachute from a quinjet it will never get easier. Of course, Bucky can tell how nervous you are by the way you avoid eye contact and start tugging at the straps of your harness. He pulls your hands away replacing them with his own as he safety checks your parachute.

You know that you have done it all correctly but having him double check it is the reassurance you need. You watch him, his slightly furrowed brow and tongue poking out giving away how concentrated he is. 

He finishes his final check and looks up at you, “What are you smiling about?” He can’t stop his own grin from spreading across his face. Bucky didn’t just smile with his mouth, he smiled through the crinkles in the outer corners of his eyes, he smiled through the scrunch of his nose and he smiled through the relaxation of his whole body.

“You.” The contentment you feel, that comes from simply being near Bucky, is obvious in your body language and voice. His eyes glimmer as he leans forward pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

Bucky had joined the team about two years ago. For one of his first missions you were paired up, you worked so seamlessly together that it would be silly not to put you with each other for more missions. This resulted in the two of you becoming close friends, he trusted and confided in you and you felt the same. 

It would be normal for the two of you to be holed up together after a tough mission, looking after the other but not wanting any social interaction with anyone else. You were both extremely similar like that, tending to fall inwards but you both became experts at drawing the other one out.

It was a natural transition from friendship to romantic relationship. You had just come back from mission and you were cuddled up in Bucky’s bed watching a film. Bucky had turned to you out of the blue and asked if you wanted to go on a date with him to which you immediately agreed. The feelings were already there from the bond you had formed, it was just the physical side that was needed.

This wasn’t a difficult thing to develop for either of you. Bucky had never met someone who completely overwhelmed his thoughts and feelings as much as you did. You were always on his mind whether it was a comment Sam made that he knew you would be on the floor laughing at or a mental picture of you sleeping, the morning light making your skin glow softly. He thought you always looked like an angel but especially in those moments.

You had never met anyone who's laughter was so infectious, it had become addicting to be the one to pull those noises from him, to lose yourself in his lopsided grins and crinkled eyes. He drew you in like a butterfly to nectar. You couldn’t get enough of him. His voice, his hands, his kisses.

This mission, on paper, was a simple one. Apart from jumping out of a quinjet and landing onto a moving train, all you and Bucky had to do was stop an illegal trade. That’s it. The mission file didn’t cover who the parties involved in the deal were. From your experience, being trained at the Academy and moving up the ranks of SHIELD before finally becoming an Avenger, you know that illegal trades are normally between civilians who are in over their heads in some kind of criminal group. However, not long into the mission you realised it wasn’t simple at all.

It turns out that one of the ‘unknown parties’ is Hydra, never a good sign. The weapons they are dealing are enhanced with alien technology and they somehow knew that you and Bucky were coming. The only reason the mission didn’t get pulled is because the rest of the team was on standby, ready to step in at any moment.

In fact, the job got so complicated, so quickly, that you and Bucky found yourselves at the back of the train, severely outnumbered and being pushed closer and closer to the edge of the train where the back wall had been blown to pieces by the very weapons involved in the trade.

It was loud, the sounds of fighting were drowned out by the noises of the wheels on the tracks. The train was moving fast and the wind was whirling around the carriage meaning just one misstep could send you flying off the train and landing on the tracks below.

There was a moment when you thought you were a goner, but Bucky managed to haul you back into the carriage, putting himself between you and the edge of the train. A move that warmed your heart, knowing his history with trains was not a good one.

“I fucking hate trains.” You remember him saying when you had first got the mission brief. “Nothing good ever happens on trains.” You had laughed back then, but there was nothing funny about the situation you were in now.

The next ten seconds seemed to happen so quickly. One of the attackers yelled something in what you assumed to be German, he was holding the weapon you recognised to be the same as the one that blew out the back wall of the carriage. Next thing you knew Bucky had wrapped his arm around you and was launching you both off the train. 

Time slowed and you seemed to float mid-air as you watched the carriage go up in flames, shrapnel flying everywhere, the heat burning your eyes and forcing them closed. Then came the impact of the fall, quite luckily Bucky had managed to aim for the snow on the sides of the train tracks and not in the train tracks themselves.

Bucky immediately sits up and sends the signal for extraction, he then starts checking himself for injuries. You are lying on your side facing him, half your body concealed by the snow, the other half just poking out. His eyes travel to you as he looks over your body.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” The concern was clear in his voice.

“No, I think I’m ok.” You try to move yourself but wince slightly. “I think I landed funny though because my side hurts.” You manoeuvre yourself onto your back. As soon as you get your right side out of the snow a gasp causes you to snap your head towards Bucky who is just staring in shock at your stomach.

His eyes are wide, eyebrows slanted upwards and mouth open slightly. You know whatever it is can’t be good. Gathering up the courage to look down at your stomach, you lift up onto your forearms. Finally looking down, the sight causes bile to rise and you have to stop yourself from gagging. A piece of shrapnel about the size of an A5 piece of paper is sticking out of your side. There is so much blood around it that it is hard to tell what it is and how deep it has gone.

It’s as if looking at it made it real because the pain suddenly hits you. Out of instinct your hand flies towards the wound to try and hold it or soothe it but Bucky quickly catches your hand stopping you. It’s like a flip switched in his mind. He suddenly starts stripping off his clothing. He takes his shirt and undershirt off before putting the rest of his gear back on. He moves behind you, placing his legs either side of you and lifting your upper body carefully, so you are now leaning on him. He manages to wrap your wound, careful to go around the shrapnel to try to stop the bleeding, but not push it in anymore. He continues to do the same with as much of his clothing as he can afford to lose in the snow. He takes your left hand and puts it over the clothing, then places his hand on top, telling you to press down as hard as you can, as he does the same.

You start to feel lightheaded, the pain in your side only getting stronger.

“Stay with me doll, backup is on its way. They’ll find us.” Bucky is practically begging and you try your hardest to keep your eyes open.

“You were right.” You say after a while and Bucky gives you a puzzled look. “Nothing good ever happens on trains.” You chuckle at your own joke but quickly stop when it causes shooting pains to fly through your body.

Bucky lets out a sharp breath from his nose. “When you get through this you will be able to join my ‘I survived a fall from a train’ club.” He jokes smiling down at you.

“I can’t imagine there are very many members of that club.” You smile back at him and he laughs, you can tell he is trying to distract you but you let him anyway.

“No, at the moment it’s just me. The events the club holds are very fun though!” His eyes light up as he continues to look down at you. “We’ve had freight night, that was watching scary movies that have a train in at some point. There’s train reaction, which is like the telephone game, that one was quite difficult with one person.” He laughs at himself which makes you giggle, trying not to contract your stomach. It doesn’t work and the shooting pains are back. The smile is still clear on your face and Bucky reaches his free hand up to push a bit of hair behind your ear.

“Bucky.” You whisper to get his attention, the words you want to speak are clear in the look of longing in your eyes. 

“No, baby please I don’t want to hear you say whatever you are going to say. You fight through this and you can tell me whatever it is when you’re better.” A frown is clear on his face.

“But I-“

“Please doll. You want to tell me whatever it is so badly, then use it as a reason to fight this. To come out the other side.” You scan his face and from the crease lines in his brow and the desperation in his eyes you can tell he already knows what you want to say.

You both fall into a comfortable silence. You realise being in Bucky’s arms is probably your favourite place to be. Feeling his chest steadily rise and fall, your head gently moving with it. You feel so protected, cherished, peaceful.

That is until Bucky looks down at your stomach to see that all the clothing he tried to use to wrap the wound has been completely soaked in your blood, he visibly winces. You move your head slightly to try and get a look but Bucky uses his free hand to tilt your chin up so you are looking at him instead. He holds the eye contact as he takes his jacket off and drapes it over you, covering your wound from your sight and warming you up as much as he can.

As secretively as he could, he sent the signal out to the team. The signal only used in extreme emergencies. Three long holds. The signal to say an agent doesn’t have long left to live.

The sharp sting of the cold has faded into exhaustion as the pain retreats from your body leaving behind a numbness you have never experienced before.

“I always thought I’d be alone.” You say pensively, “I never thought about death too much. I just always assumed I’d be alone when it happened.” You were slurring your words. If you were more aware of your surroundings you would have felt Bucky tense up at your words. Looking up into his blue eyes you wondered if death would be as serene as them.

“You’re not alone. I’m here.” Bucky’s once motivational words, convincing you to hold on, shift to words intended to comfort you, to draw out the fear of your final moments and replace them with solace. You had closed your eyes, his reassuring whispers gradually fading away as he cradled you close to his chest. You wanted to be able to hear his heartbeat but all you could hear was the erratic beating of your own heart pounding in your head. 

In the far distance you felt commotion around you so you used what was left of your energy to open your eyes one final time. The sight you were greeted with sent a wave of emotion through you. Your team members, your friends, they were all gathered around you, kneeling or standing in the snow.

“My family is here.” You smile to yourself as you let the tiredness overtake you. The last thing you feel is an ice cold tear rolling down your cheek. An overwhelming sense of calm consumes your body and your worries and fears simply fade to nothingness. 

Bucky knew even before the Avengers turned up that your chances of surviving this were slim. You were bleeding out fast and it was showing no sign of slowing. It killed Bucky to know that all he could do was make you as comfortable and reassure you as much as possible in your final moments of life.

When the team got Bucky’s first signal, the plan was for just Tony to go down and retrieve you both. Then the second signal came in. They all silently agreed they would land the quinjet and all go together, maybe to say goodbye if they had enough time. If not, just to be with you when you take your last breath. They all knew that there was nothing any of them could do.

What none of them could have predicted was Helen Cho and a SHIELD team transporting the cradle from one base to another. The flight path directly over your current location. Their quinjet picked up Bucky’s radio signal and they made the choice to land to see if they could help.

Upon arrival Helen rushed straight to you, checking for signs of life, she must have felt something because she ordered for you to be put in the cradle as quickly as possible.

Bucky was frozen, no he wasn’t cold, he was a super soldier, the cold barely affected him. He was simply in a state of daze, unable to move himself to get you into the cradle. Steve could see this and swiftly took you into his arms carrying you onto the other quinjet and placing you down in the cradle. As soon as you were secure Helen was directing a team of people to all do different things. Steve stepped out of the jet, not wanting to get in the way.

No one spoke, they all had their hopes that you would be ok, but no one was particularly optimistic. 

“We’ll take her to my lab, she’s not in a good condition and this jet can only sustain the cradle for so long, we can take one or two of you in this jet with us, but feel free to follow in yours.” Helen had stepped out and as soon as she finished her sentence it was like a flip switched inside everyone.

The team made their way back onto the quinjet but Bucky hadn’t moved, he was bathed in your blood, a ring of red surrounding him a stark contrast to the blinding white of the snow. Bucky gratefully accepted Steve’s hand helping him onto his shaky legs. He looked down at where he had just been. The red crater left in the snow told the story of what had happened but Bucky still couldn’t quite believe it.

Steve’s hand on Bucky’s shoulder guided him to the quinjet you were in. He sat there staring ahead unable to do anything more, Steve stayed close by his side but knew not to push anything.

“She wanted to tell me something.” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence but his gaze stays fixed ahead. “She wanted to tell me something and I couldn’t let her finish because I wanted to stay strong for her.” Steve stays silent knowing he wasn’t finished. “I didn’t let her say anything because I knew I would have broken down in front of her.” He continues as tears start to fall from his eyes. He feels everything, guilt, regret, pain, loss, hope but at the same time feels nothing at all. His body numb and still in shock.

“What if it was her dying wish to say whatever it was and I took that away from her.” A crack in Bucky’s voice causes Steve’s heart to contract. He pulls his friend into a hug, Bucky gladly accepting the comfort.

“We both know what she was going to say Buck,” Steve takes a deep breath to try to stop himself from crying, “and we know how she is. If she thought for one second you didn’t know what she was going to say, then she wouldn’t have let you stop her from saying it.” 

Of course Bucky knew what you were going to say because he felt it too. He knew, because to kill you both only one of you actually had to die.

Taglist: @vampirewithbedsidemanners @townwitchbitch @velvetcardiganbucky

[itsbeaker-bxtch]

Circe and Loki’s relationship timeline

I made a timeline to help me write my fan theories and fanfictions so why not post it one here ? It includes TS2, PSP, TS3 lore, as well as some of my own toughts. Feel free to add. 

Toddler :

Loki grew up well in Aurora Skies. Circe was not so lucky, as she grew up well in Strangetown but with absent parents.

Child :

Circe met Vidcund and they quickly became best friends.

Loki continued to grew up well and got a baby sister (Erin). His parents started thinking about moving to Strangetown. Lurking on the internet he met Circe in a chatroom (according to the PSP lore). That could explain how they met as children while they were in two different cities.

Once Erin became a toddler, the Beaker move to Strangetown.

Teenager :

Loki became a teenager after moving in Strangetown. He was beat up by Buzz (maybe because he was the new nerdy kid?) and made best friends with Circe.

Circe and Vidcund kiss for the first time and formed a steady relationship, only to break it up after Vindcund wet himself. (We are not sure if this is related). Circe then lost her estranged father. Loki and her kiss for the first time and they both grew up well.

Adult :

Circe lost her mother before her and Loki started their career. They never went steady and focus on their job. Loki started to progress very quickly in the scientific career, Circe started being promoted herself. They fell in love with each other (I think their interest in weird expriments, as well as their career choices brought them closer). 

Once their careers on the go, they got engaged and married. They consume the marriage quickly. The couple moved to the Castle and allegedly started their expriments in their own laboratory. (Perhaps Loki built their machines since they couldn’t get them as career rewards yet). 

They adopted Nervous who grow up badly under their care, suggesting they started their experiments early on. Loki and Circe continued to excel in their careers. With their subject becoming an adult, Circe is asking herself if this situation could impact her promotion . This is where TS2 game left us. 

According to the PSP lore  : 

After Nervous death (or runaway with Pascal, depending on your canon/gameplay), they kidnapped a garbage man as new test subject. Loki was secretly keeping patent away from his wife. Circe started a not-so-consensual affair with Dr. Dominic Newlow. (In the game she stated that she wasn’t feeling herself with him, probably referring to the mind control, admitted that even if she does terrible things to people she would never betray her husband and don’t want him to take offence). The disclosure of their secrets lead to a huge fight between the couple, altough they confirmed wanting to stay together. 

The rest is up to the players. I personally like to think they forgave each other as I really see their couple working as a team against everybody else. Also, I can see Loki understanding the mind control thing, and Circe realising she must stop being a control freak about money. But that s my personal take.

[americxn]

Run

Kai accidentally confesses his love to you ╔═══════════════╗      warnings: violence ╚═══════════════╝

word count - 3k a/n - sorry about how badly this is written, I was so tired when I was writing it Shit, shit, shit, shit. Fuck. Oh fuck.  You held your phone in a death grip as you stood frozen in Kai’s bedroom, Beverly’s frantic voice fuelling a panic within you like you had never felt. “He’s coming, y/n. He left here around ten minutes ago, I’m so sorry I couldn’t call earlier I had to get away from the others first.” You ignored her panic-stricken apologies, striding to the door and pushing it open before hurrying down the stairs of Kai’s house, terror, deep and immobilizing, unfurling in your chest. “Is he driving?” You barked down the phone, not directed at your friend but at the situation you now found yourself in. That piece of shit had ratted you out. And gotten away with it. “Yes. Please tell me that you’re out of the house, y/n, he’s coming for you.” Beverley’s last words, the desperation and fear in her voice, igniting a new level of alarm within you. Fear for you. The thought settles over you like ice water, a truly horrifying realisation that hit home sharply, pushing you to go faster.  Throwing on your shoes hurriedly and grabbing the first set of car keys your hand found in the pot beside the door, you threw open the door and took the steps down two at a time to the driveway, thanking Beverly and breathlessly promising to ring her as soon as you were in the clear before hanging up and pocketing your phone. You pressed the ‘unlock’ button on the car keys, sprinting for the car that beeped in response and lunging for the door. It was one of Kai’s cars. And not a cheap one. This thought added to the terror burning deep inside you, although you knew it didn’t matter. If Kai caught up to you, you were dead, stolen car or not.  Brain switching to autopilot, you turned on the engine and reversed quickly off the drive and sped off through the neighbourhood, your eyes glued to the rear-view mirror incase Kai rounded the corner behind you. “FUCK.” You shouted, slamming a hand on the steering wheel as you hurtled through the neighbourhood.

He had given you up, had ratted out your ass just so he could stay alive. If you weren’t dead within the next week you made a silent promise with yourself to return and kill the little prick.  A new boy had joined the cult two weeks ago. Kai had informed you that was only seventeen and you had been taken by his timidness, decided to sit with him at meetings, sacrificing your position next to Kai on the couch to ensure that none of the brutes in the cult dared to pick on the poor boy. He revealed to you that his name was Liam and that his parents had kicked him out of their house after he was expelled from his high school, leading to Kai having found him and manipulating the boy to joining the cult by offering him the promise of a place to stay until he was able to get a job and support himself. But, after only four days in the cult, after you and Liam had begun to hang out before and after meetings, he revealed to you that he was terrified of Kai and everyone else who was involved with him and that he wanted to leave. As a long-term member of the cult, you knew how that would turn out and convinced Liam to let you help him find a safe way out. But he had thrown that back in your face, all in an attempt to prove his worth to the cult and get in Kai’s good books by getting you, Kai’s favourite member, thrown out of the group. Beverly had explained to you on the phone that Liam claimed to Kai that not only were you plotting to kick Liam out of the cult, which was the partial truth, but you were planning on killing Kai and taking over as cult leader. And Liam had taken the opportunity to tell Kai this on today’s mission, which conveniently involved you staying at Kai’s house and carrying out your role from there whilst everyone else was together at the site of the mission.  And now Kai was coming to kill you. He would always take the words of a man over those of a woman, no matter how close to him you though you were.

This thought spurred your foot to press harder on the accelerator and soon you had made it out of the neighbourhood, Kai still nowhere in sight.  You kept driving, eventually making your way out of the city, hands gripping the wheel so hard that your knuckles turned white as you turned onto the back roads, only now just slowing your pace a little to accommodated the thinner, winding tracks. You jumped with a harsh gasp as you phone started buzzing in your back pocket and you fished it out with one hand, icy dread turning your blood to slush as you read the display name: Kai.  Chucking your phone on the seat beside you, you decided that it was just best to ignore it. After about a minute of ringing, each buzz resonating within you and feeding to your panic until your chest was so tight it was difficult to take a full breath, your phone fell silent, the screen going dark.  Letting out a breath, you leant your head back on the headrest, forcing yourself to breathe through your terror as you drove further and further out of the city, having no idea where you were going and just wanting to put as much distance between you and Kai as possible.  And then the screen on the dashboard of Kai’s car lit up, the sound of ringing filling the vehicle and Kai’s name flashing on the screen. A wave a nausea filled you as you realized that Kai wouldn’t leave you alone until answered him and as you reached out to press the ‘accept’ option on the screen, you began to cry, deep-rooted dread unfurling in the pit of your stomach.  The car fell silent as the call connected you, your poorly suppressed sobs filling the car, turning to hiccups as Kai finally spoke.  “Y/n.” He spoke your name, not as a question but as a command. You took a shaky breath, keeping as silent as you could, trying to mask your painfully obvious sobs. “Turn around. Come back to me.” He spoke slowly, as if talking to a frightened animal, his calm tone fuelling your eagerness to get the hell away from him as fast as you could. He sighed when you didn’t reply. The car fell silent for a beat before he added: “If you don’t come to me, I’ll come to you.” His unspoken words rang through your head. ‘If you make me come to you, I’ll just take more time killing you. I’ll be more creative.’ And like hell would you go to him, like you were his dog and he your owner. Your mounting fear only confirmed this but you pushed the thought aside. “I won’t come to you.” You hiccupped, “you’ll only kill me.” Hating your sobs, you gritted your teeth painfully as you waited for his response. “Y/n. You’re driving in my car. I’m tracking your location, I can see where you are.” You breathing hitched as he added lowly, his voice reverberating around the car, “you might want to slow down.”  “I’m sorry about the car, Kai. I’ll leave it somewhere and message you the location. Please leave me alone.” You whispered the last part quietly, voice cracking pathetically.  “I’m not interested in the car if you’re not in it.” He cooed, before adding, “oh, there you are.” You froze, fingers going limp on the wheel as you flicked your eyes to the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of a black car rounding the corner behind you. You yelped and slammed your foot into the accelerator, Kai’s chuckle filling the car. “You didn’t think I’d sit at home and let you get further and further away from me did you? Now fucking stop the car.”  Your heart leapt, thudding hard and fast at the raising anger in his tone as you pushed the car to drive even faster, hurtling around corners, Kai easily matching you in speed. You jammed your finger onto the ‘decline’ option on the screen before you, cutting Kai off as your breaths began to come out even shorter. This car would never be fast enough, Kai would drive after you until you ran out of gas, fuck he would drive after you to the ends of the world, just to feel your warm blood coating his rough fingertips. Your terror almost kept you driving blindly, flight overpowering fight, but you forced the practical thinking part of your brain into motion and beginning to weigh your odds of escape. As you rounded a particularly sharp corner, you saw the opening to a little side road branching off the main road you drove on and a reckless plan formed in your head.  You eased off the accelerator slightly, not giving yourself time to scare yourself out of what you were about to try and do, a glance in the rear view mirror confirming that Kai was gaining on you. You forced your rapid breathing to steady, trying to sharpen your focus as the opening to the side road got closer and closer, your hand settling over the handbrake. 10 yards. 5 yards. 3. Your stomach flipped as you yanked the handbrake up, the car screeching as you gritted your teeth, willing the car to stop at the angle you wanted it to, so that it lay across the road diagonally to stop Kai from following you any further by car. Before the vehicle had stopped moving, you had your seatbelt off and your phone in hand and had lunged for the passenger side door, throwing it open and forcing yourself out clumsily as Kai screeched to a halt behind you, the impact of his car hitting yours causing you to fall the rest of the way out of the car and you landed hard on your hands and knees.  Fuck, he would be pissed about the cars.  He shouted in fury after you, his own car door slamming shut with enough force that the sound echoed after you. But you were already running, you hands stinging but your mind clear as you hurtled around the corner and into the side road, praying to any god that might be listening that there was a house, a car, a person out walking, anything or anyone that would be able to help you. But the road was empty. A horrible feeling settled over you as you ran. How far out had you driven? Kai barked your name, forcing you out of your panic-clouded thoughts and you turned your head quickly to catch a glance of him over your shoulder.  His face was contorted with rage as he ran after you, his eyes narrowed into slits as his teeth gritted in effort, his jaw tight. He was gaining on you. You tried to push yourself faster but your thighs burned in protest, your arms groaning as you urged them to pump faster and your ankles beginning to buckle.  Your breaths sawed raggedly in and out of your lungs, the wind ripping your hair free of its ponytail. Remembering that your phone was still clutched in your hand, you racked your brain frantically, willing yourself to think of anyone that you could call that would save you. But the police wouldn’t do anything, they were terrified of Kai.  And anyone else you got roped into this would end up dead alongside you and-You yelped as Kai’s weight slammed into you, sending you both barrelling to the hard concrete of the road, your head taking the brunt of the impact as it collided with the road. Hard. Your phone was knocked from your grip and you tried in vain to blink away the stars in your vision at the impact as Kai flipped you over, one of his hands grabbing both of your wrists in his and another pinning you to the concrete by your throat. Warmth dripped from your temple and a part of you wanted to laugh, the other part willing your brain to shut down at the pain that you surely be forced to endure; Kai had had his hands on you for less than a second and you were already bleeding. “You bitch.” He spat in your face as you blinked at him vacantly. His hands clamped down onto your throat even tighter, the breath you dragged in enough to centre your focus and pull you back into reality.  “Please.” You choked, a sob racking your body painfully. His face softened in mock sympathy as he cooed a sarcastic “awe” at you.  “Poor traitorous whore. You can’t even fight me off can you?” He lifted your body up an inch off the road by your throat before slamming you back down in emphasis. Skin tore where his nails gripped your throat as he dug them into your flesh, your bones bleating from the second impact.  He leaned down, putting his lips by your ear, strands of his blue hair brushing against your cheek. “I don’t know why I let you into my cult, pathetic bitch.” A sob forced its way out of you, his words slamming into you with just as much force as the concrete did as he lifted you again and pushed you back down. Your vision blurred as his released your throat, quickly replacing his hand in your hair in a tangled grip as he yanked you up and began to walk back to his car, dragging you after him, your knees scraping against the rough road. You struggled to right yourself and find your footing as the blinding pain of being pulled along by your hair seized you and you screamed pitifully. “Kai, please.” You gasped, your own hands finding his wrist and trying to loosen his grip on your hair, the pain radiating through your scalp becoming two much as you began to loose your grip on consciousness. Kai seemed to realise this and released you, turning to watch as you hit the floor with a grunt and attempt to crawl away from him, your fingernails splitting as your dug them into the rough surface of the road.  He laughed, stepping forwards and wrapping his arms around your torso before hauling you up and pressing your back to his chest.  Nausea roiled in your gut.  “Kai. K-Kai, please.” You sobbed, fighting to suppress the retch that tried to force its way out of you. Kai hauled you towards his car, his phone appearing in his hand as he opened the passenger side door and shoved you in the car, kicking your legs in before laying a hard slap down on your face and slamming the door. You watched, cheek burning, too weak to try and get out of the car and terrified of being hurt more as Kai brought his phone to his ear, making his way round to the drivers side of the car and getting in.  “Yeah, I need you here.” He grumbled into the phone. Your head lolled to the side to look at him, terror glinting in your eyes. “The keys are still in the car, I don’t care how you do it just get my car back to my house.” You could briefly make out a voice babbling nervously on the other end.  “Just come.” He barked suddenly and you whimpered, your body jolting in response to his tone.  Hanging up, he chucked the phone into the backseat, watching in cruel amusement as you looked after the discarded device longingly. Quickly, he had the car turned around in the road and you were driving again, back the way you came. You could feel the blood dribbling from your temple, matting your already knotted hair. You had your eyes trained on Kai, your body jumping every time he moved his hands so much as an inch in your direction. Kai glanced at you, his face completely devoid of any emotion.  “Ask.” He demanded, turning his eyes back the road. You knew what he wanted of you, the same question that he wanted to hear you utter the only thought floating around your head. You swallowed slowly, your own fear causing you to give in.  “How are you going to do it?” Your voice was thick and it was a struggle to keep the words steady.  He took another glance at you, eyebrows quirking up in surprise. And then he laughed.  “Oh, y/n.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to kill you.” Your heart swelled in hope.  “Why the fuck would I kill someone I love?” He mused in amusement, shaking his head back and forth slowly. Realisation dawned upon your foggy brain as his words settled over you. “You- what?”  “I said I’m not going to kill you.” He replied hurriedly, as if he only just realised what he had said. Silence fell and he cleared his throat. “Don’t get too excited.” He muttered, all of his attention fixing back on the road. “By the time I’m through with your punishment, you’ll most likely wished I had just killed you.” His promise chilled you to the core, even as a strange fluttery feeling filled your stomach at his accidental confession.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄18

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rap, fingering, blow job, blood, violence, death, some elements may be untagged.

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit (with sides of dark!Steve and dark!Thor). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Did I write another ending? You’re damn right. Enjoy another finale as I try to decide what I’m doing next because I dunno...

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

masterlist

The red dress slid up on your thigh as you crossed your legs. You tapped your bottom lip with your fingertips. The radio buzzed with some British punk group you’d never heard of as Thor gripped the wheel and reclined. You sensed his quick peek over at you and looked back from the corner of your eye.

You were anxious even if you were confident. You had no idea what Bucky had planned but you knew that this trip wouldn’t go as smooth as expected. You sighed and leaned back as you dropped your arm and uncrossed your legs. You had to get Thor off-guard, it was simple enough to distract him.

You let your hand trail along your thigh and took a deep breath so your chest rose. Your hem slipped up even further and you closed your eyes. He hummed and you tried not to grin. You knew he was fighting to watch the road and not you. The moment you appeared in the short red number and matching lipstick, he was on the hook.

“Long ride,” he said coyly, “it’ll be nice to get away, eh?”

“From those two? Any day,” you answered as you opened your eyes, “I’ve just been so…” you let your fingers dangle down between your thighs and quickly retracted it as if it wasn’t at all deliberate, “tense.”

“My brother can be a handful and that American,” he said, “I can see how you’d be so worked up.”

You squirmed and pushed your knees further apart. His hand suddenly clapped down on your thigh and he squeezed. He glanced in the rearview and you bit your lip. You rested your hand on his and felt his fingers go rigid. 

“Loki--

“He doesn’t know about before, he won’t know now,” Thor growled as he kneaded your leg.

“I don’t know…” you let your voice trail off, “he’s already so mad at me--”

“I won’t say a word,” he purred.

You swallowed and watched your own fingers. You had to do it. It would dull his defenses. You urged his hand up your skirt and pushed your pelvis forward on the seat. He barely kept the car steady as he felt your bare cunt.

“Oh, honey, you want it badly, don’t you?” he pushed between your folds without hesitation, “no panties…”

“Habit. Your brother demands it,” you rasped as he rubbed your clit. You couldn’t help but quiver.

He was quiet as he kept his fingers moving and listened to your shuddering breaths. You played them up with moans and groans as you arch your back and gripped the door.

“If you prefer me, I could…” his fingertips slickened as they explored further and he prodded along your entrance, “I could take you away. You’ll be far enough before he even knows.”

“Oh…” you gasped, “but… why would you… do that?”

“Look at you, honey,” he taunted, “that cunt--” he shoved a finger into you as he leaned awkwardly over the space between your seats, straining to keep his gaze on the road, “I can’t even fault my brother for his distraction.”

“God,” you squeezed his hand between your thighs as he pushed another finger into you.

It became less of an act as you latched onto his wrist and rocked your hips. His thick digits filled you and curled as the tide rolled through you. You were close to cumming, all the better as he had to buy into your desperation.

“You’ll really take me away?” you whined, “really? I have no other way out but-- you.”

“If you fuck me like you fuck my hand, I’ll keep you forever, honey,” he snarled.

You exclaimed and covered his hand with yours as you tilted against him hungrily. You dug your heels into the floor and lifted your pelvis slightly as you came against his palm. He snickered at your delight and let you ride his hand until you finished.

You fell back limp and he reluctantly removed his hand from your cunt. He reached blindly up and pressed his fingers against your lips. You braced yourself and took in his fingers and sucked your taste off of them. He drew away and sat back in his seat as he rubbed the front of his pants.

“Did you mean it?” you asked as you felt between your legs.

“Fuck my brother. We’ll leave right now,” he said, “I always did like his toys better.”

“We should stop by the shop,” you murmured, “I know where he keeps his stash.”

“His stash?”

“You could have everything that’s his,” you whispered, “everything.”

He considered the suggestion and exhaled. His squinted through the windshield and groaned.

“When we get to the shop, I want you on that desk,” he said as he continued to play with himself, “can’t wait to fuck you in that little dress.”

“I can’t either,” you reached to his lap and he caught your hand.

“No,” he said, “I want to see it all.”

You retracted your arm and pouted. You hugged yourself and shivered dramatically. He glanced over at you again.

“That day in the office, I haven’t stopped thinking of it,” he said, “I can see you’ve suffered just as much as me.”

Your smirk was interrupted by the sudden veering of the car at the impact of another. You cried out as the rubber screeched over the road. The car skidded over the lanes and turned horizontal with the rest of traffic. Another bump on the tail and you were rolling. The airbag deployed and blinded you as the glass and metal crunched past the railing and into the ditch.

You panted in shock as the vehicle stilled at last and you felt along your face and body. There was blood dripping from your hairline and some aches in your neck and back, but you could move and you were alive. You put your palm against the roof and unbuckled the belt and kept from falling on your head. The welts of the restraints burned at your chest and waist.

You squatted and looked over at Thor. He hung from his seat but there was much more blood on him and his blond hair was stained with it. You crawled out through the window and fell into the dirt.

You heard footsteps as they carefully descended the incline and you looked up as a silhouette neared and came clearer. Steve approached the other side of the car and bent to look in the driver side. You heard his voice as he poked the unconscious man inside and he stood again.

“Get up,” he demanded as he came to you, “no time to waste.”

“What?” you let him pull you to your feet, “you were supposed to be at the shop--”

“We’ll get there,” he dragged you up to the rail and stepped over.

You struggled to get over the metal barrier yourself and he nearly had you off your feet as he thrust you towards his waiting car. He opened the passenger door and pointed you inside. You dropped into the seat and touched your sore neck. He closed the door and rounded to his side.

“What’s going on? Bucky said--”

“Bucky wants to make sure you’re not fucking with him,” Steve interrupted and his eyes fell to your skirt. You barely realised how high it was as you were still spinning from the crash.

“You could’ve killed me--”

“You’re a smart girl. You had your seatbelt on,” he said as he bent between the seats and fixed your dress, his fingers lingering on the fabric, “we’ve got a whole day… we get the money and have some fun while Bucky takes care of that other moron.”

“Money?” you asked.

“You’re his little bookkeeper, I’m sure you have the combination to that safe he keeps nestled in the back of the shithole,” he turned the engine and pulled out from the gravel, “a healthy price for your… defection.”

“Fine,” you said coolly, “I’ll help you get it. But what about Lopez?”

“I’ll take care of that fat fuck but that’s another debt,” he replied.

You were quiet as you rubbed your shoulder and tried to clear your head. You were slightly dizzy but fought through it as you tried to redirect your plot. There was still a way out of this. You just had to deal with this idiot instead.

“That day in the club… Fucking Buck, he can be so selfish but I think I’ve waited long enough,” he hissed, “you don’t even know what you haven’t had, sweetheart.”

You looked at him and he met your eyes briefly. You fought not to show your disgust and just batted your lashes.

“Do we have to wait?” you asked as you shook off the cobwebs.

“Hmm--” his voice caught in his throat as you stretched between your seats and touched the front of his pants, “oh.”

He squeezed the steering wheel as you leaned over and rubbed his crotch until you felt it harden. “We’re not far,” you said and held in a grunt as a pang stabbed your neck, it wasn’t as intense as before, “but we have time.”

“Sweet--”

“This is what you wanted… Bucky won’t like it--”

“He won’t know,” Steve interjected, “shit, I can’t--”

You unzipped his pants and he went silent. You slipped your hand down his boxers and pulled out his dick. You stroked him as the noise of the traffic flowed around the car. You held him firmly and moved your hand. It would end soon enough.

He groaned and tensed as you worked him steadily. You’d learned to read men, to use them. They did the same to you but they taught you just as much. The only way out was their own tricks. As you sensed him nearing his release, you placed your lips around his tip and swirled your tongue.

He gasped and his foot pushed down the pedal. You moaned around him and moved your hand faster and faster. It sickened you but you had to commit. You couldn’t let him see through the cracks.

He came in a hot spurt and you struggled to swallow it down without gagging. You sank until he poked at your throat and drank him in. His legs shook and he swore as you lapped up the last of his cum and pulled off of him with a pop.

You sat up, dizzier than before and wiped your lips. He shifted in his seat and brought one hand away from the wheel to zip himself back up. He sniffed and rolled his shoulders.

“That was fuckin’ good,” he said, “I see why Bucky didn’t give up.”

“You know what he’ll do if he finds out,” you said sharply.

“Oh, you can keep me quiet, sweetie,” he said with a crooked grin, “just like that.”

You closed your eyes and collected yourself as he took the ramp and you readied yourself for what came next. You didn’t know if you could do it, if it would work at all. You’d come this far though and couldn’t turn back. If you failed, with all that happened, it would only be worse than before. So you couldn’t.

You watched the streets of New York and as you got closer to the antique shop, you had to keep your hands from shaking. The adrenaline buzzed inside of you. Your mouth was dry and your limbs felt numb. You peered over at Steve as he pulled up to the curb and he looked over at the façade.

“Stay behind me,” he winked as he reached to his belt and unholstered his gun, “I got Lopez. You head for the safe.”

He got out and you did the same. You circled the car as he headed for the front door with his gun low against his thigh. He grabbed the handle and pulled. He raised his hand before he entered and you stayed back as the gunshot echoed from inside. You felt a twinge in your chest; you liked Lopez but he was one of them.

You followed and let the door fall closed behind you. Steve laughed to himself and nodded you ahead of him. You went silent, past the chipped statue and that old grandfather clock.

The office was stolid and still. It brought back a sense of nostalgia and yet felt like a prison. Steve entered behind you as he tucked his gun away.

“Better hurry,” he muttered, “too bad I made so much noise or we could stick around… maybe you could finish what you started.”

“We’ll go somewhere else,” you shrugged as you looked around and went behind Loki’s desk. 

You pulled out the drawers and pretended to search. Really you were wasting time, trying to put Steve off alert. He watched and crossed his arms.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled.

“Just making sure we’re not missing anything,” you slid shut the drawer, “whatever, nothing there.”

You went to the cabinet and rolled over your office chair. Steve sat in Loki’s cushioned leather seat and leaned back as you opened the cabinet and bent behind the door and began to wind the numbers. He put his feet up and tossed around a glass orb that usually sat on Loki’s desk.

You turned the handle and the loud metal clank filled the office. You reached inside and pulled out a money bag and loaded it up with the stacks of bills within. You zipped it up and tossed it over the door and it landed on the desk heavily.

Steve sat up as he smiled at the thick pouch. You shoved your arm back in the safe and pulled out the gun on the higher shelf, stowed with the priceless Victorian pocket watch and a pair of diamond cufflinks. 

You stood as Steve took the bag  and sat straight. His face paled with surprise as you pulled the trigger and the bullet opened his chest. The chair wobbled under him as he dropped the money and gave a brittle croak. 

His hand went to the wound across his front and you kicked shut the safe. You swept around and bent to pick up the money bag. Steve trembled as the blood pulsed from him and the chair creaked.

“Pity,” you said with a smile, “looks like you did miss something.”

You angled the gun and admired it as you hugged the cloth pouch under your arm. You shrugged and left him to his death thralls. You went out into the front room and stopped at the rack of gauche vintage coats. You pulled one on and hid the gun in the inner pocket as you secreted the money in the sleeve.

You exited and stepped out onto the sidewalk. You blotted away the dried blood along your forehead as your heels clicked and you blended into the steady New York foot traffic. You were done running from behind. You would be out of the city before anyone thought to look for you and with the bulk of Loki’s savings you would always be a step ahead.

👄👄👄

End

[thefirstknife]

Hi! I saw the Mara discussion and I got curious. I don't understand very well what people mean when people say smth along the lines "she sacrificed a lot for good" (not the exact wording, sorry). When I read marasenna and the forsaken prince, she struck me as pretty manipulative and just looking to have an obedient following. Admittedly, it's been a long time since I read these books, so I might have forgotten a lot. I also got some kinda bias bc she reminded me of some, uh, not-so-nice folk who had a negative impact in my life, so I'm a bit squicked by her attitude, especially w/ how she treated Uldren and Ghost at some occasions.

Is it ok to ask for some clarifications about her motivations? Totally okay if not if it's too much work. Sorry if it's a weird ask fjjshf

Oh, Mara definitely has a manipulative streak about her.

Marasenna is in general a very biased source because it's coming from Mara herself so there's bound to be some narrator bias there. She presents some of her actions as being done for the greater good and we could debate whether that's true or not.

For example, when she created the Awoken people and the Distributary, a lot of negativity came when the Awoken realised they were created by one of their own and wondered why someone would create them in a way where they could still experience pain, suffering and death. Mara's reasoning is that without those things, there is nothing to advance towards. If you could live forever in perfect bliss, there's no goals to achieve and nothing to work for. They'd just be trapped in the Distributary living pointless "perfect" lives.

I agree with that because I, as a player, know that the Awoken weren't given the Distributary as some great and amazing gift: it was a punishment by the Darkness, just not done in the same way as the Collapse. The people on the Yang Liwei wanted no part in the Collapse and asked to be treated as a separate species and Darkness tossed them into a singularity. I personally don't think this was some sort of a great fate, especially if the plan was to live in the singularity forever and do nothing. So Mara not giving the Awoken a perfect paradise and immortality and life free from suffering IS, in a way, for the greater good. Obviously, this isn't an objective view of things.

Mara definitely manipulated people, lied to people and even abused them, sometimes obviously, sometimes subtly. She also clearly cares, in her own way, about certain people and things. How much, we can't really tell because we only have biased sources about her. I think Mara's biggest crime is when she knows things will end badly but she lets them happen anyway; for example everything with Uldren. His corruption and death could've been stopped if she actually reached out to him and told him she's fine in the Ascendant plane and that the visions he's getting is not her.

I totally understand when people are not happy with Mara's behaviour and if they're also squicked out by her. She's a very polarising and morally ambiguous character. I'm not surprised if people dislike her, nor is that in any way wrong.

The problem is mostly that Mara gets an extreme amount of explicit and gross hate directed at her, the type of hate that no other character in Destiny gets, despite there being characters objectively morally worse than her. Like, she genuinely received more hate than the Darkness, the primary antagonist or the Hive, as close to the primary antagonist as one can be.

This could be because her crimes are more grounded (manipulation and abuse) rather than whatever Darkness and the Hive are doing (nobody on Earth has really experienced their entire planet being killed, not exactly the easiest thing to relate to). But there's other characters with similar stories. Calus is a good example, as he's also a very manipulative character who continuously tried to make the Guardians join him by giving them stuff and praising them and being manipulative in general when his only real goal is selfish. He was also manipulative to the Cabal people, a lot of which followed him literally into death so HE could fulfil his goal of talking to the Darkness. He never cared about any of his people or the Guardians really.

I definitely wouldn't like Mara as a real person, but she's an interesting character to read about. Most ambiguous and villainous characters are to me.

[comfortwriting]

When You’re Gone - F.W

Fred Weasley (and George) x fem reader, inspired by the song ‘When You’re Gone’ by Avril Lavigne.

A/N: If any of you are struggling with loss, grief or need someone to talk to, my inbox is open and I’ve re-blogged support hotline numbers.

About: The reader is mourning the death of her boyfriend, Fred Weasley. She’s struggling to move on, finding herself lost in both the past and present. Unfortunately, she loses her grips on reality and George has to put on the mask and pretend to be Fred.

Warnings: Grief, sadness, death, depression, flashbacks, some fluff here and there, deterioration of mental and physical health, mention of hospice care towards the end.

Three months ago your long term boyfriend, the man you planned to marry, was killed in an explosion during the battle of Hogwarts. His death changed your life forever.

You found it hard leaving the bed, eating and showering. At first you tried to accept that he was gone but no matter what it got harder to do so, you just wanted to hide away, fall asleep forever to wake up again one day with him next to you.

I always needed time on my own I never thought I'd Need you there when I cry And the days feel like years when I'm alone And the bed where you lie Is made up on your side

“Come on Y/N, you should write back to them, they want to know how you are.” Your mother said softly, trying to encourage you.

Ever since Fred’s death, the Weasley's wrote to you every week when they had time, you couldn’t bring yourself to reading whatever they wrote, let alone reply. You didn’t want to hear from them or see them, the guilt you felt for their sons death was eating you up inside - you didn’t want to lie to them about your state either. 

“Maybe another time mum” you replied, staring at Fred’s side of the bed. 

Your mother sat next to you and placed a hand against your tear stained cheek “He isn’t coming back, you can’t just leave everything how it is.”

You sighed and stood up walking over to the window “I’ll send them a Christmas card and apologise for not being able to protect their son.”

“It’s August, Y/N”

“Right.”

“And it wasn’t your fault!” Your mother cried.

Slowly but surely, you were losing track of time, of what was and wasn’t real, you found yourself over the next year getting more confused and plummeting even more into denial - your parents believed you didn’t want to move on - but you couldn’t to no fault of your own, you didn’t have a choice.

Your stress and grief shaped your brain and changed it, changing your reality and everything around you to create a world in which Fred would be coming home.

When you walk away I count the steps that you take Do you see how much I need you right now?

“Fred you can’t be serious” You sighed, rubbing your temple.

“Harry is like family to me, to us. He needs me there and I’m not going to allow.. WE need him gone to be able to have the life we want together, Y/N.” Fred argued back, pacing around the much brighter and cleaner bedroom.

“How am I going to protect you? I am in no state to be entering a war when I’m already so badly injured. If something goes wrong out there when I’m not with you...”

Fred walked over to you and placed a finger on your lips, shushing you. “Nothing is going to happen to me, my love.” he reassured you.

You shook your head “We don’t know that, please Fred, stay.”

Fred frowned and walked away from you “you know I can’t.”

When you're gone The pieces of my heart are missin' you When you're gone The face I came to know is missin', too When you're gone The words I need to hear To always get me through the day And make it okay I miss you

“Fred” you whispered, sitting in the shower, the water storming down upon you. “Please come back soon, I know you can and I hope you will.”

Your mother rubbed the bar of soap on your back before rinsing it with the water “I know we argued last night but I trust you, I know you’ll make it out alive.” you whispered again.

Your mother stopped washing you for a moment, taking in everything you had been saying, finally understand that something had gone wrong and your frame of mind wasn’t the same as it used to be. She knew deep in her heart you weren’t calling out for his spirit, she knew that you truly believed that he had just gone to Hogwarts - you were reliving the same period of time over and over, from the moment Fred left up until you would panic, running to the windows and asking members of the public if they had seen him.

Fifteen months on you were sitting at the table in the kitchen with your parents, you felt nervous at Fred’s silence.

“It’s a shame he can’t use a muggle phone” you muttered to your dad, taking a sip of your tea “I’d be able to hear his voice if he did.”

You started to bite at your nails whilst your legs couldn’t stop shaking “I bet his owls bloody snuffed it” you muttered again “he’s not replied to any of my letters, he must not be receiving them.”

Your parents exchanged a worried glance and sighed, your mental state crumpling even further. Recently, you were caught writing to Fred over and over again, asking how Harry was, how the war was going and if he’s okay, telling him you loved him. Your parents would tell you they would send the letters, but didn’t - Fred was dead and wouldn’t be coming back.

Even when they told you over and over again, within hours you would be back to writing those letters and talking about him in present tense.

Luckily George (and Arthur) finally learned how to use a muggle phone. Your parents decided to tell the Weasley family the truth, Molly, Arthur and George were heartbroken. George would ring up weekly to see how he could help and for updates on your condition.

“George she’s getting worse, we think she’ll stay where she is but she doesn’t she just goes further and further into madness.” Your mother said down the phone.

George sighed on the other end “I’m sorry-”

In the background George could hear you calling out in a panic “Dad! Dad! Where is Fred? he should be back by now and he isn’t here!” you began to cry.

“She’s like this as soon as the sun sets, every single day.” Your mother told George.

“I’ll be round in the morning” George replied.

I've never felt this way before Everything that I do Reminds me of you And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor And they smell just like you I love the things that you do

Rocking in your chair you looked around the room, feeling the same nausea as usual, waiting for Fred to return home. In your lap was one of his jumpers Molly made him one Christmas, you would wear it all the time, and if you got too hot you’d clutch to it like a toddler with a blanket.

Hearing the door open, which was incredibly unusual in your house you got up to your feet, your mouth dropping wide open when Fred, now with much longer hair came walking inside.

Your parents were hoping George’s visit would help break away at the cloudiness in your brain, but all they did was make it worse.

“Freddie!” You squealed out, running over and wrapping your arms around him “You’re finally home!” 

You noticed behind his hair, he was missing an ear, but your overwhelming happiness of finally being reunited with him distracted you from asking questions. 

George could feel his heart ache and his stomach drop, realising how much worse his visit would impact you. You got on your tip toes as you always did and placed a long and loving kiss onto his lips. 

You furrowed your eyebrows at who you thought was Fred, George couldn’t bring himself to kiss you back, he felt cruel for doing this, but your parents had never seen you so calm and so happy in almost two years.

George looked at your parents for a moment and decided to try, he sighed and shook his head, not wanting to lie to you.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.”

When you walk away I count the steps that you take Do you see how much I need you right now?

You let out a laugh “You need to come back from war with more than longer hair and a missing ear to try and trick me.” 

“Fred died, Y/N. He was killed in an explosion.” George told the truth.

You shook your head in disbelief “No? You’re right in front of me.” you replied “I know you like your laughs and jokes Fred, but that’s not something to joke about, George should know better too for putting you up to this.”

You walked into the kitchen forgetting what you went in there for and walked back into the living room, taking a seat.

Your mother burst into tears and walked out of the room, your father following her to give comfort. You stared at them, not understanding why they hadn’t welcomed your boyfriend back into warm open arms.

George knew that no matter how hard he tried he wouldn’t be able to get you to see the truth - you couldn’t no matter what, they were living in your world now. George sighed, almost kicking himself for what he was about to do.

“I’m only joking, I am Fred.” 

When you're gone The pieces of my heart are missin' you When you're gone The face I came to know is missin', too When you're gone The words I need to hear To always get me through the day And make it okay I miss you 

Waking up from your nap you jolted up and noticed the darkness through the window outside, feeling the panic brew inside your tummy you started to worry.

“It’s okay I’m here.” George, playing Fred, patted your shoulders, walking around your chair.

He was carrying a bowl of soup in his hands nice and warm, just for you. 

Your parents and George were taking you care of you full time now, George had been living as your pretend boyfriend for just over seven years now and his heart broke even more as your state worsened.

You couldn’t feed yourself, wash yourself, get your self dressed or brush your hair. You couldn’t communicate through speech properly either, you would instead pull faces, point or stare into the same four walls, and every day was exactly the same; waiting for Fred to come home, being nervous, overjoyed when you’d see him, in distress when George would leave the room or when your parents would take over his shift.

You smiled at Fred, as he blew on the soup filled spoon, making you drink it. It took you ages just to finish eating and drinking, it was hard to simply exist, but staring into those beautiful eyes you never thought you’d see again calmed the storms that distressed your seas and damaged your boats.

George finished buttoning up your pyjama shirt and got you to lay down in your bed, he sat beside you and stroked your hair until your eyes fluttered shut. Once he knew you were dreaming far away from home, he stood up and met your parents downstairs.

“George, our daughter... well you know all of this is no good, not getting better.” Your father tried his best to explain, swallowing the great big lump in his throat.

Your mother took over “What we’re trying to say George, is that, we’re looking to place Y/N in a twenty four hour care facility. She cannot speak, she cannot look after herself, she’s incredible vulnerable and she’ll be getting the care she needs - you’ll be able to get your life back.”

We were made for each other Out here forever I know we were Yeah, yeah And all I ever wanted was for you to know Everything I do, I give my heart and soul I can hardly breathe; I need to feel you here with me Yeah

Today was your 40th birthday, twenty whole years since Fred died along with a part of yourself no one would ever see again. 

Now due to your bedbound state, you were laid in bed and the care assistant next to you got out your photo albums from all of your years at Hogwarts. She adjusted the height and position of the bed with her wand, making you more comfortable. 

Placing the photo albums on your lap she took you through them one by one, the memories flashing before you like a movie reel as you watched the photos move.

The twins on the train going home after their first year at Hogwarts, Fred flying on his broom during Quidditch. Fred and you on your first date in Hogsmeade, him dancing around the tent with a giant shamrock painted on his face, the two of you pulling faces and giggling in the kitchen at the burrow, Fred proudly standing in front of his shop, the two of you in your house just before he left for the war.

The care assistant pulled out the letters he had written to you over the years on your birthday, placing them in front of you to read. Despite his death - absence - from your life, you could still hear his voice as clear as day, making re-reading these letters all the more special.

When you're gone The pieces of my heart are missin' you When you're gone The face I came to know is missin', too When you're gone The words I need to hear Will always get me through the day And make it okay I miss you

Overtime, your muscles weakened and so did your organs, and unfortunately this years cold, flu, and sickness season didn’t go easy on you. The whole facility lost many residents this time of the year but none as young as you.

Your parents who would much rather be grandparents sporting perfect silver hair and wrinkles were notified of your deterioration, being told that now would be the time to come and say goodbye. Your parents notified George and he left his wife and children at home, coming to visit you.

In a deep sleep you could hear your parents talking but couldn’t quite make out what they were staying, you didn’t have the strength to open your eyes either. After struggling to leave the room, George finally switched over from them and sat in the chair next to you, taking a hold on your hand.

When going through the room he and his brother shared, he stumbled across a letter Fred had written but never sent in one of the pockets of the last coat he had ever worn. George brought it with him after reading it, knowing it would help you reach the reality with Fred you yearned for.

My Dearest Y/N,

I’m sorry that I had to go and leave you behind, but don’t be scared, don’t worry about me, my love. You are strong and you are brave, no matter what happens - I promise we’ll meet again. Just keep those beautiful eyes of yours set on the horizon, and when the time is right, we’ll know where to meet again. 

George felt your grip on his hand tighten, tears rolled down his face.

I know it’s not been easy and I know that it’s been calm, but we’ll have forever together and we’ll be away from harm. So keep on smiling and searching beautiful, the adventure is not so far away.

Love Always, Fred.

Letting go of the weight on your shoulders, you stumbled through the forest, feeling the sun beam on your skin. Following the chatty Magpie you stopped in your tracks, your whole world standing right in front of you.

“You got my letter?” Fred asked, who had aged like fine wine.

You grinned widely and nodded, tears forming in your eyes and ran into his open arms. 

“I missed you.”

[one-boring-person]

Hey!!!how are you?

Can i have some Rambo Headcanons??

Maybe the old rambo moving nextdoor to a young(24), farmer? (They/them pls), and maybe eventually him developing a crush or Wanting to protect them since they’re always so nice and caring towards him?

Thank you!!(these are for my birthday lmao, im a complete and total rambo simp. And i feel old rambo would really enjoy calming down and helping around with someone who loves him)

You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to write these as soon as I read the request! It's so wholesome, so I hope I've done it justice! And happy birthday! I hope you like these 😊(also I'm good, thanks for asking!)

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x younger!reader headcannons.

Warnings: mention of PTSD, vague injury detail.

A/n: I'm sorry if this is not as expected, I'm still getting to grips with writing headcannons 😅

Masterlist

The ranch had been in a state of disrepair when John first got there, walls thinning, paint peeling, buildings empty and soulless. He hadn't expected things to be as they were when he left, all those years ago, but the evident lack of care surprised him.

The house had been empty, which he eventually figured out was die to the fact his father had passed a good few years prior, and hadn't left anyone in charge of the ranch.

This meant that everything was as it was when he left, photographs hanging awkwardly on the walls, dusty furniture shoved out of the way.

Naturally, the rest of the ranch was also in pretty poor condition: the stables were practically overrun with weeds and foul smelling hay, one lone horse still nosing weakly at the empty water bucket on the floor. Taking pity on the animal, and feeling a need to help it, John took it out onto the field, which is where he first saw them.

Across from his father's ranch was another, smaller one, where horses and cattle grazed in the fields, a single car parked up beside the main house, which was in a much better condition than his own newfound home. In one of the fields, running around with a young foal, was who he assumed to be a ranchhand.

For a moment or so, he had stood and watched as the figure ran in circles with the youthful horse in tow, admiring their seemingly high spirits - he hadn't felt high-spirited in years.

After he'd helped the old horse from the stables out (cleaning out a stall, feeding it with feed he found in a storeroom), John had gone back to the house, almost forgetting the figure across the field, intending to head to sleep.

A couple of days passed after that, before he saw them again, though this time, they also saw him.

He'd started work on the house, having collected what he needed from a nearby town, and was sat on the roof of the main building as the sun glared down at him. Taking a brief pause from his work, he'd looked up and seen them in the field again, this time astride a larger horse.

They were racing around again, until the rider noticed they were being watched, at which point they slowed to a halt and looked around, quickly spotting John on the roof. From that distance, he couldn't tell what their expression was, but they raised a hand after a moment or so, waving up at him. Hesitantly, he had waved back.

Later that day, when he'd been sat on his father's old rocking chair on the veranda, taking another break, John had noticed someone coming up the road towards him. Standing out of instinct, John soon realised it was someone astride a horse, the rider carefully trotting up the drive, their face becoming clearer the nearer they came.

Still cautious of people, John had acted somewhat guarded as the person rode up to him, a broad smile on their work-weathered youthful face. In their hand, they carried a small box, which they cradled awkwardly on their thighs.

Approaching him, they'd tipped their hat, a battered Stetson, and greeted him, introducing themself as (Y/n), the owner of the ranch next to his. They'd spoken cheerfully, as if unaffected by the hardships of life, which they may well be. That's what John thought anyway, until they openly and happily told him about the passing of their parents, four years ago. The ranch had been left to them, leaving them in charge of the business.

Their first encounter had been somewhat awkward, but it didn't seem to bother (Y/n), and they left after ten minutes or so with a genial smile at him, stating that they'd be happy to help if he ever needed it. They also left behind the box, which John soon discovered was filled to the brim with cookies, a food he hadn't eaten for decades. Trying one, he soon rediscovered a love for them he didn't remember he had.

In the following weeks, John managed to fix up the house, getting it ready to live in properly, with some very brief help from his neighbour. They'd been round earlier in one week, dropping off another box of cookies, and had offered him access to their tools, which they brought round soon after.

After this, John felt it was only right that he invited them round for drinks as thanks, something that still made him somewhat uneasy. Somehow, he did feel reassured when they happily agreed and turned up the following Sunday, the two of them sitting in comfortable quiet on the veranda, sometimes talking, other times staying silent.

This became a regular occurrence.

Every week, (Y/n) would go to John's, or vice-versa, the latter soon learning to trust them and enjoy their company, finding himself in a better mood than he had been in in a long time. Their openness to talk or listen (even if he said very little) comforted him, allowing him to forget the nightmarish things going through his head near-daily.

After three months, (Y/n) had started coming round much more often, many times just appearing in the middle of the day to help out with whatever task needed doing, unafraid of doing dirty work. They later told him it was because they enjoyed his company far too much, and often actively sought it out: they made it clear that his quiet, brooding nature was an attractive quality about him that reassured them.

It didn't take long for them to become close, the two seemingly working at a different wavelength to the rest of the world, one that only existed between their small ranches.

They helped John procure his first horses, lending him one of their own to help build up the numbers. The differences between each ranch soon became blurred, the fence running through the middle of their respective fields eventually disappearing as they merged their ranches together, continuing with business individually with the help of the other's land.

John had long since accepted, within himself, that he would not find someone to spend the rest of his life with, not after Sarah. It was a sad truth, but one he had to live with.

That all changed when he suddenly realised he had fallen for his neighbour, the one person he now trusted and cared for more than anyone in the world.

He'd realised this when their face first started appearing in his nightmares, after a close accident that nearly resulted in catastrophe. (Y/n) had fallen from the roof of the stables, thankfully landing on a stack of stray hay which softened the impact, leaving them in severe amounts of pain for two days. Their face became part of the repertoire in his head, nightmares about their death soon plaguing him even further, as he finally acknowledged the newfound love he felt for them.

Because that's what it was: love.

It couldn't be anything less, he was too damaged to have heedless fancies, and his emotions were far too strong towards them. Since he'd moved in, (Y/n) had always been there, acting as a friend he never had, steadily working their way into his life, bettering it in ways he never would've thought another person could, supporting him through the episodes of flashbacks he was now prone to having. They had showed him love and care he hadnt experienced from anyone else. He valued them highly, prioritising them over himself, and he knew he was heavily attracted to them, but he told himself "no", don't ruin the friendship.

They didn't make it easy to repress the urges. No, they only managed to win him over more and more with their caring, loving attitude, though their youth managed to awaken some form of paternal instinct John never knew he had. He felt the need to protect them at all times, and he would do his best to uphold this, but he knew his feelings were getting too strong.

Somehow, he managed to miss all the loving glances, and little tells (Y/n) inadvertently laid down before him, the rancher have g developed similar feelings for him, though they'd never admit it to John, knowing how human interaction like that could be upsetting for him.

Eventually, it had taken a beautiful evening, with the sun spilling its last bloody rays on the dry landscape as the two sipped beer from bottles on the veranda, for them to finally admit to each other how they felt.

It just happened: one minute, they were leaning in to replace their bottles on the table, the next, their lips are just touching, breaths mingling as they struggle to do rain themselves. (Y/n) had finally leaned in, pressing their lips against his, pulling back almost as quickly as they moved in, a horrified, embarrassed expression on their face.

They'd apologised instantly, terrified that they'd screwed up their relationship, rambling and cursing until John had recovered and kissed them again, cupping their face in his hand as he pulled them closer. It had been too long for him, and the touch was just incredible, goosebumps rising along his spine as he poured all of his love and care into the kiss, pressing as close as possible.

Somehow, (Y/n) had ended up in his lap, head on his chest as he cradled them, relishing in the feeling of having a solid, supple body against his own after so long, and one that means him no harm, too. They knew where they both stood, and it kickstarted a close relationship.

(Y/n) moved in with him after their second foaling season together, where he'd seen their parental instincts kick in, particularly when they'd then worked to socialise the foals by playing with them. The memory would always stick with John: something about the carefree youth in their face as they ran around with the frolicking horses reminded him of the good in his life.

Life was good, everything was going mostly well.

Naturally, there were some days when he'd relapse, having particularly bad episodes that would be harrowing on both him and (Y/n), though they were always there to help him through it. Their soft words of love and worry would easily permeate the cloud of despair, and had break down in their arms, enjoying the sensation of being held.

They often held each other. Even if it was just a quick hug, or an embrace from behind as one pressed up against the other's back, touch became a large factor in their relationship - John relished it after the more callous touch he had grown used to.

Kisses, too, became a large way of showing their affection. Little ones here and there between jobs, deep passionate kisses up against the wall of the house, or sloppy making out on the shared seat on the veranda, it all counted for their love, and they thoroughly enjoyed partaking in them.

(Y/n) was always there, even when Gabrielle and Maria joined them. They were there when Gabrielle died, and they were there to avenge her death, choosing to go out with the man they loved.

Both of them liked to cook, even if John's meals were a little...plain...so they often spent hours in the kitchen with each other, fooling around with whatever they could, John's face alight with more smiles and grins than he thinks it's ever been.

They went riding together, finding solace in each other's company on their many trails through their land, the horses often coming home tired after so long of being out.

Sometimes, John got self-conscious about his age in comparison with their's, thinking he is too old for them. Everytime this happened, (Y/n) would reassure him that they love him for who he is and doesn't care if he's not as young as he used to be, it never would matter.

Marriage was never really a thing they considered. John never had much time for the state anymore, so why get them involved in their relationship?

They considered themselves married, and wore rings to show it, but it was never a legal affair. Nevertheless, the union had always been a happy one, and John could honestly say that he had been wrong about himself: he had found love.

[nikailustracion]

My views on Rose, Pearl and their relationship :D

I’m bored, so I thought, why not, let’s just make an analysis of my fav characters, yay D: 

(Sorry if you aren’t interested in this, feel free to skip it. If you do like it, enjoy! ^^)

I’ve always loved tragic love stories, and both Pearl and Rose are characters that fit into that trope.

First things first, let’s go in order. When Pearl was given to Pink Diamond, Pink already had her share of bad experiences (the abuse from the diamonds and the loss of her former pearl which was, even if accidentally, her fault). We can see her change of personality from “Jungle Moon” to “Now we’re only falling appart”. While in the first one she was more childish and didn’t seem to hesitate to speak her mind freely, in the second one we can see her hesitate sometimes. She looks as if she has lost a lot of her energy. Even when she shows joy about seeing the quartzes emerge, she still acts deflated. We can also see changes in her behavior when Spinel talks to Steven about their relationship. As the scenes of their interactions keep coming, we can see how Pink seems more and more aloof. The stories we hear from the diamons in “Familiar” and “Change your mind” give a lot of context to this. All of this gives us a lot of context of Rose’s mind when Pearl gets into her life. 

Pearl, on the other hand, still believes that she’s nothing more than a servant. She is confused when Pink talks to her and asks her opinion. When they both visit Earth for the first time, we can see a glimpse of their true selves. 

Rebecca stated that Rose began to fall in love with Pearl’s boldness, and as we are told in “Now we’re falling appart”, Pearl loved her aswell. For further proof, Rebecca herself said that Pearl’s love for Rose “wasn’t unrequited”. When they both meet Garnet, they finally share what they feel for each other. Rose wants to fight for Garnet and Pearl. She wants all of the gems to be free. However, she’s in a tight spot. She knows the diamonds won’t listen and it’s very likely that if Pink Diamond started the rebellion, they would try to hide that from gems until they can fix the problem.  After all, what would a Diamond of the Authority defying her own system imply? But repressing a low-ranking gem that stepped out of line would be something they wouldn’t hesitate to show everyone as an example. We’re told this in “Now we’re only falling appart”, when Pearl says that she would take a stand as someone they couldn’t ignore.

This is where Rose’s faults should be mentioned. She manages to gather many other gems that feel the same way as allies. However, even if they are close and trustworthy, she still can’t bring herself to tell them the truth. She hates herself and she’s afraid that they will hate her aswell. And while understandable, that only made everyone feel hurt when the truth came out. It can’t be denied that she hurt Pearl by telling her not to reveal the truth, because in the end, Pearl was unable to talk about most of her feelings with anyone. And that’s something that’s shown in “Volleyball” where Pearl literally says   “I was badly hurt”

On the other hand, Pearl had her own issues. Even if she had gained some confidence, she still felt like someone inferior. Rose was the one who had helped her feel like that and that only made her see Rose in an unrealistic way. She thought Rose was perfect, when she was definitely not. She thought she couldn’t live without her and that she was above her own life. They definitely argued about this in the past, as shown in “Sworn to the sword”, where it’s implied that Rose told her to stop risking her life for her. She also seems very insecure about herself, and sees herself as easily replaceable. That’s why she is so bothered by Greg. In “Mr Greg” she mentions that there had been more humans before, but that she had never felt like that until Greg came, and she started to fear that Rose would just leave her behind. Finally, in that same episode, they come to terms and finally get to understand that she loved both of them.

Rose regarded herself as lesser than everyone, and she thought that they didn’t need her. When she films the tape with Greg, she says how happy she is that Steven’s going to have the chance to grow, and be an extraordinary being. She thinks her death is irrelevant in order for that to happen. Rebecca stated in the EoAE artbook that it was both selfless and selfish, and none of them could be denied. She said that Rose thought of herself as powerless and useless, when she was actually very powerful and relevant. 

Steven is born, and Rose dies. Everyone has to deal with the loss and Pearl is the most affected by it. She doesn’t know what to do now that Rose is gone. Sometimes, she’s bitter and aloof, and refuses to acknowledge her reality. But as the series go on, she finally realises that everything she did proved how strong she really was. Even if Rose was the one who gave her the courage, she was the one who dared to defy her status and purpose. Sharing the truth with the others finally makes her see Rose as the gem she really is, and this is something that goes on from “A single pale rose” to “Volleyball”. She learns that Rose had faults, as everyone else. 

So, to finish this essay, I really like the complexity this story has to offer. We’re shown two characters with a lot of development and complexity. They don’t depict a perfect relationship and that is really interesting aswell as realistic. The fact that they both had self-steem issues only made their relationship more difficult and sometimes they hurt each other even if they didn’t mean to. Even so, they truly loved each other and they made a huge impact in each other’s lives. Pearl started to feel confident in herself because of Rose, and Rose started to change because she felt inspired by Pearl. Rose made Pearl feel “like she was everything” and Pearl helped Rose keep going, even when she thought she didn’t deserve it. 

Basically, to sum up, I love my gay disasters

[angstyaches]

Drop

Again, this is quite heavy for this blog. Please heed the warnings! DM me for a summary, if you don’t want to actually read it because of any of the tags (I’ll make a post if anyone asks on anon). Stay safe, friends.

CW: disordered eating mention, alcohol, heights (inc. character struggling with fear of heights), angsty and dark thoughts, relationship problems being discussed, very brief but intense death ideation, mention of gore/injury (described by character, not real), danger of falling, mention of broken glass, emeto, food mention, blood mention

 ___

Shayne had hoped the bad thoughts would take longer to find him, but they were waiting for him just on the other side of his bedroom door in the townhouse. For the past two weeks, he’d eaten three meals a day with Charlie at his parents’ house, even if some of them were small, and he’d been imagining himself keeping it up once he got back, but now that he was alone, the shame and the feeling of helplessness that had always surrounded food came flooding back.

When dinner time rolled around that evening (he knew it was dinner time because his stomach remembered), he felt Madelyn’s phantom breath on his neck and ignored the hunger. He crawled into his bed and tried forcing himself to sleep before his body could realise it was being deprived.

But god, he was just a needy, greedy little black hole of a creature, a sap on the world so long as you’re not fulfilling your duty, an insult to flesh and bone, nothing but darkness and hunger and waste and –

Shayne sat up in bed and squeezed his head between his hands. He’d gotten so used to Charlie’s constant presence and warmth, that he was already feeling unbearably lonely without him.

Stupid Charlie, he thought, feeling a flutter of affection in his chest as he pictured Charlie’s head resting on his shoulder. And then, a sinking feeling.

In the absence of Madelyn’s voice in his head, Shayne realised how… quiet everything else was. Ryan and Nancy were probably still travelling in Europe, but Elliott and Felix should have been here.

He’d half-expected Felix to come pounding on his door around this time, raving about whatever he was cooking and asking questions about Shayne’s Christmas. But the fact that the townhouse was this silent was extremely unpleasant.

Shayne let himself into the hallway, pausing and holding his breath, scanning for any signs of life. He could have done this easily if he’d been in a forest, but houses and urban settings were always trickier. He picked up a flash of something, a thrum of a heartbeat, but it sent his head spinning and he had to stop concentrating. It seemed to be coming from Elliott and Felix’s room, even though he hadn’t heard a single stir in there since he’d gotten home.

“Hello?” he asked softly, pushing the door open slowly.

He wasn’t surprised that it was cold in the bedroom beyond, but a breeze took him right in the face. Papers had been gently blown across the floor, and a vase holding a fake rose had been knocked from the windowsill onto the floor.

Nobody was in here. This wasn’t where he’d sensed somebody.

The view of the town was incredible from this height, four storeys up. It was around dusk, so there were lights blinking to life in houses and office buildings even as Shayne stood by the open window and rested his hands on the sill.

“Elliott?” he called out quietly, leaning his head outside. The distance from his face to the street below was dizzying.

“The fuck do you want?” came a curt reply, which made Shayne look to his right. The moulding on the outside of the building was about a metre wide, enough for Elliott to slump against the brick wall with a glass balanced on his knee and a bottle grasped in the opposite hand.

His hair was loose of its usual ponytail, as well as being greasy and dishevelled from having fingers constantly dragged through it. He was scraping it back with his left hand at that very moment, eyes glazed over as he looked up at the sky.

“When’d you get back?”

“Uh, today. Earlier.” Shayne could hear how high-pitched his voice had gotten, but what could he do about it? He couldn’t stop wondering how Elliott’s weight wasn’t forcing him to slink further down, legs pulling him over the edge. “El, what are you doing? Someone’s gonna see you out there.”

“So?” Elliott shrugged. “Maybe I’ll become a Reddit legend.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Shayne sighed. “What’re you doing out there? Are you okay?”

Elliott blinked, the motion slowed by the darkness and an unknown amount of whisky. “Come here, and I’ll show you.”

Shayne would have really preferred not to, but it didn’t look like Elliott was coming to him anytime soon. He turned around and sat up into the windowsill, slowly shifting his legs around so his feet touched the moulding. He breathed hard, tried not to look at the fall below, and told himself that if it could hold Elliott’s weight, it could hold his.

“You know, inside, there are floors and – and chairs,” he stammered, edging closer to Elliott before lowering himself to a seated position. He didn’t slump like Elliott though; his hands were pressing the concrete, stiff as pillars. “Lots of nicer and safer places to sit and drink whisky.”

“Mmph.”

The words barely seemed to reach Elliott’s ears.

“So, what’s up?” Shayne asked.

When Elliott smiled, it was a sick thing that twisted the lower half of his face without touching the rest. He looked past the rim of his glass and out across the town. Shayne wouldn’t have been surprised if his glare had caused a sudden flash of lightning to tear through the clouds.

The silence seemed to press in further, the sound of traffic fading away as though a bubble had descended on the rooftop.

“Where’s… Felix?” Shayne already had the feeling that the answer wasn’t going to be good.

“I don’t know.” Elliott pursed his lips. “Think he’s left me.”

A cold stone seemed to drop through Shayne’s stomach. He couldn’t begin to imagine what the equivalent of that felt like for Elliott. “What? Why?”

After a slight roll of his eyes, Elliott reached into the pocket of his trousers, fidgeting with something before pulling out a ring. He twirled it between his thumb and his figure, examining it up-close for a second before holding it out.

“Oh.” Shayne eyed the ring for a moment before reluctantly lifting one hand – one of his supportive pillars – and letting Elliott place it in his palm. “I take it he said no?”

“No, he didn’t say no. He didn’t say… anything.”

“Is that – is that better, or worse?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Sorry, El.” Shayne gulped and stared at the ring, only managing to hold onto it for a couple of seconds. Elliott had already taken his eyes off of it, his attention snagged by his drink again. A slight breeze across his skin made Shayne shudder, as though it could possibly throw him off balance. Mostly, it was just cold and unpleasant. “Here, take it back. I’m gonna drop it or something.”

“Why would you drop it?” Elliott asked with a grunt, reaching to pick up the ring. His fingertips lingered a moment as he realised how badly Shayne’s hand was trembling. “Fuck, man, are you okay?”

“Mmm.” Shayne put his hand down next to him again, fingers aching under the pressure he was putting on them.

“What’s up?” Elliott scoffed lightly. “You gonna hurl?”

“Maybe,” Shayne admitted. “I’ve never been up this high before.”

“Jesus, you’re such a drama queen.” Elliott planted a hand down and pushed himself to his feet. His movements were as swift and graceful as a panther, even while drunk, and he seemed to tower unreasonably high over Shayne as he straightened his back and stretched his arms over his head. He almost reached the roof tiles that jutted out over the top floor. A strong gust of wind could probably have toppled him, especially considering how much whisky was probably flooding his system.

Elliott’s feet made a scraping sound on the concrete as he lowered his arms, laughing deep in his chest.

“Elliott, stop! Just sit the fuck down.”

“Why?” Elliott’s voice was no stronger than a breath. He closed his eyes for a worrying amount of time, his shoulders swaying slightly as his arms hung by his side like weights. “Would you care if I fell?”

Shayne got a sinking feeling, for what seemed like the hundredth time in ten minutes. “What kind of question is that?”

“Do you think I’d die, actually?” Elliott perked up again, unnervingly so. He opened his eyes and lifted his glass slightly. He craned his neck to look over the edge of the moulding. He hummed, like he was pondering whether he should buy a pair of shoes in black or in brown. “I’m fairly sure that fully-developed vampires can only die if they’re burned alive, but… I wonder how thoroughly that’s been tested.”

“Elliott –”

“I’ve had a decent run. In human years, I’m almost seventy, you know? That’s longer than a lot of people end up with…”

Shayne didn’t know if he should have been trying to grab Elliott to stop him from teetering so close to the edge, or if that would make everything worse. He could barely breathe, let alone think.

“It’d still fucking hurt either way, though.” Elliott threw back the last mouthful of his drink and smacked his lips. “Bones poking up through my organs, probably bits of me exploding on impact –”

“Elliott, seriously, you’re just being an asshole now, just sit down!”

“Would it make him come back, if I was injured like that?” Elliott demanded, his golden eyes piercing and intense. He was beginning to lapse into clumsy arm gestures, his voice rising higher with emotion. “Would it put everything into perspective, Shayne? Would it fix everyone’s problems if I was maimed? Or if I was completely and utterly de–?”

Shayne’s stomach turned, his hands flying to his face, as the whisky glass shuddered and dropped out of Elliott’s hand. It disappeared from view, faster than the sick grin could fall from Elliott’s face.

The shatter was tiny; Shayne had to really strain his ears to hear it. He watched Elliott blink tears down his face and slowly lower himself to his haunches. He opened his mouth wide, like he was going to scream, but no sound came out.

“Hey,” Shayne whispered, letting go of a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He stretched out one hand, trying to gently catch Elliott’s attention. “El. Elliott.”

Elliott didn’t move. He stayed crouched, one hand gripping the edge of the moulding, his face hovering over the side. When he blinked, tears fell and missed the building completely, dropping straight to the sidewalk that was four storeys down. 

“El, come on.”

All the way down to the sidewalk –

“Elliott.”

He turned his head, swaying a little, and for a moment Shayne thought that was it, that he was gone, he’d lost his balance. Shayne sat forward on his heels, instinctively making an uncalculated grab for his cousin’s hand, but luckily Elliott was reaching back too; two fumbling hands happened to fumble in the right directions at the right time.

“Fuck,” Elliott whimpered, steadying himself on his feet again. Shayne could feel both their pulses in their joined hands, Elliott’s almost explosive. “We should… We should probably get off this thing.”

“Oh, you think?” Shayne snapped, though he clung to Elliott’s hand like a toddler to a parent as the two of them edged back over towards the window. He hopped in through the window first, turning to make sure Elliott was following him. The taller man hit his head on the open window, making the frame shudder as he shut his eyes and winced.

“Shit, are you okay?” Shayne held out a hand to help him make it the rest of the way.

“I’m fine, get off me,” Elliott growled, shoving Shayne away from him and storming over to the bed.

“Fuck heights,” Shayne murmured, pulling the window shut with more force than was probably necessary. It released some of the fear that had been pinching his nerves though, and his head felt clearer. “We should probably go down to the street and clean that glass up before someone –”

“Shut up.”

Shayne shrugged, gazing at Elliott as he sat at the edge of his bed, head resting in his hands. “Is – is your head okay, or –?”

“What’d I just say?”

“You said to shut up, but how the fuck do you expect me not to ask you if you’re okay? You almost fell off the fucking… roof!” Shayne smacked his hand on the bedpost as he walked by, partially on purpose. “Fuck you, Elliott.”

“Calm down, man,” Elliott snarled, his head shooting up from his hands. “Come on, you seriously think that’s the closest I’ve ever come to dying?”

“You can’t…” Shayne stopped by the door to the hallway, eyes lowered. “You can’t do shit like that, you can’t talk like that. I don’t care if he’s left you, if the world’s falling to shit, if you think nobody cares about you being around, you can’t…”

A sob broke the air, and Shayne froze, turning to watch as Elliott hunched over at the edge of the bed, his head ducking and disappearing from his silhouette.

“I’m… sorry.”

Having never heard such a heart-wrenching sound from Elliott before, Shayne found himself hurrying back to the bed. He sat down next to Elliott and let him sink his head against his shoulder and cry, his body convulsing with what seemed to be days’ worth of pent-up agony and sadness. Shayne felt utterly useless; he couldn’t guarantee that everything would be alright with Felix, because how the hell could he possibly know that?

“Ugh, fuck,” Elliott exclaimed, his shoulders jerking forward with a sob so deep that it sounded more like a hiccup. He clamped a hand over his mouth, the other lifting to tentatively cover the front of his head, where he’d hit it on the window.

“You okay, man?” Shayne asked hoarsely.

Elliott shook his head, face paling even in the dull light.

“You gonna hurl?” Shayne murmured, wondering if the irony would be lost on Elliott in his current state. He was already getting to his feet, remembering that Felix kept a metal bin under his desk.

“Mmmph.” Elliott nodded furiously, only releasing his mouth from his hand once Shayne had thrust the bin at him. Saliva glistened on his lips as he hovered, breathing heavily. His eyes were red and swollen and he was still gently kneading his head.

A deep retch rolled his shoulders and made him duck his head further into the bin. Shayne grimaced and almost put a hand on Elliott’s shoulder before remembering that that would have been a terrible idea. He stood by the desk instead, arms folded around his waist, flinching in time with Elliott’s horrifying gagging.

When Elliott’s face resurfaced, he was gasping and spitting out mouthfuls of thick bile and saliva, tinged only slightly with the golden hue of the heavy liquor.

“Jesus,” he choked out. “How hard did I hit my head?”

After a disbelieving glance towards the window, Shayne scoffed. “Your head? What about the god-knows-how-much whisky in your system right now?”

“Alright, whatever,” Elliott groaned. He pawed at a thick strand of his hair that was stuck to the side of his face and trailing into the bin itself, tossing it over his shoulder. Just in time too, since the next retch was deep and abrupt and dragged a rumbling belch up alongside a gush of foamy alcohol and stomach acid.

Between gags, Elliott let thick liquid drip from his mouth into the bin, body shivering with the effort it took to bring everything up. It went on for so long that Shayne was certain Elliott was going to fall asleep with his head in the bin.

Eventually, Elliott sat upright, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and dragging it across the lower half of his face. He tossed it into the bin and reached for another one.

“Want me to get you some water? Or, like, blood?”

“No.” Elliott sighed deeply, dropping the second tissue into the bin before he began to scoop his hair back from his face and neck. “I’ve been drinking on an empty stomach for two days. I wanna go get chips.”

“Chips?”

“Yes. Can you grab one of Felix’s scrunchies from his side?”

Shayne did as he was asked, mostly in a daze, rounding the bed to get to Felix’s bedside locker. There was a pile of hair ties sitting alongside a handheld cassette player.

“Can you even eat?” Shayne asked, leaning across the bed to hand one of the hair ties to Elliott. “You know, with all of your full-vampire shit going on?”

“Seriously, you little asshole?” Elliott snapped, his voice scratchy and weak. “My life is falling down around me and you’re trying to deny me chips?”

Shayne quickly shook his head, a little bit grateful for the bloodcurdling glare that Elliott was currently treating him to. He got up from the bed again as Elliott tended to his hair. “Let me just grab a jacket.”

[dabi-drift]

Could we have a shy s/o who asks geten out on a date + relationship headcanons please, sorry if this is too much you can pick one or the other if you want✨ btw I love your work, always looking forward to your posts!

Ahh, this was such a cute concept to me! It’s a little longer than usual, and I spent virtually all day on it, so I hope it’s good! And thank youuuu!! That’s awesome, and so appreciated! ^^

Geten’s Shy S/O Asking Him Out:

❈ Your timidity was all-consuming, and really impacted on your social relations. When in a conversation, you'd find yourself unable to look the person in the eyes. Your gaze would drift to the ground, like you didn’t feel worthy enough to even give the illusion of being on their level. A raised head would've sent out the wrong signals. You didn’t want anyone thinking you over-confident, or a narcissist.

❈ Instead, you were seen as a quiet, obedient MLA member, who preferred lone training, but worried incessantly about fighting. After all, that meant interacting with people - something you absolutely did not support.

❈ As such, you'd only spoken with Geten two or three times, in passing. Yet, he was always on your mind. You wanted to extinguish your feelings so, so badly! He was a million times better than you - way out of your league! It was a wonder why you'd ever fallen in the first place. What was the point, when all you'd get was heartbreak?

❈ You were convinced that's all you'd ever get.

❈ But your heart just couldn’t let go.

❈ 3/4 of your word count were probably apologies, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he found you strange.

❈ Surely he wouldn’t want such a shy, soft-spoken partner?

❈ …But you just couldn’t let him go. If you never even tried to court him, he'd find someone else, and it'd destroy you! He was always on your mind, even when he shouldn’t be - you fawned over him, like a desperate fan. He was so strong, so pretty…a violent little cutie. From your rose-tinted perspective, he had no faults.

❈ That fiery attitude might disenchant the average admirer, but at this point, you were a veteran, in way too deep. What you felt…it was infinitely stronger than a crush. It never wavered…never faded.

❈ You had journals full of phrases like "I wish, with the might of all the stars, that you would look at me the way I look at you.", and short pieces proclaiming your love for him. And to really cement this point, you had his name written in hearts. Many hearts. Spanning like,, an entire journal.

❈ You almost worshipped him, as though he were a god, or an entire religion.

❈ …It wasn’t easy, being in love. You were resolved to tell him, but you couldn’t do that in a public area. You'd have to drag him somewhere more private. The thought made you flush. What if he grew suspicious? Or assumed you wanted to hurt him?? Nothing could've been further from the truth. But since you had trouble speaking, and your face would definitely be on fire…he'd be cautious, maybe even angry?

❈ Oh god, you did not want him to be angry! If that happened, you'd chicken out immediately. He'd have you running for the hills, getting the hell out of Deika City and never, ever showing your face there again. And in the worst case, the embarrassment and fear might force you out of Japan. You'd have to change your name, get a new social security number, find a new job and apartment…

❈ Why was it so difficult to confess?? You wanted to be so naturally eloquent with your words, so confident and clever, that he'd be compelled to swoon. You commanded greater mastery over the written word, but you needed to tell him in person. You needed him to hear, to feel the emotion behind them. You had to be taken seriously. You had to try.

❈ So try you did. You managed to catch him as he walked toward one of Deika's many training grounds. You were alone, save for the birds that chirped overhead. The frosty weather bit at your cheeks, but you couldn’t be deterred. Not anymore. It was now or never.

❈ You had the stage, and his full attention. It was so nerve-wracking!

❈ "Geten…! Um, I-I've really admired - uh, liked!...Loved! Yeah…um, I've…for a while now, a-and…I wanted to tell you…! So, uh…if it  i-isn't too much trouble, um…p-please go out with me!"

❈ You stood with a lowered head, uncomfortably basking in the silence that followed. You couldn’t meet his eyes, for fear of seeing an emotion you knew you wouldn’t be able to bear.

❈ "…Go out? Where would we go?"

❈ You looked up, mouth hanging open in shock. A light blush sat atop his cheeks…so he'd understood your feelings, at least.

❈ "U-Uh…it means…um…" Your voice got progressively quieter, as you realised that you had to teach him what a relationship actually was.

❈ "Speak up. You're hard to hear." He huffed, though he didn’t seem angry.

❈ Okay, so I don't have to move countries.

❈ "It's, um…d-d-dating…? It's m-more than friends, like uh…r-romantic…holding hands and k-k-kissing and stuff…!"

❈ He blushed harder, and despite his efforts to hide it under the fur of his Parka, you saw it. There was another round of silence, like he was considering the pros and cons of 'dating' you.

❈ Finally, he reached a decision.

❈ "I guess…I'll 'go out' with you."

& Relationship Headcanons: 

❈ This boy doesn't know a ton about love, so you're gonna have to teach him what it means to: 1) have a partner, and 2) show affection toward said partner. He's never been in a position quite like this before, so he's definitely a slow-starter.

❈ Make no mistake, though - he does love you. And due to both his ideology and strength, he's fiercely loyal and protective. If you have a 'weak' Meta Ability, he'll be a little disappointed (for the future generation, y'know?), but it just means he has to shield you from any and all dangers. It's a responsibility he cherishes. He's never really had to look out for anyone but himself, so it's a nice change of pace.

❈ Initially, he isn't sure about the whole 'dating' and 'lovers' thing. You're still incredibly shy, and whenever he tries to hold your hand, you go bright red and shuffle your feet awkwardly. He'll take that the wrong way.

❈ It takes many, many weeks for you to gather up the courage to ask for a kiss. Geten obliges almost instantly, but hesitates when he sees you shaking.

❈ It's more from excitement than embarrassment, but he doesn't know that.

❈ Of course you're excited! You're finally, finally gonna kiss the boy you love. But you're also nervous. It's your first kiss, after all. You want it to be perfect, but you're scared you're gonna mess up. And if you do, you're worried he'll hate you. If you mess up, you ruin the experience for two people.

❈ So you make 10000% sure he's okay with it, and you make him swear on his life that he won't be mad at you.

❈ He's of the opinion that you can always try again, but in your mind, it's a life or death scenario.

❈ If you take too long, over-think (no doubt you will) or start to falter, he'll just crash your lips together, albeit sloppily. He doesn't care about gentle or rough, messy or clean…as long as you're connected. He'll place one hand on your waist, and pin you to the wall. For someone so inexperienced, his movements gradually get more professional.

❈ In reality, he's researching this for you

❈ You'll snuggle up to Geten during the summer months, because despite his inability to create ice, his body temperature is still quite low.

❈ You get to see him without the Parka. No-one gets to see him without the Parka. Consider yourself a lucky, lucky bastard.

❈ Your shyness won't disappear, but around Geten, you definitely become more composed. After a few months, or even a year, that is. In the beginning, you're nothing but a nervous, stuttering wreck, who can't stand beside him for more than ten seconds without melting.

❈ Oh, you might want those plane tickets after all, because he's gonna find your journals eventually (when he's absolutely head-over-heals in love with you). Don't worry though, he'll think they're cute, and a testament to how amazing you are as a partner.

❈ Honestly, your heart holds so much value to him. He'll never, ever let you give it to someone else. He's whipped - completely, totally…and he isn't afraid to admit it!

❈ Once the PLF is formed, he'll seek you out to join the Violet Regiment (but be in the same room as Dabi, and blood will be shed).

❈ Everyone headcanons him as Geten's biggest romantic rival, and I'm not here to argue with that

❈ He's bad with words, so he'll rely on actions! Just don't expect any PDA (unless he's jealous)!! <3

[vettelewis]

Lewis Hamilton: ‘There are so many things to fight for’

In his 14th season in Formula One, Lewis Hamilton has won more races than anyone else. And with his win in Turkey earlier this month, he achieved a milestone not just in his career but in the history of his sport: a seventh world title. But it’s also his actions off the circuit that make him our Game Changer Of The Year, as he takes a knee and raises a fist for the global Black Lives Matter movement

By any standards, even if Lewis Hamilton hadn’t spoken into a single microphone this year and hadn’t sent a single tweet and hadn’t once bent knee to ground in order to shake up the very male and oh-so-pale world of Formula One, he would have had one of the most remarkable years of his life. In winning the Portuguese Grand Prix in October, the 35-year-old surpassed Michael Schumacher’s record of 91 race wins, a feat most in the sport felt untouchable. And with his victory at the Turkish Grand Prix earlier this month, he equalled the German’s seven world championships. As his race engineer Peter Bonnington succinctly put it, “You are rewriting the history books.”

But GQ’s Game Changer Of The Year is not only a sporting great: he has quite literally used his exalted platform – or, more specifically, podium – to raise the issue of race in a sport for which it rarely comes up, precisely because there are so few black faces in it. In taking a knee before races – and even making his team change the colour of its car – he has pushed for change in a world that badly needed changing, consequences and criticisms be damned. GQ spoke to him as he was on the cusp of claiming his seventh championship and found that, both on and off the track, he’s just getting started...

Misan Harriman: What was your motivation when you first decided to take the knee?

Lewis Hamilton: I remember watching the video [of George Floyd’s death]. This life extinguished in front of my eyes by the people who are hired to protect others, and I heard when he was calling for his mum. This happens time and time again and that’s why there’s been such a large cry out. When I was watching it, tears came, so many emotions came up. It brought stuff up of my past. I started experiencing racism when I was five and people looked upon it so lightly, when someone would throw out these words, the bullying and the beatings and the intimidation... My dad always said, “Do your talking on the track,” so I held my tongue, but we suppress a lot of things and all my suppressed emotions came up and I was like, “You know what? I have to do something. I cannot stay silent.” If we all stay silent, it will continue for generations. I look at my niece and nephew and do not want them to experience what I experienced.

How do you feel about the response from F1? Thirteen drivers knelt with you in Spain and I think seven didn’t...

It’s not always a good thing for me, but I often post out of just kneejerk reaction, passion. And I called everyone out. I see all of you out there who have platforms, who have a following and just stay quiet. My team was the first to react. Since I joined, I remember mentioning that this team is not diverse. Year on year, I would talk about how our team is not diverse, how our sport is not diverse. So I got to sit down with my team and get into deep conversation of what is going on. And, you know, we changed the car to black and that had to go through a chain of command. Everyone got on board and it was overwhelming to see the response from our partners, because logo colours had to change. Brands put the issue first rather than themselves. I think as a sport, they were very, very nervous of what the right steps were. We saw the reaction: 13 drivers, as you said, took the knee. Obviously, the ones that didn’t, I don’t know if some drivers were like, “I’m not doing it because this is what Lewis is doing” or whether they didn’t get it... I think there are plenty of people in our sport that still don’t understand what we’re doing.

Do you think it helps that your record is so extraordinary that it adds to your ability to do this within the sport? If you weren’t winning, would it be harder?

Well, you can look at some other sports and there’s some people that aren’t super successful yet, but the more successful [you are], the wider your audience, the wider the impact. I’ve had a very, very difficult life and I’ve been thinking a lot about all these wins. I’ve had a lot of success in my racing career. It’s a great feeling, it’s a real privilege, but what does it really mean? All these numbers... what is it? Why was I the one who was chosen to represent black people in our sport? But I think as my life is unravelling, as the journey unravels itself, my purpose here is to utilise my voice to help encourage change. And my goal, really, is to shift the sport in a direction that it perhaps wouldn’t have gone if I wasn’t here. And most certainly not have gone if the Black Lives Matter movement hadn’t started, if George’s life wasn’t so visible.

You were critical of Vitaly Petrov’s comments about Black Lives Matter before the Portuguese Grand Prix. Was it a mistake for the FIA to appoint him as race steward?

I don’t know whether they call it a mistake. I think that the FIA is a large organisation and they are leaders and if you’re going to state what your values are and what you fight for, yet you hire people who don’t seem to have those in common... I don’t understand. I don’t personally get that. I don’t really know the guy very well and I won’t really comment about whether he’s good or not – I think his results speak for themselves over his career – but I thought that it was a step in the wrong direction or even a step backwards. But, you know, you look at Donald Trump, people can obviously see he’s racist. He even said, “I am the least racist person in this room,” so he’s acknowledging [it]. But people are willing to put aside the fact that he’s said so many bad things about minorities, for wealth or for other policies.

Formula One rules were changed after the Tuscan Grand Prix to effectively ban T-shirts with political statements after your Breonna Taylor message. Will you ignore those rules in the future?

If I believe it is important enough, I will. I will do it again. Going into that weekend, the case with Breonna Taylor had really been on my mind and I’ve been chasing down this shirt for weeks. Every weekend that I arrive, we have the spotlight on us and every weekend there is an opportunity to raise awareness. We don’t live in a time when everything is OK. And I remember as I went through the day I was like, “OK, I’ve got to win this race. I can’t come second and wear this top.” So I remember racing my heart out, pushing with every ounce for first place and I remember getting that win and I was like, “OK. I’m here for you, Breonna.” And I put that shirt on and in the 70 years of our sport, no one’s ever stood up there for anything but themselves. And I was standing up there for someone else. It was one of the greatest feelings.

You’re virtually in uncharted territory, on the verge of a record-equalling seventh F1 world championship. Is it sinking in? Is your operating system even able to process what that means?

I remember winning my first championship when I was ten years old and I remember how great that day was. My dad was – is – a tough man. It was really not easy to make that man happy, but I remember winning that championship and we had the best moment – we went away singing, “We are the champions.” And I remember the relief I had in that period of time, because I wasn’t good at anything else. I struggled at school, no matter how hard I tried. Then I won these other championships and, as I started getting older, I realised it doesn’t change anything. Like, it’s a relief of tension for a second, the muscle can let go, but then you’re like, “OK. What’s next?” And it’s taken time to be present and enjoy the moment for a longer period, because it passes so fast. I never thought I’d get to seven. No one ever believed that I would ever get to seven. And now I’m on the verge of equalling the most successful driver of all time and [have] more race wins and I have a chance to potentially go and win more championships. Even if you just take my name away, there will always be at the pinnacle of our sport someone of colour. So I’m very proud of that and I think that’s probably the thing I’m going to be most proud of.

Do you think you have reached your own limits or do you think you can get even better? And would you love to race everyone in the same car, without any advantage?

Well, firstly, on the driving side of things, you know, I was just doing the race yesterday and I was going through this race realising that I’m getting stronger. My skills are getting sharper – my intuition and understanding of strategy, my understanding of my tires... I’m getting stronger and I didn’t expect that. And I didn’t know at what point I was going to plateau, but I’m realising that I’m getting better and that is a great feeling. But it doesn’t come without the hard work. There’s no coincidence that I’m driving the way I am. And, of course, we do live now in a sport where there’s such a gap between all the teams. And people try to devalue what I do because of the machine that I have, so without doubt, I would love to have everyone in the same car, with a track that enables you to really, really race. And then we’ll see... Like, [Fernando] Alonso, I beat him in my first year, straight out. I was 22 years old, a rookie, and I finished ahead of him. Even today, you know, people talk about Max [Verstappen]. Like, it’s probably never ever going to happen, but if I did have Max come into my team and I did the job I currently do and beat him, people would say, “Oh, it’s rigged.”

What about the rumours of you ever being tempted by the red paint of Ferrari?

That’s not going to happen. The Ferrari thing is not going to happen... I think. I’ve always been positive about Ferrari. I watched Michael win there. I’ve always been a Ferrari fan. I remember one of the first cars I ever bought was a Ferrari. And I think it’s a hugely iconic team and brand, particularly. I think the team has, in my period of time... There have been things I’ve seen that I don’t necessarily feel mirror my values and my approach. However, it is a team that every driver, I think, has dreamed of what it would be like to sit in the red cockpit. No disrespect to them, but when I stop I want to work with Mercedes in helping them be even better in the outside world. You know, they’ll always have beautiful cars, but how can we be a more diverse industry?

So when you stop, what are you going to do? Salsa dancing, fishing, Fifa?

Definitely not salsa dancing. And definitely not fishing. I’m vegan! I’m not going to catch fish out of the sea! There’s a lot of different things that I want to do. I would say on the fun side of things for me, I’d love to try a bit of acting. I love my music, so I’ll continue to do my music. And I want to continue to want to learn to play the piano. I really would love to learn a language. My mum is a dancer, so I may take her to go and do a dance course with her son. But then, on the business side of things, there’s not a lot of black-owned businesses in the Fortune 500, for example, and I’ve had the privilege of working with someone like Tommy Hilfiger, who’s really opened my mind to the fashion industry. And I love that industry. I really do have a dream of one day having a fashion brand that’s fully sustainable, fully ethical. I’m always going to be trying to get involved in tech, because that’s the key to the future, I think. And then, most importantly, working with organisations out there to raise awareness for important issues that I care about. There are so many things to fight for.

Lord Hain, who was a Labour cabinet minister and who vice-chairs the All Parliamentary Group On Formula One, said it was “unacceptable” that you hadn’t had a knighthood yet. Is he right?

Well, it’s the first I’ve heard about this! It’s not what I’m racing for. I’m not like, “I’ve got to win these races so I can be knighted.” My granddad served in the Second World War – I’ve got all his medals – and I was so proud to see Captain Sir Tom get his knighthood this year. I think the unsung heroes are the ones that deserve these things. If I’m one day honoured, I don’t think it’s something I’d say no to, but it’s not an issue for me right now. Like, I’m really grateful. The fact I’ve even had the opportunity to go to Buckingham Palace and I’ve got an MBE – like, wow, a kid from Stevenage, so I’m grateful for that. Look at Captain Tom, he was 100 years old before he got recognised.

The black community, obviously, are very proud of our own and sometimes I think the frustration is your level of success should have been recognised a lot earlier on. And maybe, ironically, your activism is getting that kind of attention, instead of what you’ve done on the track, which is a surreal thing to say. I actually think the Lewis Hamilton of 2020, what you’ve done off the track, is almost making as much noise as you making history by beating Schumacher’s record.

The mixed feelings that I’ve had this year... I could never have ever dreamt of having the year that we’ve had, in the sense of the sadness, the isolation, the trials and tribulations. This is going to be the one I remember the most, I think, and, you know, I still have a job to do: I’ve got to win the seventh title. And when I win that seventh title, what am I going to do with it? I’m still going to be taking a knee and using my voice on that day. But I’m near. I’m closing in on it. I’m still energised. I came back last night [after the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix in Italy] and I was like, “I can’t believe I just won that race,” but the thing is, the world moves on so fast, you just keep going.

[scripttorture]

I have a character that is basically drowned while in captivity (not with a rag over the face and water poured over, but with his head shoved into a tub of water). Is it possible that he would develop a fear of water because of it? I think that he would have an intense fear of not being able to breathe (he was also choked on multiple occasions while captive, which I think would also make the fear stronger) but would he be afraid of going into water specifically? Or have a fear of drowning?

I think there was an almost identical question to this some years ago that went to both myself and scripttraumasurvivors.

 I think the likelihood depends on what exactly you mean by ‘fear of water’. Honestly I’m unsure about what you’re describing. And I’d suggest taking a look at the post on common symptoms. Pick 3-5 from the list and portray them consistently.

 Triggers and fears are unpredictable and are not generally this linear. You might not of known that and that’s OK. We’re here to learn and improve.

 Choking and near drowning have been common tortures for literally hundreds of years and I have never heard of something like this broad fear of water in reality. I won’t say it’s completely impossible but I think it’s close to it.

 More to the point I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

 I think you’re better off either picking a more common trigger or deciding what it is about water that you want to be the issue. Because if it is just water then does this character take in fluids? Do they wash? Do they cook? Can they eat soup?

 As someone who grew up in a desert I can attest that a complete avoidance of water will result in a mild case of death. And if we’re talking about a trigger, about panic attacks and PTSD flashbacks whenever it comes up, then I think you are talking about constant dehydration plus the inability to wash, eat and excrete without pain.

 But I can probably help you come up with some alternatives.

 Near drowning tortures don’t generally involve clean water. So did the water used have a particular smell or flavour? If a tub, trough or bucket is left full of standing water for a long period of time it tends to take on a brackish quality, a sourness and a slight rotten smell.

 That smell or similar tastes could be a trigger.

 It would be a lot harder for the character to identify but it could give some of kinds of responses you imagined. The character might walk into a bathroom and have a visceral negative reaction with no idea why. They might love going for outdoor walks and find they avoid certain routes without consciously realising that the anxiety spike is due to the standing water they can smell along that walk.

 They might respond badly to the feeling of water on their face.

 So they don’t go out when it rains. They take baths instead of showers.

 We don’t actually detect dry/wet; what we feel as ‘wet’ is a combination of detecting pressure and temperature. Which means that we can feel something is ‘wet’ without there being any water involved. Something slightly cold, pressed against the skin can feel similar to water.

 So leaning against things like a window pane or a radiator could be triggering.

 Ties and shirts with tight, high necklines can create the impression of restricted breathing. Note they shouldn’t actually restrict breathing but they can create that impression, which can act as a trigger. Necklaces, especially heavy ones, can do the same thing.

 Moving a little further from your original concept; the character was held down. So hands on their shoulders or the back of their neck are another possible option. They might also be triggered when people are close behind them. Which would effect how they move and act around groups of people, keeping a larger distance and trying to limit the space behind them.

 What I’m doing here is trying to find sensory associations. Because that’s generally how these things seem to work, little details about an event serve as subconscious reminders and raise all those negative responses/feelings.

 Picture the traumatic event your character survives. Think about things like the smells, the lighting, the sounds and tactile sensation beyond the direct cause of pain.

 The smell of the room or the shampoo the torturers used could be triggers. So could the hum of fluorescent lightbulbs.

 Triggers aren’t logical connections. They’re associations our subconscious makes. They aren’t always easy to understand or identify.

 Neither your audience nor your characters need to know what is triggering this character. You need to know in order to portray it consistently but no one else really needs to know. The choice of whether these triggers are easily identified is just that.

 I think it might be a good idea to step back and consider what the triggers could add to the story. It’s also worth considering what the character’s other symptoms are and how the triggers interact with those symptoms.

 Mostly I think it’s important not to treat the trigger as the main part of the symptom. Anxiety disorders, PTSD and any other condition that can be triggered continue to exist in the survivor outside of the presence of triggers. It’s always worth thinking about what that looks like in your character.

 Triggers can add a lot to the story and the expression of your character’s symptoms. But they’re not where this process stops. I think if you put a lot into creating strange or incredibly broad triggers then you risk detracting from the symptoms themselves.

 It’s a balancing act. And part of getting it right is experimenting with your writing.

 If your writing style allows it I think it might be worth using this to experiment. Write a couple of scenes with the character having a more common trigger, then try writing the same scenes with the broader triggers you’d originally planned. Remember to include the knock on effects of any trigger on both scenes.

 Look over all the scenes. Think about how well the symptoms and their impact on the character’s life come through. Think about whether it’s more difficult to keep the plot on track. Think about how difficult it is to keep track of all the knock on effects of the trigger and all of its impacts on the character’s behaviour.

 And consider how the triggers add to the story you’re trying to tell.

 If you feel like the really unusual triggers are adding a lot to your story and you can easily balance all of the elements- Well I’d still think it’s weird and unrealistic. But so long as you’re not suggesting this is a ‘normal’ response I don’t see it as problematic.

 I do think it would be a lot harder to write these triggers seriously and balance all the other elements. Like the rest of the symptom set and the plot.

 And if that’s the case then I’d suggest switching to a more common trigger.

 I hope that helps.

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[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.12/25

TW: Fire!! (Only took 12 chapters to get there), and Geralt has a panic attack in the shower.

Previous

_____________

Half-term was chaotic.

Geralt would have preferred to have gotten the time off work so he could spend the week with Ciri but unfortunately the shift rota just didn’t work out this time. This meant he was already grumpy before his shifts even started. He hated leaving Ciri behind. Coën was thankfully grateful for the extra money that the hours round Geralt’s house gave him. Geralt had managed to at least get two days off during the week and he’d promised to take Ciri ice skating. He hadn’t tried ice skating since he was a child but he hoped that it was like riding a bicycle. She’d pouted at him with her big shining green eyes and he’d been helpless to say no.

He just had to make it through the day first. His stomach rumbled as he watched his leftovers spin round and round in the microwave. He’d made pasta bake with Ciri on Sunday evening and the leftovers were his lunch until his next day off, which was, thankfully, tomorrow.

Lambert had been called out to assist the police at a road traffic accident whilst Geralt and Renfri had just gotten back from house call in Lower Posada and it was already long past his usual lunchtime. The call hadn’t really needed both of them in attendance but the owner of the house hadn’t been confident to put out their small kitchen fire by themselves so had rung the fire service. Eskel had had a few false calls, which was really just a waste of everyone’s time. The on-call team, the griffins this week, had been called in to help the wolves on their various missions. They’d just been too spread out the last couple of days and Geralt was exhausted.

“Ger-Bear!” Renfri called as the alarms began to ring in the fire station. “We’re up! Stop slacking.”

He cursed and stopped the microwave. It looked like he was skipping lunch today, again.

He grabbed his jacket and they all jumped into gear. They were down the pole and in the fire engine in record time. Geralt turned the keys in the ignition as Eskel slipped into the seat beside him. They keyed in the postcode into the GPS and Geralt hit the siren and the lights.

“What have we got?” Geralt asked Renfri as he navigated the traffic of Upper Posada.

Renfri looked through the notes on her phone. “House fire in a block of flats. Cause of the fire is currently unknown but it managed to spread to the corridor before it was noticed by one of the residents returning home.”

“Fuck.” Geralt cursed. “What happened to the fire alarms?”

“Believed to be faulty. The alarms only went off when the fire reached outside of the flat.” Renfri continued. “Owner of the the flat where we think the fire started was also out at the time, he returned whilst the reporting resident was on the phone. However, we aren’t sure how many residents are still in the building. Vesemir has called Lambert so he’ll be joining us as soon as he’s finished with the RTC in Gulet.”

“Shit.” Geralt groaned. Fires in apartment buildings could be devastating if they weren’t caught early. The potential number of casualties were a lot higher than your average household. “Eskel, can you contact the landlord, get a list of everyone in the building?”

“On it.” Eskel grunted and started to flick through their list of contacts until he found the right number.

Whilst he was on the phone the fire engine’s radio crackled to life.

“Shrike.” Vesemir called.

“Here.” Renfri nodded as they turned into the right road. Geralt grimaced as he saw the plumes of smoke rising from the building.

“Call me once you’re at the scene. I have information for you.” Vesemir ordered.

“Will do, boss.”

Geralt parked the truck in the road and turned the sirens off, leaving the lights on to alert passing traffic. The police was already at scene trying to control the crowd, they must have had a patrol in the area. They leapt into action the moment the engine had pulled to a stop. The smoke was already heavy in the air and the smell of burning plastic hit the back of his throat. Geralt grimaced as he quickly assessed the situation. Judging by the smoke billowing from the window, the fire was on the third floor and hadn’t spread yet to the other floors, but it was only a matter of time and they had to act fast.

“Geralt!” Renfri called, the urgency in her voice startled him. “Vesemir. He didn’t want me to tell you this but… He had another call.”

“Spit it out, Renfri!” Geralt growled as she hesitated.

“Geralt… Jaskier’s up there!”

Geralt felt his knees almost buckle underneath and he had to grab onto the fire engine to keep himself standing.

Jaskier.

“Why didn’t he evacuate with the others?!” Geralt yelled at Renfri.

“I don’t know!!” Renfri yelled back. “We’re wasting time!”

Geralt snarled and pulled on the rest of his protective gear so that he could go into the building. Renfri tried to protest, saying he was emotionally compromised but he ignored her. Jaskier was somewhere in that growing cloud of smoke.

He had to save him.

Whatever the cost.

“Focus on the fire. I’m getting him out, and call any griffins that aren’t on other jobs. There may be others.” He growled. “Did Vesemir say what floor?”

“Fifth. Flat 5D.”

“Thanks.”

He took a deep breath before heading into the blaze, ignoring Renfri’s protests behind him. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He almost ran straight past the third floor in his rush to get to Jaskier. He skidded to a halt and cursed before turning back.

The third floor was the priority. He had to check for residents nearest the fire first. If he didn’t and there were casualties then it would be on him. Their deaths would be his responsibility.

“Fuck!” He yelled into the ever growing heat. Every step he spent on the third floor was torture. His soul was pulling him to the fifth floor but he couldn’t lose his cool. He needed to remain professional. Renfri was right. He was compromised. “Damn it, Jaskier.” He snarled.

He located the cause of the fire in one of the flats as he navigated the flames. The structure of the building growing more unstable by the second. The oven was completely charred and there was no saving the rest of the flat but thankfully it was empty, just like the reports had said. He quickly radioed Eskel to confirm the cause of the fire before moving to safer ground. He yelled out as he check the rest of the floor as quickly as he could. Once he was certain it was clear he sprinted up the final sets of stairs.

“Jaskier!!” He called loudly. The sound of burning was quieter on the fifth floor but he could still feel the heat from the floor below. He squinted through the smoke at the numbers on the doors until he found 5D.

He kicked through the door. He winced as he felt the shock of the impact shudder up his leg. “JASKIER!” He called again.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was uncharacteristically weak. “I’m in here!”

Geralt snarled. ‘In here’ was not a useful description but he tried his best to locate the teacher. The living room was full of instrument cases and there was a small grand piano tucked into the corner of the lounge. Geralt swallowed. He really hoped they could tame the blaze before the fire tore apart Jaskier’s home. He’d be devastated if he lost his instruments but there was no way Geralt could get them out in time. He shook his head and moved into the bathroom. “Jaskier?” He found him…

In the bath…

Naked.

“Jaskier!” He fell to his knees in front of the tub. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“My ankle. The alarm went off and I slipped. I couldn’t move, Geralt.” Jaskier was visibly shaken and pale in the bright lights of the bathroom. Geralt tried not to look where he really shouldn’t but he needed to make sure his friend wasn’t badly hurt. There were no obvious burns which was good and so far there wasn’t much smoke in this part of the building. Hopefully it was just his ankle.

“I couldn’t move.” Jaskier repeated more quietly.

Geralt looked around. Ideally he didn’t want to pick Jaskier up with nothing to cover him but clothes were not a priority. He was hoping Jaskier had a dressing gown or something nearby that he could grab. If not a towel would have to do.

“Luckily I had my phone next to the bath. You can’t hear the music over the sound of water if it’s too far away so I had my phone on the laundry basket. I should probably invest in some speakers but then it did save my life so maybe I won’t.” Jaskier was speaking at a hundred miles an hour now Geralt had arrived. “I did try and call you first but then you didn’t pick up and I realised you must be at work so I called the emergency number instead. Weirdly not my most embarrassing phone call. ‘Hello I’m stuck in my bathtub and the building is on fire. Oh and I’m naked as a new born baby.’”

“Jaskier!” Geralt snapped, breaking off the man’s train of thought and desperately trying not to look as Jaskier drew his attention, once again, to his nakedness. “Do you have a dressing gown or anything?” Geralt asked, the mask muffled his voice but Jaskier managed to hear him clear enough.

Jaskier, the fool, laughed. “On my bedroom floor. This was a lot sexier in my dreams.” He whined.

“You’re delirious.” Geralt grumbled as he moved into the bedroom. “Must be smoke inhalation.”

“No really. You’d fly through the window like in the movies and carry me down the ladder.” Jaskier sighed wistfully. “It’s fucking terrifying in real life. More of a nightmare.”

Geralt found the robe and threw it into the bathroom. “Put that on and I’ll help you out.”

“You were wearing less clothes in my dreams.” Jaskier continued to ramble and Geralt realised it was probably the nerves blocking his usual filter. Whilst Geralt wasn’t a stranger to Jaskier’s flirting, the teacher usually took more care to keep their interactions on the other side of the professional line, a more light flirting that could easily be dismissed as banter between friends should someone, such as the headmaster, care to examine their growing relationship more closely. “Strangely I normally start with more clothes.”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighed and looked around the small flat impatiently.

“Of course… by the end of the dream…” Jaskier trailed off.

“Are you done?” Geralt pushed the door back open.

Jaskier was leaning against the wall, hopping unstably on his good ankle. The dressing gown was fluffy and covered in yellow flowers, and Geralt just wanted to wrap the man up in his arms.

He paused.

Jaskier couldn’t walk.

Geralt was allowed to wrap him up in his arms.

He grinned, thankful that he delight was hidden behind his helmet and mask, and scooped Jaskier up into his arms and over his shoulder.

Jaskier squeaked indignantly but didn’t resist.

“At least buy me a drink first!” He protested.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll buy you one after once we get out of here.”

Jaskier laughed. “Is that a promise, dearest?”

Geralt needed to get them out of here, and quickly. The fire was no longer the most dangerous thing in the building. If Jaskier didn’t shut up soon, Geralt’s heart was going to burst from his chest.

“If we survive.” He grumbled mostly to himself.

Geralt carried Jaskier to the window, flinging it open with only a little difficulty. He managed to radio Eskel to confirm that he’d found the teacher. Eskel radioed back to confirm receipt of the message and the ladder on top of the fire truck was already moving towards them.

Really Geralt should have entered the building through the window to start with but he would be the first to admit that he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly. He wondered if that was how Vesemir had felt all those years ago when Geralt had been trapped in his bedroom by the burning embers of his house. Jaskier was still wittering away over his shoulder but he didn’t put the man down. The weight on his shoulder was a comforting one. He’d managed to rescue Jaskier. That was all the mattered.

Eskel’s voice crackled in his ear to confirm the rest of the residents had thankfully managed to evacuate without a problem.

Of course it would be Jaskier that was the problem.

By the time the reached the street both Lambert and the griffins had arrived on the scene. Lambert, Renfri and a handful of the on call fighters were spraying gallons of water into the smoking windows to douse the flames. Eskel was supervising the operation, since Geralt had dived straight into flames, and liaising with the other emergency services that now crowded outside the burning building.

Geralt dumped Jaskier into the waiting ambulance and pulled off his helmet. He looked down at his friend, searching his face for any obvious injuries or signs of trauma.

“Jaskier.” He voice cracked now the adrenaline of walking through fire had begun to crash out of his system. “Fuck.” He closed his eyes.

He opened them when he felt Jaskier’s hand on his cheek. “I’m ok, Geralt.”

Geralt wanted to say so many things.

Like how fucking worried he was.

Like how he had wanted to tear the building apart just to find him.

Like how he’d felt like his heart was shattering when he pictured Jaskier’s dead body trapped under burning debris.

He couldn’t say any of that. The words just stuck in his throat as he was shooed away by the paramedics. He growled at them and headed back over to join Eskel.

The blond fireman was seething.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Geralt?” Eskel shoved a clipboard into his chest.

Geralt groaned and turned away.

“Years of training. Over a decade of experience, and you almost throw it all away in a heartbeat!” Eskel continued. “You’re lucky Vesemir isn’t here.”

“Oh really!” Geralt spun back around and snapped at his friend. “Because you are doing a damned good impression of him.”

“You just charged headfirst into a burning building without following any of our standard safety procedures!” Eskel yelled back.

“He was in danger!”

Eskel rubbed his face and groaned. “That’s our job, Geralt. Every single day!”

“I know!” Geralt sighed. “I know.” He repeated more quietly.

“Why?”

“Because I—”

Geralt cut himself off with a snarl.

“He’s my friend.”

“Go home, Geralt.” Eskel sighed. “You can’t work like this. You’ll put us all at risk. Go home and come back Friday with your head screwed on right.”

Geralt shook his head. “Vesemir.”

“I’ll cover for you. Go.”

Geralt glanced back over to Jaskier but the paramedics were still fussing over him. He sighed and decided it would be best to give him some space. Maybe he could text him after dinner just to make sure he was alright. He had just had a traumatic experience after all.

“Fine.” He grumbled and sauntered over to the fire engine to get his stuff.

They were too far out from his flat and he’d have to call a taxi. He groaned when he realised he would have to explain to Ciri why he was home early. She’d go ballistic when she heard about Jaskier. He was sure that they news would get back to the school eventually. That place was like a cesspit of rumours. Nothing happened in Posada without all the teachers knowing and more often of not the kids found out too.

He glanced down at his clothes. He was still wearing his uniform and he stank like smoke but his normal clothes were still back at the station. He really didn’t want to go back to the station. He couldn’t face Vesemir’s disappointment.

“Ah fuck!”

The taxi ride was an uncomfortable affair but there was the promise of a hot shower on the other side so he kept quiet and endured.

Coën was surprised to see him when he slunk into the kitchen. Coën and Ciri been sparring in the small living room with long tube balloons, and Ciri had what looked like blood red lipstick streaked across her cheeks as warpaint.

She screamed excitably when she saw him and ran to give him a hug. He picked her up easily and buried his face in her long hair.

“Ewww!” She squealed. “Dad you stink!”

He hummed in agreement. He really did need a shower, the smell of smoke was driving him mad.

“Everything alright, Mr Rivia?” Coën asked, looking concerned.

He nodded. “Yeah. Rough day. Can you watch her whilst I have a shower?”

“Sure thing.”

“I still need to save the princess from the evil sorcerer!” Ciri grinned.

Geralt forced a laugh for his daughter. “Is that what this is for?” He smudged the lipstick on her cheek.

“Dad!” She whined. “Yes! It’s to help me get through the wards.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “The wards?”

“That the sorcerer put up to keep the princess prisoner!” Ciri rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Geralt raised his eyebrows at Coën who just shrugged. “Where did you get the… paint?”

Ciri grinned. “Coën!”

“Ummm. Yeah. That’s mine.” Coën shuffled awkwardly.

Geralt was a little surprised but just nodded. “Nice colour. I’ll be right back, little lion cub.”

The water burned against his skin as he rested his forehead against the cool tiles in the bathroom. He mind was still reeling from the day. How did it all go wrong so fast? He closed his eyes and he was back in the building. The scent of burning hung thick in the air. The flames flickered at the debris and bits of glass cracked under his feet. He couldn’t breathe.

There was too much smoke.

And his chest was on fire.

His knees buckled underneath him and only just managed to catch himself from falling in the bath.

He cursed and spun the tap towards cold.

The jet thundering down on the top of head turned to ice and his muscles shuddered at the sudden change of temperature.

He finished off quickly under the icy water and got dressed. Coën and Ciri were still dancing around the living room playing their make believe game. He watched them from the doorway for a few minutes with a soft smile before she noticed him and leapt forward to attack with her wooden sword that had now replaced the balloon. He noticed her green balloon was lying in tatters on the sofa.

His stomach rumbled and Ciri laughed. “You have a monster in your stomach!”

“How about a takeaway?” He asked sheepishly.

“Pizza?”

He nodded. “Is there any other kind?”

Ciri ordered a pepperoni pizza and Geralt went for a meat feast. They had invited Coën to stay for dinner but the teenager declined the offer. Geralt didn’t blame him. Coën had spent most of his half term around their house to look after Ciri. He was probably desperate to go and meet his own friends.

There were cuddled up together on the sofa munching on pizza and watching one of Ciri’s favourite cartoons when Geralt’s phone rang.

He scowled as he pulled the device from his pocket, assuming it was going to be Vesemir yelling at him for leaving half way through his shift or blatantly ignoring all their training in order to save Jaskier.

But it wasn’t Vesemir.

It was Jaskier.

He hit the accept call button and shuffled off Ciri to go to the kitchen.

“Oh hello!” Jaskier stammered on the other end of the line. “Wasn’t sure whether you would pick up.”

He hummed, unsure on how to reply. They didn’t talk very often on the phone, preferring to communicate via email or the odd text. It stopped the friendship from seeming like… more. He rang Jaskier if he was struggling to find the right words or occasionally Jaskier would ring him if he was busy cooking dinner or composing something new on one of his many instruments.

“I hoped you would.” Jaskier continued. “I… I wanted to say thank you.”

“It’s my job.” He frowned. He always felt uncomfortable when people thanked him for doing his job. What was he supposed to do? Not do his job and let them die?

“True. That’s true.” Jaskier admitted. “Well, you should thank me more often then. Quite frankly I do a remarkable job in teaching Ciri’s class.”

Geralt laughed. “And you’re so modest about it too.”

Jaskier’s melodic laughter joined his on the other end of the line. “Naturally! Did you know I go to sign language classes every weekend on top of what we learn during the week?”

Geralt tilted his head. “No. You never mentioned that.”

“It’s important and really I’m disappointed in myself for not learning sooner.” Jaskier sighed.

“You can’t please everyone, Jask.” He growled.

Jaskier audibly gasped. “You take that back! I can! It’s my party trick.”

Geralt shook his head with a smile and rolled his eyes at his friend. “How’s your ankle?”

“Fucking sore!” The teacher whined. “Not broken though, just sprained. The real casualty was my dignity.”

Geralt snorted.

“Is there any chance we can just forget everything I said in my flat?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm…” Geralt paused, pretending to think about it. “Not everything.”

“Bollocks!” Jaskier groaned. “Come on, Geralt, please!”

“Nope.”

“Who do I have to kill to make it go away?” Jaskier moaned.

Geralt smirked. “No killing.”

“Awww” Jaskier whined and Geralt could picture his pout easily. “But Geralt!”

“How are you a teacher?”

“Charm, good looks and a dash of smouldering personality.” Jaskier laughed.

Ciri started yelling at him about his food going cold and he sighed.

“Ciri?” Jaskier asked sadly.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

They was few seconds of silence between them as they were both reluctant to say goodbye.

“Jask?”

“Yes, dear?” Jaskier asked, hope brightening up his voice and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat at the term of endearment.

“About that drink?”

Jaskier groaned. “Freya help me.” He breathed quietly on the other end of the line. “Geralt, darling. I told you to forget what I said!”

“Friends have drinks.” Geralt added quickly.

There was a beat of silence. “Friends do have drinks.” Jaskier considered.

“Dad!!” Ciri tugged at his arm. She had tomato sauce smeared around her face from her pizza. “Who are you talking to? You’re missing the show!”

“I’m missing the show.” He repeated to Jaskier before calling back to Ciri. “I’m coming, princess.”

“What show?” Jaskier giggled.

Geralt peered back at the television and groaned as he saw Twilight bloody Sparkle dancing around on the box.

“Nothing important.” He grumbled.

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier cackled. “Now you have to tell me!”

Geralt considered his options. He was running out of time to talk to Jaskier without Ciri working out he was on the phone to her teacher. He didn’t have an excuse this time now they’d sorted out the band nonsense. Ciri would start to worry that Geralt was talking to Jaskier behind her back and something was wrong at school. He could easily just hang up and save himself the embarrassment.

Only, he knew Jaskier enough to know that it wasn’t going to go away simply by hanging up the phone.

Once Jaskier had his claws in something he never let go, unless he got distracted along the way.

“Dad! Come on!” Ciri pouted, a pout that could rival Jaskier’s.

“One minute.” Geralt reassured her before speaking back into the phone. “I’ll tell you over that drink.”

Jaskier stammered incoherently over the phone for a few seconds, making Geralt laugh. “Geralt! You cannot say things like that without warning me first!”

“Your poor bisexual heart?” Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Oh you think you’re so funny don’t you!” Jaskier huffed.

“I’m hilarious.”

“Fuck off.” Jaskier grumbled. “But fine. Over drinks, stubborn ass.”

The line went dead saving either of them from having to say goodbye.

He huffed a laugh and went back to sit with Ciri.

He curled back into his side as he finished off his pizza, and if he got a little too invested in the Ponies’ latest adventure then no one else needed to know. He had thought Ciri had fallen asleep by the time he switched the tv off but she whined and shuffled around next to him, looking up at him with those big green eyes, Pavetta’s eyes.

“Dad?”

“Yes, princess?”

She rubbed sleep from her eyes and scrunched up her nose. “What’s bisexual?”

He frowned as he tried to work out the best way to explain it without getting too complicated.

“You know how your grandmother and grandfather loved each other?” He started.

“Yeah.”

“And your mum and dad did too?”

Ciri scowled. “Grandma said they did. I don’t really remember.”

Fuck.

“Sorry, Princess.” He pulled her into a hug and stroked her head. “Well, that was both mums and dads loving each other right?”

“Yeah, but Kayleigh has two dads!” She added.

“Right.” Geralt nodded. “Well, sometimes a person falls in love with another person regardless of gender.” A simplified version, not entirely accurate. For some people it wasn’t about love at all. “Like me.” He added.

“You’re bisexual?” Ciri asked.

Geralt nodded, he didn’t really label his sexuality but he guess it would fit if it helped her understand for now. It was better than outing Jaskier without his consent. If Ciri didn’t already know the term that meant her teacher was uncharacteristically secretive about his sexuality around his class. “You know I used to date your Auntie Yen?” Ciri nodded. “Well one day I might decide to date a guy.”

“Would you date Mr Jaskier?” Ciri asked innocently.

Geralt ignored the ache in his chest and shook his head. “I can’t date your teacher, Cub.”

“What if he wasn’t my teacher?”

“Time for bed.” Geralt grumbled.

“Just because I’m asking questions you don’t like!” Ciri yelled.

Geralt sighed. “It’s just… it’s complicated, Ciri. I can’t answer that one just yet. Can you trust me on that?”

Ciri put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Fine.”

“Thanks.” Geralt ruffled her hair and picked her up to carry her upstairs. “I’ll read you the next chapter of your book if you want?”

“Ok.” She agreed. “But I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” He sighed.

He wondered when she had become so perceptive. She was growing up fast and he’d not even been her father for a year yet. He’d never expected that watching her growing up would be so terrifying. One day soon he wouldn’t be able to pick her up like this anymore. She buried her face in his neck as he held her tighter.

______

Next

[atopearth]

Piofiore: Fated Memories Part 6 - Finale

It's kinda funny how when it came to defaming the Mafia bosses, Dante's one was the most ridiculous with him handling brothels hahaha. Was he so "clean" that they had to make stuff up?🤣 On the other hand, loll at Fei thinking the newspaper wasn't lying about the stuff Yang did hahaha, not sure if we should rejoice that he doesn't actually abuse women daily, but that he does kill his own men lol. Anyway, the mystery guy seems adamant on hating on the Mafia. He's not as verbal about it as Roberto, but his hatred for them seems to run deep. Personally, I'm on Lili's side. She understands that crime is wrong but she also understands the limits of her powers and what she can do by herself, so instead of completely disregarding the Mafia as evil, she instead hopes that she can do her own little part to support this town she loves because she believes that in the current circumstances, helping the Mafia right now means helping Burlone. I wonder what is his importance though~

Is Henri the previous Key Maiden's brother or something and that's why he hates the Mafia and doesn't think Lili will be safe with them? Oooh, or is the Direttore the brother? Chloe sounds... interestingly crazy lol. Anyway, Dante is so cute to insist on drinking espresso even though it's too bitter for him🤣 Gotta salute Lili for eating Lan and Fei's jian dui lmao, it does look pretty bad even though it apparently tastes good. Tbh, it's kinda funny how even though they say they're pretty good at it, they still can't make the shape right lol. Anyway, it's kinda funny how much of a 180 Rosberg does after kinda realising his position I guess. It's like as if he's become the nice and wise church guy lol. I still find it so random how Orlok is his son though, like I legit thought it was a lie back in Orlok's route because he knew saying it would make him go crazier and kill Gil etc so he could at least get his revenge on them that way but apparently it's true haha. I mean, regardless, it doesn't really change the fact that he's literally raised his child to become a killer with no emotions and never really cared about that all these years so I don't know how I'm supposed to view him when he's obviously trash but the story wants him redeemed? Honestly though, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if the Direttore and Henri are the same person. Anyway, Henri being Riton was expected after seeing the flashbacks for a while, especially with all the stuff he says but yeah, it's kinda sad to see him obstinate on seeking revenge influenced by all the rumours surrounding Chloe's death and how the Falzone might have killed her etc, but I guess even without the rumours he would eventually blame them, since if they never went to the Falzone, maybe she wouldn't have died like that. I wonder if there's a reason why Chloe went kinda insane though, like a Key Maiden thing, or was it just her? I guess she was just so consumed with the Key Maiden thing and didn’t realise that she could have her own life too. Honestly, I'm pretty disappointed with the finale, other than hearing the story of Henri/Direttore, everything ended not much differently from Gil's happy ending, hopefully the after story pieces the rest better. Like, why didn't we get to interact more with Henri/Direttore if this is supposed to revolve around him? Anyway, it is kinda fitting to welcome the new year with them though because I'm playing this on the last day of 2020 haha! 

Anyway, it's kinda saddening to know that Roberto and Nicola were actually kinda friendly when Roberto first came to Burlone and they didn't know each other's identities. I guess it kinda shows why Roberto is so obsessed with Nicola and hates him so much in Nicola's route, since Nicola was also the first one to push Roberto away after realising he was a part of the police. Nicola's attitude also doesn't help to pacify things. I think it would have been nice to know this in Nicola's route though, since Roberto is the villain for it. I thought it was really nice that Roberto was the one to remind Marco (when he was doubting the Mafia system because he couldn't save Chloe back then) that the most important thing as the police will always be to protect the people, so yeah even though the Mafia may not be the best way to run this place, there are things outside their control, but protecting the people will always be something they can do. Anyway, I find it funny how in the Henri ending, the guys blame Nicola for leaving the heroine and coming back himself, but when she runs back into the burning casino to find Henri, no one stopped her?! Like, I know it's for story romantic purposes but really, Orlok who is the quickest could have definitely stopped her. It's pretty terrible that Henri got treated badly because his sister tried to kill Beatrice when she was pregnant😔 Even the girl who "saved" him from the parents beating him played him like a toy... It would be hard for him to let go of his hatred when all these things happened after Chloe died, and essentially it's all because of the Falzone even if Silvio and Dante didn't want that. I feel so sorry for the real Sebastiano Gallier... Henri befriended him, killed him and his whole family just to get his identity..that's pretty cruel. Lili's right that Henri dying won't resolve anything, and living is technically a punishment for him in a sense, so I think it would be nice if they could both find a reason for him to live together. Anyway, Henri probably needs a therapist but I guess they aren't in a good situation to look for one. It's kinda funny how in every kind of happy ending where the heroine runs away or disappears, she ends up taking care of kids lol but I guess that's what she can do. Although I don't really care for Henri personally (he is cute though), I do think it's nice to live in a countryside in peace. One thing that really annoys me is Emilio's existence, he never really does anything, causes more trouble than he does providing "important information" because a lot of the time he gives that info, I'm not sure if it's even useful anymore and he only makes some kind of move when chaos has erupted to a point that there's not much point anymore. And the finale after the finale didn't really do much, but I guess I'll look forward to the fandisk if it gets translated!

Overall, I definitely enjoyed Piofiore. I'll say the overarching plot is definitely a miss for me because every time they mentioned stuff about the Key Maiden and everything, I honestly thought it was boring and the relic was silly too imo, and I also think Henri/Direttore's story lacked the impact it could have created. Even though there was a Henri ending, I don't feel like Lili got to interact with him to the extent that could have made me care more for him, so it was saddening in that aspect. Yang was definitely my favourite character-wise and VA-wise because he was everything I wanted in this Mafia game - dangerous, sexy and ruthless. But I did also enjoy the other guys, it's just that Yang outshined them imo (if you can get over how "evil" he is I guess). The individual routes weren't bad, but I don't think they were particularly interesting since I felt like counterfeit money and other stuff like Lee going against Yang weren't very appealing plot points, so the characters are definitely the highlight for me in this game. If I had to choose my favourite Mafia family, I'd probably choose the Falzone for the overall warmth from Giulia and Leo, but honestly the twins and Yang in the Lao-Shu wins over everyone in the end hahaha. Oh and the art is absolutely beautiful in this game, definitely 10/10 for that. Otherwise, I'd say I would give the game a 7.5/10, good and I liked it but I don't think it had anything or anyone in it to make it memorable for me (aside from Yang). I would recommend it though because it was fun and Lili was an okay heroine, I loved how beautiful she was in all the CGs hahaha.