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veronicaphoenix · 2 months

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To drown your sadness in a sea song. — Epilogue

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Mermaid!Reader Parts: one - two - three - four - five - epilogue Status: completed

EPILOGUE — THE MERMAID | Words: 2.4k

It’s still raining when he wakes up.

In fact, it’s storming outside. The persistent patter of rain against the windowpanes is accompanied by a wind that sends tree branches thrashing against the glass. It’s this natural commotion that first stirs him from sleep, but it’s the chill of the empty space beside him that jolts him fully awake.

He knows before his mind fully processes it.

She’s not there with him.

The voice of reason tells him not to panic. She could simply be elsewhere in the house; in the bathroom or downstairs, going through his stuff and wondering what’s the use of each and every other thing she finds.

But fuck the voice of reason. It’s easier to just panic. So he jumps out of the bed, puts on his boxers, and leaves the bedroom.

He’s unable to call out her name, for he doesn’t know it. He doesn’t even know if she’s got one.

He makes his way downstairs, his body growing colder with each step, his heart rate increasing, his breathing getting ragged by the second.

Everything in the house is where it should be. She hasn’t touched anything, but she’s nowhere, and she should be here. She should be in his bed.

Returning upstairs, a sharp pang grips his chest as he notices something he overlooked before—the necklace resting upon the pillow.

In that moment, the weight of his heartbreak settles in, the heavy realization of her departure crushing his spirit.

He knew it would happen —that his heart would break—, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. He’d had hopes that they would have time to get to know each other better, to learn about each other’s worlds, to get familiar with each other’s perks and quirks, to inspire and be inspired. He’d wanted to show her so many things, take her to so many places, introduce her to the wonders of his world and traverse new horizons together, create music and learn the arts of lovemaking with one another.

When he cradles the necklace in his palm, the pearl within catches light, and a sudden burning sensation starts to grow on his left thigh.

He clenches his teeth against the pain. Refusing to release the necklace —the only thing he’s got left of her—, he hurriedly pulls down his sweatpants and inspects the source of pain.

He doesn’t expect what he finds.

Above the rose on his knee there’s a new tattoo adorning his skin. Waves. Each crest and trough are meticulously inked, capturing the essence of the sea’s fierce beauty. Emerging from a tumult of swirling waves, there’s a mermaid, her hair cascading in intricate detail and weaving a path from the crest of his thigh down towards the inside. The tattoo seems to pulse with life, as if the mermaid herself were poised to slip from the confines of his skin.

It’s breathtaking.

It’s… his mermaid.

But the meaning of it scares him, that’s why he loves it and hates it at the same time.

Determined to defy whatever implications that new piece of ink on his skin might mean, he wraps himself tightly against the biting cold and leaves the house.

The sun is still struggling to ascend in the horizon, and everything is still shrouded in a veil of dampness. His jacket becomes sodden with the drizzle, and his hair whips about in the wind as he wrestles to open the car door.

The thought of her returning to the sea fills him with a sense of dread too profound to articulate. He cannot bear to think about her walking along the coast on the empty road at that dark time.

In his heart, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe she left not long ago and he can still intercept her journey, wrap her in the warmth of his embrace, and whisk her away to safety. They would sit in the car with the heating on, they would talk, and find a solution. They would exhaust every avenue of thought, even if it meant traveling to the furthest library and devouring book after book until a quick fix revealed itself. It sounds stupid but he doesn’t care. Logic holds no sway in his condition. He’s never felt like this. He needs her.

The mere thought of waking up tomorrow without her presence beside him is inconceivable.

But as he searches the coastal road leading to the secluded beach, she’s nowhere to be found.

By the time he reaches the beach, what meets his gaze is the solitary sight of his abandoned sweatpants lying on the shore, and it’s that view that makes him realize what he’s been eluding for the past twenty-four hours.

She’s gone.

He runs into the water, heedless of the icy chill seeping into his bones or the ruin of his clothes. His desperation propels him deeper, driving him to seek her. He’s determined to find her, to reclaim the light she brought into his life, no matter how deep he must travel, no matter the cost.

Suddenly, the new tattoo on his thigh ignites with a fiery intensity, emitting bioluminescent rays that pierce the darkness of the ocean depths, where half of his body is submerged. It’s a surreal sight, but in his anguish, he can’t appreciate it.

With a guttural cry, Noah screams to the heavens, to the sunrise, and to the depths below as he submerges himself, swimming further and further from the safety of the shore. The darkness of the bottom of the ocean threatens to consume him, but he presses on, driven by an insatiable need to find her.

It’s so dark that he thinks he will never recover from this. Whatever good was supposed to come out from this twenty four hours with her has all gone away. He needs her light, her smiles, her feathered touches. Her voice.

He’s been holding his tears for weeks.

Today, he cries.

He understands how brutal the ocean is when his tears hit the waves and just disappear, merging with the water as if they meant nothing at all.

He lingers in the water far longer than he can track, his skin wrinkling and his bones trembling from cold and with exhaustion.

Eventually, he swims back, leaving behind his hope, willing it to sink to the ocean’s depth hoping it finds her.

He would have given her the world because she gave him inspiration and strength.

On the shore, he stands, his back turned to the relentless ocean. Beneath his soaked clothes, the tattoo on his thigh continues to glimmer. The necklace, now a memento of his time with the mermaid, rests safely hanging from his neck and against his chest.

He wipes the tears from his face in a futile attempt, for it’s still raining. It’s the rain who seems to keep him anchored to the ocean’s edge, refusing to release its hold.

Suddenly, an agonizing pain fiercer than the one before seizes his thigh one more time, and he cries out, doubling over in agony and clutching his leg with both hands. His scream rends the air, a sound that echoes across the stillness of the deserted beach.

It takes him a few moments to realize that suddenly, in the wake of his scream, the rain has subdued, and the waves are not crashing violently anymore against the rocks.

Suddenly, the ocean is still at his back.

With a flicker of hope, he turns to find his mermaid, her ethereal form rising from the tranquil waters. Her shoulders break the surface, her long hair clinging to her skin in a hauntingly beautiful illustration.

He doesn’t think twice.

Noah plunges back into the water.

He swims fast towards her.

She puts her head back in the water and swims towards him with the same urgency, her tail slicing through the water with graceful fervor, her hands pushing her body towards him with a sense of longing.

He doesn’t wait for her to reemerge.

He dips his head in the water to meet her halfway. His hands find her face, and he pulls her to him and kisses her.

When they break the surface, he moves the hair away from her face to get a good look. She’s okay, she’s fine, she’s smiling at him.

The weight of their situation still presses heavy on his heart. He cannot smile. He wraps her in his arms and cries silently with his face buried in the crook of her neck. She smells of the sea, of salt. Her scales are glistening in the early sunlight, restored to their former brilliance.

She’s alive.

She clings to him fiercely, as if she doesn’t want to let go.

She never wanted to let go.

But at least this way they can still have each other, even if it’s for a moment under the glimmers of moonlight or under the peeking eyes of the sun coming up from behind the mountains.

She never intended to become another sad chapter in his story. Her deepest desire had been to cure him from that sadness and guide him back to the light. She needs to know if she has succeeded in her quest, if she has managed to erase the darkness that threatened to consume him.

She wants to ask him, but words fail her. Her voice is gone. So instead, she lets her eyes and her touch convey how desperately she needs to know that he will be fine.

They stare at each other, his hands enveloping her waist, his fingertips brushing the transition from skin to scales with fascination.

Her thumbs brush away the tears that cling to his lashes.

He understands the plea in her orbs. He swallows and he summons the strength within him, fortifying his heart not just for himself but for her.

He nods, but she doesn’t let go until she sees him smiling genuinely, for her own well-being is inextricably intertwined with his, and she cannot find peace until she knows he has found it too.

She never intended for him to get so attached to her, to love her this much.

But here they are, and she needs him to understand that it’s okay to let her go. A part of her will always be with him, on his skin, on the piece of ocean hanging from his neck, on his heart… but they belong to different worlds, and nothing can change that.

She will dream of taking him to the depths, to her home, revealing to him the myriad of wonders hidden within the ocean’s abyss. She will dream of kissing him, sharing tender underwater kisses and twirling in endless pirouettes beneath the waves.

She will dream of him in his living room, engrossed in his musical compositions and creations. She will dream of him standing in his kitchen, brewing morning coffee, his smile illuminating the room like a moonrise as he sees her coming down the stairs clad in his clothes. She will dream of the way he loved her on his bed and how he held her in the afterglow.

This morning, she will have him like this, partially submerged in the water, with his legs kicking at her tail, his wet hair brushing her cheeks, his lips ghosting over her mouth, his breath warm against the cold of the morning.

Because she refuses to settle for a mere existence without him. She desires him wholly, even if only for this fleeting moment.

He whispers words of love against her lips, their breath mingling in the crisp morning air.

As the sun hastens its ascent, he gently guides her head back, tilting her face upwards so that he can kiss her through the sunrise.

⋆｡𖦹 °.

A month later

She’s not where she’s supposed to be.

It’s nearly midnight and she’s not in the spot where she always awaits his arrival.

Each night, without fail, she waits for him, lying expectantly on the shore next to a rock where she could hide if necessary.

It has become a ritual—meeting beneath the stars, sharing kisses that bridge the divide between their worlds.

The first kiss always follows the same steps:

First, she watches him with bated breath as he removes his shoes. Then, he walks to the shore, smiling. Her heart flutters. When he bends down, her heartbeat speeds up. He grabs her chin and pulls her face up so that their lips can meet.

His kisses, she knows with absolute certainty that she could never bear without them.

Tonight, however, she is not there, and a surge of panic tightens Noah’s chest.

Where is his mermaid?

He’s about to get in the water when a familiar voice calls out his name, pulling him back from the edge of the sea.

He turns to find her emerging from behind a massive rock, her appearance causing his heart to skip a beat.

She stumbles a little, her hand reaching out to steady herself against the rough surface of the rock.

She’s wearing his now damp and torn and not so-white-anymore t-shirt. The fabric clings to her curves, revealing tantalizing glimpses of her form, and her skin seems to glow with an inner light.

She looks beautiful under the moonlight, and she is… human.

She takes hesitant steps toward him, extending an arm so that he can hold her.

He fights the urge to laugh at the sheer happiness coursing through him at this moment. He’s aware this is just another temporary offering from the ocean, but he’s more than willing to accept it, to embrace her in any way he can.

“How long do we have?” He asks, holding her steady against him, her chest pressed against his.

She kisses him, her lips soft and alluring against his own.

“Enough,” she whispers, her voice is a call that ignites a fire within him.

He’s already ensnared that night, and he knows that for the next twenty-four hours, he’ll be consumed by the desire to hear her sing for him and moan his name.

It will never be enough, he thinks.

But nothing, not even time, will keep him from taking her home, from letting her voice inspire him, see her walking around in his worn t-shirt, let her explore each corner of his mundane house, and answer every funny question she asks.

And then, when night comes, nothing will keep him from laying his mermaid on his bed and loving her until he’s drowning in her.

Author's note: I can't believe I managed to put out a fic in a week, regardless of its length! Writing this short story has been so delightful. Thank you all so much for reading and sharing your thoughts on this, and I'm sorry if it's been too angsty 🐳

#bad omens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x you #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction

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rosyrosethings · 7 months

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Y/n returns after missing

This story is a rewrite/edit. I posted this story a while ago. But I'm doing over my master list. So i rewrote this. It inspired by the tv show manifest which is a about a plan that goes missing and they return a few years later

Four years had slipped away since the passengers aboard flight N-47 vanished into thin air, presumed to have tragically succumbed to some unfathomable fate. Yet, in a twist befitting a miracle, three souls previously lost had reemerged. Y/n Y/L/N, James Carter, and Sus-... The screen went blank as she snapped off the TV, cutting the newscaster off mid-sentence. For Y/n, those four years encapsulated an epoch of isolation, an overwhelming void where time seemed inconsequential. The world had marched on, relentless and indifferent, leaving behind a cascade of changes she could scarcely begin to absorb.

Memories of her life before the ill-fated flight were vivid and achingly sweet. She had been on the cusp of a new chapter, her dreams tangibly close. A blossoming fashion designer, Y/n was set to weave her creativity and passion into the very fabric of the industry. Her return from Rio was supposed to be a celebratory milestone, marking her transition into a life shared with Harry and the thrilling prospect of seeing her best friend Kendall, potentially the next supermodel sensation, flaunt her designs down the runway.

The reality she returned to, however, was starkly different. Expectations of a warm welcome, of falling back into the comfortable embrace of her old life with Harry, were shattered. Hours turned into an eternity at her mother’s house, each passing moment amplifying her confusion and heartache. Where was Harry? Why was he submerged in a new life where he was a solo artist, a far cry from the hiatus he'd taken from his band in 2015?

Trepidation gripped her heart, preventing her from delving too deep into the life Harry led now. The fear of discovering him entwined with someone else was paralyzing. With a resigned sigh, she closed her laptop, a barrier against the torrent of information that threatened to drown her.

“Y/N? Honey,” the gentle voice of her mother broke through her reverie. The joy in her eyes was unmistakable, yet it carried the weight of years filled with mourning a daughter lost. They had even held a funeral for her, Y/n realized with a start. The profound relief and elation of having her back were palpable in every hug, every tearful smile her mother gave her.

“Yes, mom?”

“Umm, someone is here to see you.”

***

Contrastingly, Harry's life had been a portrait of attempting to move on while being anchored in the past. His home, once a sanctuary of memories shared with Y/n, now housed his new relationship. Kendall, her head resting on his chest, was a constant presence, offering solace in a reality where Y/n existed only in echoes. She was 'Kenny' to him, a pillar during his darkest times, understanding the depth of losing Y/n as she, too, had lost a dear friend.

But the past clung to Harry with stubborn tendrils. His routine, for three long years, involved calling Y/n’s voicemail, a one-sided conversation where he'd spill the day's trivialities and monumental changes alike, seeking solace in the sound of her recorded voice. It wasn’t until the pain dulled into a quiet ache, and with Kenny’s unwavering support, that he ceased this ritual. Yet, he never truly let go, with monthly visits to Y/n's mother becoming a testament to his undying connection to her.

Their bond had been forged in the innocence of childhood, blossoming from neighborly acquaintances to an unbreakable union of soulmates. It was a love story initiated when two eight-year-olds found friendship and grew seamlessly into love as they reached sixteen. It was a story abruptly paused, until an unexpected phone call threatened to turn the page once again.

Harry’s phone shattered the comfortable silence, Mrs. Y/L/N’s number on display. Kendall, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sat up, her own complex emotions swirling as she watched Harry answer the call.

“Yes, Mrs. Y/L/N, how are you?” Harry’s voice was cautious, unprepared for the emotional maelstrom the conversation would incite.

Kendall battled with her feelings, a mix of jealousy and self-reproach. She loved Harry, but standing in Y/n’s shadow was a constant reminder of what she lacked. She was never going to ignite in Harry the passionate love he held for Y/n. She was a balm, she realized, not the cure to his heartache.

“Harry.. she’s home. My baby is here, Harry. She came back to us.” The words, heavy with emotional gravity, froze Harry in place. Confusion, hope, and sheer disbelief warred within him.

“Okay, I’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Rose,” he managed, his mind racing.

“What is it, Harry? Who was it?” Kendall queried, apprehension lacing her words.

“Y/n’s mom...”

“Are we going to dinner with her tonight?” she attempted lightness, a stark contrast to the situation’s gravity.

“She’s alive, Kenny.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile truth that threatened to change everything. Once again, life’s unpredictable tide was pulling them in a direction they never anticipated. The lost was found, and with her return, the threads of their lives were irrevocably entwined once more.

Y/n felt the soft give of her childhood mattress beneath her as she rose, each muscle groaning, still remembering the harshness of the ground she'd slept on for years on the island. The air around her buzzed with a mixture of familiarity and foreignness, a sensation that had enveloped her since her return. She was home yet felt like a stranger in a place woven into the fabric of her earliest memories. Her room, though untouched, seemed to belong to another era, one before her life had fractured into a before and after.

Since her unexpected return, her home had turned into a pilgrimage site. Relatives she hadn’t seen in years, cousins whose names she struggled to remember, and a throng of others had paraded through the living room. She had hoped, with every knock, that she would see Harry’s face, hear his voice, touch his hand. But as hours turned into days, her hope waned.

Dragging herself to her feet, she moved through the hallway, each step echoing the pounding in her heart. Her feet, moving of their own accord, carried her towards the living room, the epicenter of the constant, suffocating stream of visitors.

And then, she saw him.

It was as if the world contracted in that moment, every sound, every color, every breath funneling into this singularity. Harry stood there, a portrait of the years gone by. His hair, shorter than she remembered, framed his face, and those green eyes, which had haunted her dreams, seemed to glow. Dressed in the simplest of clothes — black jeans and a white t-shirt — he was a sight for her sore eyes. He was her beacon during the darkest nights on the island, the memory of him, a silent prayer, a sacred chant that wove through the solitude of her survival.

For Harry, the sight of Y/n wasn't just a balm; it was a resurrection. She was here, alive and so achingly present that his heart faltered in its rhythm. The past years had been a cacophony of grief, confusion, and a numbness that seeped into his bones. And here she was, her skin glowing with a vitality that seemed impossible. He had always adored her skin, the richness of her complexion; it reminded him of the sweetest chocolates he'd ever tasted. He had spent years bolstering her against the world, against the harshness of critics and fans alike, reminding her of her beauty, her worth.

He was captivated by the woman before him, who had been tempered by survival, her spirit burnished but unbroken. How could it be that she stood before him even more breathtaking than he remembered? In that instant, Harry understood the depth of the void her absence had carved into his life. She wasn't just a missing piece; she was the very foundation that his reality had been built upon.

Without a word, he closed the distance between them, his arms enveloping her in a hug that felt like a collision of every unsaid word, every unshed tear, every unfulfilled longing of the past four years. His emotions breached the dam he had painstakingly built, tears wetting the crown of her head as he nestled his face there. "God, I've missed you so much," he breathed, his voice a hoarse whisper laden with every nuance of pain, relief, and overwhelming love he felt.

Y/n, ensconced in Harry's arms, felt a sense of returning. Here, in the circle of his arms, the world righted itself. His scent, the solidness of his chest, the timber of his voice — they were her lighthouse. "I never stopped thinking about you, not even for a moment," she confessed, her voice muffled against him.

Their reunion, however, was shadowed by an unspoken acknowledgment of the time lost and the reality that had marched on relentlessly in her absence. Y/n detected subtle shifts in him, intangible but unmistakable. As they sat on the couch, a chasm of unsaid words stretched between them. Harry's affectionate term, 'kitten,' once a playful endearment, now seemed to echo across a vast distance, a reminder of a shared past that was both their bridge and barrier.

Their conversation meandered, a tentative dance around the elephant in the room. Y/n's fatigue, both emotional and physical, soon became too cumbersome to carry. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body demanded respite. "I need to close my eyes, just for a little while," she whispered, her words a mix of exhaustion and a quiet plea for things to be simple again.

Harry, understanding her unvoiced request, smoothed her hair back, his touch a promise. "Rest, love. When you wake, we'll grab some lunch, maybe even see Kendall. It'll be like old times," he murmured, the ache in his voice belying the casualness of his words.

Y/n's smile, before she succumbed to sleep, was a fragile thing, a tentative hope. And as she drifted off, nestled against Harry, she clung to the sound of his heartbeat — a lullaby that spoke of shared pasts, present uncertainties, and the uncharted future that lay ahead of them.

Harry and Kendall sat in the subtle ambiance of the café, the murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinking of cutlery. The tension between them was palpable, like a silent storm brewing. Harry's fingers drummed nervously on the tabletop, betraying the calm facade he attempted to portray.

"Did you tell her?" Kendall's voice sliced through the tension, her agitation evident in the rhythmic tapping of her perfectly manicured nails against the wooden surface.

He hesitated, the truth weighing heavily on his chest. "No... I couldn't," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted his gaze, finding sudden interest in the patterns of the wood grain. The confession felt like a betrayal, a stark deviation from the promise he made to himself about honesty.

Kendall's sigh was a mixture of frustration and understanding. "We can tell her together," she offered, extending her hand to provide solace. Her fingers were warm, a contrast to the cold dread filling his stomach.

As he intertwined his fingers with hers, seeking comfort in the touch, his eyes caught a familiar figure approaching. It was Y/n, a sight that made his heart leap into his throat. Instinctively, he retracted his hand from Kendall's, a subtle but unmistakable reaction.

Y/n's energy was like a breath of fresh air as she arrived. "Kenny!" she exclaimed with genuine affection, stretching her arms out for a heartfelt embrace. Kendall rose to return the gesture, her own emotions a complex web of happiness, relief, and an underlying sense of conflict she wasn't ready to face.

The warmth of their hug was short-lived for Kendall, overshadowed by a realization that Y/n's presence might change everything, including her own newly discovered hopes. As they separated, Y/n slid into the seat across from them, her presence filling the void but also reminding them of the intricate dynamics of their past.

"Harry, my mom told me what you did for her while I was...gone. I can't thank you enough," Y/n's voice held a mix of gratitude and sorrow, referencing the home Harry had bought for her mother after the accident — a gesture of kindness in the face of tragedy.

Kendall, feigning ignorance, asked, "What did you do, Harry?"

He hesitated, swallowing hard before explaining. "After Y/n's accident, I...I bought a house for her mom. She was devastated, thought she'd lost her only child." His voice was laced with past pain, the memories visibly haunting him.

"And you never mentioned this because...?" Kendall prodded, a hint of hurt in her tone.

Harry's response was evasive, his discomfort evident. "It wasn't about publicity or gratitude. And you were away, busy with your modeling." He tried to downplay his act, but the hurt it caused was unmistakable.

The conversation took a sharp turn when Y/n's eyes fell upon the sparkling diamond on Kendall's finger. "Kendall, you're engaged?!" she exclaimed, joy in her voice. But the excitement dissolved as realization dawned. Her eyes darted between Harry and Kendall, the implications clear and heart-wrenching. "Oh... I see," she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper.

The atmosphere turned heavy, the weight of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings pressing down on them. "Y/n, please, let's talk about this," Harry pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice. But Y/n was retreating, her defenses coming up.

The meal that followed was a symphony of discomfort, punctuated by stilted conversation and Y/n's increasing detachment. Harry recognized her coping mechanism as she ordered more food than she could possibly consume. It was her refuge, her way of finding control in a situation where she felt she had none.

Her breaking point arrived with silent tears streaming down her face as she attempted to keep eating. "Kitten," Harry whispered, an endearment slipping out as he moved to comfort her. But she recoiled, the nickname a reminder of what they had and what seemed lost now.

"I need a to-go tray," she announced abruptly, her voice strained. She stood up, her movements robotic as she packed her food, her exit a clear signal of her emotional state.

"Kitten, please, can't we just talk?" Harry implored, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

With a sad smile, she replied, "That's the thing, Harry. I'm not your kitten anymore, am I?" And with that, she walked away, leaving behind a table laden with uneaten food, unspoken words, and unresolved futures.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #fine line #watermelon sugar #harrys house #manifest

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gvfgal · 3 months

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4. Star-Crossed Strangers

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

*18+, Minors DNI!

A/N: Here’s chapter four! As always, enjoy, & leave me your thoughts, comments make me really happy (:

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, parental altercations, explicit language, mentions of sex, Jake dancing (it needs a warning)

Jake stood outside of Rex’s front door with the key clutched tightly in his hand, his breathing heavy and labored.All he could do was stare.

It was going on noon. You both had woken up around nine that morning, sharing a small breakfast of toast, eggs, bacon, and coffee before you left into town for a while. It took from that point up until now for him to muster enough courage to go over there, and now, he couldn’t manage to muster enough to go inside.

He thought briefly about turning around and forgetting about the whole thing. Nothing in there was probably worth shit anyways, he could have the whole place demoed and the lot cleared out by the weekend.

It was a solid idea.

Yet, he stuck the key in the knob anyways, remembering you had to jiggle the lock a bit before turning it. The door swung open, and the muggy heat from inside hit Jake so hard he had to turn away briefly. After a few moments he stepped inside, but only a couple steps, leaving the door open behind him.

Dust particles waltzed in the light streaming in from outside, casting an eerie glow upon the dismal space that held a trove of memories for Jake. Beer bottles adorned the coffee table, keeping company with abandoned cigarettes and an ashtray that had long surpassed its capacity. The worn-out couch and recliner, now cloaked in a thin layer of dust, seemed frozen in time, remnants of a life that had ceased to thrive. Jake had a pretty good feeling that the dust had settled long before Rex's departure.

The hum of the refrigerator drew his attention to the kitchen, where dishes mingled with scattered mail and miscellaneous items, mirroring the disorder on the dining room table. This chaotic scene wasn't new; the absence of a dining room table had been a constant in their lives. His survey continued, revealing old Barbarian memorabilia and pictures adorning the walls, while Rex's helmet, oddly pristine amidst the disarray, occupied the recliner.

As Jake moved toward the helmet, he halted, catching sight of the sizable hole in the wall next to the front door that was left there the night Jaxon died. Time had done nothing to mend it, and clearly Rex was in no rush to patch it up either. A wave of dizziness washed over Jake as he recalled the night that gaping wound had been inflicted, another indelible scar etched into the trailer's history.

10 years earlier…

In a daze, Jake traversed the living room, the weight of disbelief clinging to him like an unseen shadow. The earlier events, so surreal, danced on the periphery of his consciousness. The harsh reality of his best friend's demise, a violent echo in the vastness of the Nevada desert, refused to weave itself into the fabric of his understanding. Even as he accompanied Jaxon's lifeless form to the mortuary, the profound gravity of the situation lingered, yet to fully take root in Jake's shattered sense of reality.

Amidst the muffled voices of Rex and other Barbarians outside the trailer, Jake couldn't decipher the exact words exchanged. Yet, he didn't need clarity; the weight of unspoken truths hung thick in the air. As he paced, the events of that fateful day replayed in his mind, unfurling from the moments preceding their journey to the unforgiving desert.

The memory of Rex's insistence that Jake take a different post gnawed at him. Back then, it seemed a peculiar demand, but now, understanding had become of him, the beacon of light in the abysmal pit of reality.

Refusing to accept what his intuition already grasped, Jake resisted the belief that his father harbored such cruelty. Yet, the inevitable truth loomed over him.

The roar of bikes outside interrupted his contemplation. As Rex entered the trailer, shutting the door behind him, the air thickened, and Jake felt the walls closing in. Eyes locked with his father's, he sought a hint of remorse, a trace of regret in those weathered features.

Regret was there, but it carried an undercurrent Jake couldn't place—a deeper lament, perhaps.

When the distant echoes of engines faded, Jake's voice, heavy with pain, pierced the silence. "You knew, didn't you?"

Rex remained silent, the unspoken confirmation lingering between them like an unbridgeable gap.

"You knew Jaxon and Nicky were walking right into danger. That's why you assigned me as a spotter instead of on post with them."

His father's gaze briefly locked with his, a fleeting expression passing over his face before vanishing into the depths of resolve.

"Jake, there's a code of honor—"

"No bullshit!" Jake erupted, crossing the room with a flash, jabbing a accusatory finger into his father's chest. "You sacrificed my best friend for this damn motorcycle club without giving him a choice!"

Torn between remorse and unyielding pride, Rex swiftly defended his actions. "You want someone to blame? Blame Nicky. He's the dumbass who false-fired and fled!"

"I blame both of you!" Jake thundered, his face flushing with escalating anger.

"All I did was fulfill my duty and lead this club to the best of my ability," Rex asserted firmly, his demeanor holding a defiant edge. "That's all I've ever done."

Jake scoffed, so infuriated that calm had now taken over his body, “leader. Yeah, right. You’re no fucking leader, Rex, you’re a fucking coward. You’re a shit leader just like you’re a shit father.”

Rex's anger reached a boiling point, and in the fevered intensity, he lunged toward Jake. Anticipating the move, Jake retaliated. The two men clashed in a chaotic tussle, more a collision of forces than a refined fist fight. They grappled fiercely, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Finally gaining hold of Jake's shirt, Rex, fueled by his anger, propelled them both into a violent collision with the wall, causing it to crumble behind Jake.

“You watch your mouth talking to me boy,” Rex huffed as he held Jake firmly into the hole behind him, “you remember regardless what you think, I am your leader.”

Everything Jake already knew clicked in that moment. Rex was so caught up in the Barbarian life that he would never be able to see Jake’s pain as his son.

‘I am your leader.’

Not ‘I am your father.’

Jake shrugged himself out of Rex’s hold, to bothered in that moment to grab any of his belongings. With only his wallet in his pocket, he went and grabbed his helmet of the table, along with the keys for his bike.

Rex watched silently as Jake made his way to the door. He knew, for whatever reason, that his son wasn’t just going for a ride to clear his head. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing Jake for a long time after that, but decided he’d grapple with that later.

Instead, on his way out, Rex called behind him, “yeah that’s right, run away when things get rough. Just like your fucking mother.”

Jake slammed the door behind him, and Rex thought that was the end of it. But before he heard the sound of Jake’s bike, he heard the sound of his front window crashing, a large rock tumbling through the opening and rolling to his feet.

“Fuck you!” Jake shouted from outside.

After the shock wore off, Rex ran and opened the front door of his trailer just in time to watch Jake speed out of Cactus Creek for the last time.

That, was one of the very last interactions Jake had with his father. And now he was dead. In that moment something ticked in Jake that set him off completely. He didn’t know if he was more sad, or angry, but he knew he had to let it out.

He lurched forward with a closed fist, placing another hole in the wall next to the one that was left there that fateful day. When he didnt feel any better, he did it again.

He walked over to the coffee table and kicked it, sending its contents flying into the air and scattering about the living room.

“Fuck!” He shouted, “Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck!”

The pictures that once hung on the wall went crashing to the floor as Jake pulled them down one by one, curses flying from his mouth all the while.

He shouted for Jaxon, he shouted for Rex, he shouted for leaving, he shouted for coming back. His rampage continued until he’d exerted all of his energy, falling into one of the dining room chairs out of breath.

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there before you entered the trailer. You looked around cautiously, taking small steps over broken glass and crumbled pieces of dry wall.

“Jake,” you called out softly, making your way over to where he was sat and kneeling in front of him. His head was in his hands, his elbows resting on his lap, “Jake what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” his voice was mumbled, and from the way it sounded he might have been crying. “There’s too many memories here and I- I can’t-”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” you reassured him as you rubbed soothingly along his back, “you dont have to apologize.”

He looked at you then, remnants of tears in his eyes, his face beet red. He then turned to assess the damage he’d done. If the place weren’t already a shithole, he’d probably feel a bit of remorse.

This is what ten years of running from your problems looked like.

You continued rubbing his back in attempts to soothe him, the two of you sitting quietly for a full three minutes, the door of the trailer still hanging wide open.

“Hey,” you said calmly, causing Jake to peer over at you, “why don’t we go home?”

Home.

You stared into his eyes with genuine concern, and you were surprised that he held your gaze for as long as he did.

Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood from the chair and began shuffling towards the door, glancing one more time at the now three holes left in the wall. He was out of the house before you, and you picked up the keys from the floor to lock the door behind you.

There was still a lot you didn’t know about Jake. You didn’t know how deep the pain went when it came to his father, to the Barbarians. But seeing the destruction he’d left in Rex’s house gave you a pretty good idea of how troubled he was in his mind.

Jake was pretty much back to normal by the next day after a night of drinking at the Tavern and a few rounds of mind-blowing sex with you. The two of you never talked about what happened that day, but every time you went outside, you found yourself eyeballing Rex’s trailer, thinking about the mess that laid behind the door.

That Friday morning, you sat outside in a lounge chair, catching early morning rays of sunlight while Jake inspected your beat down car. One of the Barbarians, who conveniently owned a tow truck, lugged it back to your house last night, and now Jake was assessing the damage.

You’d steal glances at him every so often, shamelessly turned on by how sexy Jake looked covered in a bit of sweat and motor oil.

“I don’t know Cherry,” he warned, standing up straight and wiping his hands on a spare rag, “I think this old thing is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Shit,” you sighed, dropping you head in your hands, “how the fuck am I supposed to get to work? I can’t keep depending on Angela for a ride.”

Getting to work was the least of your worries. Having to get a new car was going to set you back months. You couldn’t afford months.

Jake looked empathetic before a light bulb went off. He glanced across the street to Rex’s house. His bike, covered in tarp, and the chocolate brown 2000 Chevy Silverado that Rex hardly ever used.

“That old Chevy in my dad’s driveway,” he pointed it out to you, “I think it just needs a new battery and it should run just fine.”

“You’re just gonna give it to me?”

Jake shrugged, “well, yeah. You know, until you can get something of your own. But it’s no rush or anything.”

You weren’t used to generosity, and definitely not on this scale, a car was no small thing. But you were in no position to turn the offer down, so instead you smiled graciously.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

Jake smiled back at you before lowering the car’s hood, sitting on top of it so that he was positioned directly in front of you.

You stared at one another for a moment before he broke the intensity.

“I wanna take you out, Cherry.”

Your brows drew together causing Jake to chuckle. You weren’t opposed to the idea in the slightest, just simply surprised.

“Not many places to go ‘out’ here.”

Jake reached forward to squeeze your bare ankle, “I’ll figure it out. Just be ready by seven and wear something pretty.” He stood and kissed your forehead again, something he was doing quite often lately, before smoothing a hand over your head, “I gotta go meet with the guys. I’ll be back later, okay?”

You looked up at him, the sun haloing around his head, inspecting the scar on his eyebrow that was finally beginning to fade.

“Okay.”

Jake slid into an empty chair beside Steeljaw just as Ace was calling the meeting into order.

Steeljaw reached down and retrieved an ice cold beer from the cooler by his feet, using the handy bottle opener on the side to remove the lid before handing it to Jake.

“Thanks,” he raised the bottle before taking a sip and focusing on Ace at the front.

“Alright Fellas, I’ll keep this as short as possible so we can all get on with our days. I spoke with some of the men from the EDS and we’ve got a meeting set up with them for tomorrow in Corona. We’ll need to head out pretty early to make it in time.”

There were a few murmurs amongst the crowd, but no one seemed opposed.

“Now there’s no need for all of us to make that trip, so only Sector Ones and Sector Twos will be going. Sectors Three and Four will stay here, hold down the fort till we get back.”

Sectors, for the Barbarians, ranked the level of your membership. Sector One was usually leadership positions, Sector Twos being other long standing members of the club. Sectors Three and Four were the probes and other guys who have yet to really prove themselves.

Jake was a Sector Two, as was Steeljaw, and Madcap, and Ski Ball, and a few other guys Jake was pretty close with. But so was Nicky, unfortunately.

He looked across the room to where Nicky was standing, hardly surprised that Nicky was already scowling over at him. Jake scoffed, shaking his head and facing the front of the room again.

“We should only be gone a couple of days, so make sure you tell your ladies so we have no problems. If I have one more of them coming and bitching at me I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.”

Laughter sounded off in the room, “alright, next order of business…”

The rest of the meeting carried on for only another five minutes before Ace was dismissing them. The men poured out into the Tavern, but Ace caught Jake before he could leave the room.

“You ready?” He asked him.

Jake response was delayed, “don’t know why I wouldn’t be.”

Ace nodded, though his face held a look of uncertainty. He hesitated, “If it’s too soon I can-”

“Ace,” Jake interjected, his voice clipped, “it’s cool. I’ll be cool. I’ve done it a dozen times before.”

“Okay, okay,” Ace conceded, “I hear ya.”

Silence lingered between them before a smirk crept up on Ace’s face.

“You got time for a few rounds of pool, or do you need to get back to your Cherry Bomb.”

Jake nudged him playfully, shaking his head at his school boy antics, “come on, I’ve been waiting to whoop an old man’s ass in pool all day.”

“Two years living in Genoa and this is my first time coming here.”

Geno’s was Genoa’s only Italian restaurant, and it was just about as fancy as the people in that town could get. It was located in central downtown, situated between a dive bar and a recently closed furniture warehouse. The warm glow of string lights adorning the ceiling casted a warm and inviting ambiance over the modest yet charming space.

Jake grinned at you from across the table, admiring the way the candle flickering on the table lit up your face.

“Yeah, it’s a hidden gem. My mom used to bring me here whenever she was around. Not exactly fancy, but it’s our kind of fancy.”

You returned his smile, noting the way his face seemed to brighten with the memory. Jake seldom delved into discussions about his mother or any personal aspects of his life. It didn't faze you, though; that’d be hypocritical. After all, you had shared very little about your own life with him.

But it was nice to hear the little things.

“That’s really sweet.”

Jake picked up his menu, and you hesitated briefly before offering your own memory to him, “my mom’s favorite restaurant was Applebees.”

He looked up at you with an amused look, followed by a hearty laugh. You liked his laugh, you liked making him laugh. You wanted to do it again.

“She used to make me tell the waiters I was twelve up until I was like fifteen. I think at a certain point they knew but kinda didn’t give a shit anymore.”

His laugh grew louder, but luckily, the place was close to empty.

“That’s good stuff, Cherry,” he sighed, taking a sip from his water to collect himself, “you look beautiful tonight by the way.”

You weren’t one to blush often, but in that moment you did, even if it was only momentarily.

“Thanks. Not so bad yourself,” you played it cool, lifting your chin while Jake smirked at you.

Finally, you picked up the menu and scanned it, “so, what’s good here? Any family favorites?”

“Wellll,” he answered, “Vicky always swore by their lasagna. She said it’s ‘like a warm hug on a plate’. And you can’t go wrong with their garlic knots.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “Warm hug on a plate, huh? I’ll take Vicky’s word for it. Lasagna it is.”

The waitress brought out the bottle of Pinot that Jake ordered, pouring you both a glass before setting the bottle on the table. She quickly scribbled down your order and walked away.

Jake raised his glass in your direction, “to you, Cherry.” You raised your glass in return, cocking an eyebrow, “to you, Barbarian Prince.”

Yes, Jake hated that nickname, but coming from you, it wasn’t so bad, he rather liked it.

In the simplicity of that Italian restaurant, with its rustic charm and timeless appeal, Jake and you made room to savor the present while honoring the echoes of the past.

Once dinner and a bottle and a half of wine were finished, you and Jake walked along the streets of downtown Genoa, by no means crowded but still active nonetheless. You were hand in hand, as if you’d been a couple for a long time. Not like two broken strangers who met barely a week ago and some how sort of lived together.

But it was comfortable, it felt right.

As you neared the end of the street, you could hear the sounds of upbeat country music pouring out from a juke joint on the corner. Jake stopped and looked at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “you wanna go dancing?”

Your eyes went wide in shock, “really? You don’t strike me as the dancing type.”

Jake feigned fake offense, “Cherry you wound me,” he began dragging you across the street in the direction of the music, “now I have no choice but to show you just how much of the dancing type I am.”

You resisted his tug, but it was no match to his adamancy, “Jake, that place is full of nothing but old people.”

He looked back at you and sent you a goofy wink, “all the better. Come on Cherry, the night is young.”

The first place you stopped was the bar, ordering two double shots of whiskey each, knocking them back before hitting the dance floor.

You were right, it was nothing but old people, and Jake was right too; all the better. They seemed to be a lively bunch, everyone hitting the dance floor at some point during the night. Couples glided and twirled around, dancing close to one another and never slowing down. You and Jake blended right in, laughing and joking the entire time as you guys tore up the dance floor right along with them.

Jake was indeed a pretty good dancer. He led with ease, and every so often he’d roll his hips into yours, and the old ladies around you seemed to be more affected by it than you were. Of course the alcohol in his system was making him a little more confident than normal, but that’s what made it more entertaining.

Though you loved dancing, you weren’t the greatest at it, but that night you couldn’t care less. This was the most fun you’d had in a long time, and in that rundown juke joint surrounded by people twice your senior, you felt like you could let go.

Spending time with Jake had a way of making you feel like that, you were starting to enjoy it.

As you continued to dance, Jake broke away from you and began dancing on his own, shimmying to the music. Once again, all of the woman in the room were distracted, some of them cat-calling him from across the bar. You were doubled over with laughter in the middle of the dance floor as people continued to shuffle around you.

“Don’t you ever,” Jake shouted to you over the music, “say I’m not the dancing type every again.”

He pulled you back into his arms as you continued to laugh, feeling the alcohol’s full effects.

“Come on,” Jake chuckled, “it’s getting late, let’s head out.”

You checked your phone and were surprised to see that you guys had been there for over two hours.

“Okay,” you purred as you hugged him close, “let’s go home. I want you to show m some of those moves again.”

You and Jake went at it for hours when you got home, both of you trying to fuck the alcohol out of you system. It pretty much worked, but it left you both feeling drained, your sweat-slick bodies tangled between one another and the sheets.

Mötley Crüe droned lowly in the background as Jake ran his hands through your tousled hair.

“I have to go to New Mexico in the morning with the club.”

You didn’t answer right away, letting his words sink in before turning to gaze at him.

“How long are you gonna be gone?”

“No more than a couple days. It’s quick business.”

Nodding, you began tracing along one of his tattoos as silence lingered again.

“We haven’t spent a day apart since you got here,” you teased a bit, causing Jake to chortle. But you looked back up at him then, more serious in your expression, “why do I feel like I’m gonna miss you?”

As he did often, Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead, “I know, Cherry. I think I’m gonna miss you too.”

You nestled closer too him, and he welcomed you in, giving you a squeeze, “I’ll bring you something back, how does that sound? Something to let you know I was thinking about you.”

A smile crept up on your face then, and you didn’t bother trying to hide it. It was true, that after everything that’s taken place over the past week, you still didn’t really know Jake, nor did he, you.

But for some reason, there seemed to be an understanding that neither of you cared about that. What you had right now worked for the both of you. You were wounded in your own ways, and you brought each other comfort, it was as simple as that.

So you decided not to argue, instead you leaned into the bliss of it, “alright.”

Jake grinned at you, “alright Cherry.”

Taglist: @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fic #greta van fleet smut #jake gvf #greta van smut #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake kiszka smut #jake greta van fleet #greta van angst #greta van fluff #gvf fanfiction

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reginarubie · 11 months

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Gentle Mother ~ Font of mercy

[As always the art is not mine the pieces of art belong to their owner and if anyone is and doesn't want them used, let me know and I will take 'em down]

As sparked by this convo.

The theme of the Mother is a very profound one in the asoiaf world. And Martin shows us what the mother is supposed to be (mercy) and also the other side of the coin (vengeance). This theme is weaved intricately with the women of asoiaf.

"Mothers." The man made the word sound like a curse. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." — Bran II, AGOT

There are at least four big characters who embody — in different ways — the theme of the mother (Lysa and Lyanna as well as Elia will be honorable mentions at the end) and those are Catelyn, Cersei, Daenerys and Sansa. — and we'll see how the lyrics of the hymn are retold by these characters.

The point is, only one of these “mothers” actually embodies the Hymn of the Mother and the merciful mother. And that character is Sansa Stark.

Cersei Lannister ~ Mother of Lions, mother of madness — soothe the wrath

So, Cersei, of course, embodies the mother. Even the prophecy Maggy the Frogs gives her is focused not only on her role as queen, but as her role — and her failure — as mother. It is not a chance that Maggy comments on how “her children's crowns would be golden and golden their shrouds”.

This is supposed as much as to be warning as to be a statement and Cersei instead of taking it as a warning, actually becomes the propellent force which causes most of the prophecy coming true.

Her love for her children spurns her to kill Robert, when Ned warns her he will tell the king the truth about her children, and yet it's her ambition for them (and for herself — she does dream of herself sitting atop the IT above all other lords) that puts them in jeopardy in the first place.

Cersei is a destructive mother, she's framed as a mother who will do all to keep her children safe — going to the point she's ready to kill Tommen and herself to avoid they're taken by Stannis — her greatest accomplishment is being a mother and yet to her it's both a chain keeping her on a lesser step, and her greatest weakness.

Cersei has styled herself as a protector, and as her scene with Tywin tells us, there are no lengths Cersei would not go to keep her children safe. She thinks she alone can keep her children safe, and yet she's the reason her children are doomed.

And her children are her doom, too.

To begin with it's Cersei own actions which put Joffrey, Marcella and Tommen in jeopardy; the circumstances of their birth are Cersei's own doing; her ambition pertaining them the reason for their doom.

The fact that Cersei' ambition for her children is the IT means her children are in peril, especially since Cersei is not that much beloved. She takes their birthright for granted — even though they do not have one — and she feels she's far too superior to debase herself with making alliances. Even when her marriage to Loras could ensure the Tyrell's support beyond any doubt she's against it, and we know she's ready to anything to avoid it.

Cersei — as I've discussed in another meta — takes the metaphorical stones thrown at her (for her behavior) and builds a fortress behind which she's sure the fear of her shall keep her and her children safe.

But it is not so. Yes, in the books Myrcella and Tommen are still alive, but we know that will change soon. Myrcella has lost an ear and is very probably traumatized over the whole ordeal — she being pitted against her mother and brother — whilst Tommen is being torn and ripped apart between his “advisors” (Kevan against Cersei, Cersei against Margaery) when he is yet a child.

If Cersei had worked and played good with Kevan perhaps they could've found a way to protect Tommen better, instead Cersei is waging her own personal war against whoever tries to keep her pinned to the ground, to the point she becomes blind to the effects her choices might have on her son.

It is an undisputed theory — and a very believable one — that Cersei' behavior as Queen Mother (and now only regent) to Tommen will easily provoke the ire of the people of KL, possibly causing new riots and rebellions to spark in between the streets.

As Queen, Cersei should've been not only mother to her children, but mother to the people and most importantly to the nobles. She doesn't care. [And this will come bite her in the bum when the time comes]. During the siege on KL by Stannis, Cersei does her duty, by collecting all the ladies of the court, and keep them with her, but that's as far as she goes (beyond terrorizing Sansa, who she is supposed — and does see in her own twisted way — to be mother of, as at this point Sansa is still betrothed to Joffrey), and when the things get really difficult she abandons the ladies in her charge to their fate to “choose hers”.

Children learn by example, and the example they have received is that of an absent father who couldn't care less about them, and a self-entitled mother so ambitious (but lacking real political wit) to want to put her bastards on the Iron throne. And whilst Tommen and Myrcella are too little to show it, Joffrey is the product of this kind of education and his own brand of cruelty and madness.

Cersei fancies herself as the matriarch of House Lannister, much like her father was Head of House Lannister — and for all of Tywin's cunning, his legacy is nothing but a mirror for larks, a lie he tells himself and the realm, a lie that died with him — but as Jaime considers she's neither as cunning neither as capable of Tywin, and she's not as calm. She's like wildfire, and wildfire can kill also its wielder.

In the books Cersei is becoming more and more paranoid and she's taking matters in her own hand — like disposing of Kevan and burning the Tower of the Hand in wildfire — and she feels a twisted, cruel pleasure at being in control. Which makes her dangerous not only for herself but for her children too.

And, that, makes of her a destructive mother. Her wrath makes of her the doom of her children.

“I promise you, no matter where you flee, Robert's wrath will follow you, to the back of beyond if need be." The queen stood. "And what of my wrath, Lord Stark?" she asked softly. — Eddard XIII, AGOT

Catelyn Stark/Lady Stoneheart ~ Mother of wolves, mother of death — font of mercy

Catelyn is an extremely particular example of mother. She's as fierce as Cersei when it comes to her children — mama wolf caught a valyrian steel knife bare-handed to defend her comatose son — and she's much more calm when she offers advice.

Whereas Cersei looses all power when Joffrey becomes king, a son who up to a point despise her for her weakness too, Catelyn is another thing for Robb. Both mothers have differences with their king-sons but Cersei' steems of her attempt to control Joffrey, whilst Catelyn's steems of her being first a mother and secondly the mother of a king.

She releases Jaime, but she doesn't do it to try and control her son, she does it to try and save her daughters. She gets relegated for it by her son, and her advice is often ignored by Robb after she realizes Jaime; and yet when the moment comes Catelyn dies convinced all her children are either dead (presumed so, Rickon, Brandon and Arya or surely so, Robb) or prisoners (Sansa).

Same as Cersei though, I must point out, Catelyn too is still young and there is talk of her new marriage to strengthen Robb; Theon is considered (which is foil to the Loras/Cersei's betrothal) though in the end another man, more of an age to Catelyn and whom she finds handsome, is chosen for her. Though she never reaches him, as she dies before she can. So, when Beric Dondarrion gives her “the kiss of life” — which, if you think of it, is not by chance that is called such, as mothers give life to their children — Catelyn rises against from death and she rises the vengeful, destructive mother who is hunting down and killing all those she thinks are guilty, one way or another, of the death of her children.

The kiss of life for Catelyn Stark was a curse, just as Maggy's prophecy was a curse for Cersei. Lady Stoneheart is the Mother without mercy, the mother who shows no mercy because she has none in her heart, but for vengeance. The mother whose only purpose is that of avenging her children.

"M'lady." The wine was making her head spin. It was hard to think. "Stoneheart. Is that who you mean?" Lord Randyll had spoken of her, back at Maidenpool. "Lady Stoneheart." "Some call her that. Some call her other things. The Silent Sister. Mother Merciless. The Hangwoman." — Brienne VIII, AFFC

Daenerys Targaryen ~ Mhysa, Mother of Dragons, Mother of monsters — tame the fury

Daenerys is such a tragic character and as @esther-dot has said in her own reply to the ask about Daenerys as a foil to the Virgin Mary, she is the Mother of several, the mother of dragons and Mhysa and yet she does not embody the traits of the mother (and the Virgin Mary, in the details, as those are compassion and mercy and grief).

Daenerys is thirteen when she gets pregnant, so she's extremely young when she miscarries her son and becomes barren. I have explained in several posts and metas how I think things went pertaining Rhaego's sacrifice and the birth of the dragons as Daenerys embracing her inner valyrian and her inner dragon (this serie).

The flames of Drogo's pyre burn away Daenerys' character as mother, and I truly believe that Martin giving her so many titles hinging on the figure of the Mother is meant to showcase how much, with each title she gains, she looses a part of the mother's thematic traits.

Daenerys herself, in her grief and fury, asks herself if she truly had not known the price for the blood magic the maegi did to save Drogo.

As highlighted by the original convo, Daenerys steels herself to not cry, to not show compassion, and to not give into mercy. She becomes the dragon each choice more.

Even though the show framed Daenerys as a merciful ruler who decided her crusade was to free the slaves, that is not the same in the books, as there lacks a scene in which Daenerys formally frees the Unsullied (as her speech during the taking of Astapor shows her telling them they are bought and paid for, that they are hers, to then make the alliteration of freedom/dracarys and you're the dragon's now all the while holding the whip). What she gathers during her campaign east is:

A reputation (Slavers Bay) — as she herself says to Jorah and Barrister, she knows what Aegon proved during his conquest, and that she has a few things she means to prove herself. It's a show of power. (Remember Aegon's formative years were spent with Balerion in the east). Troops (Astapor) — the Unsullied in Astapor, the second sons in Meereen and later the Dothraki (though how that will happen in the book remains to be seen, and how ‘inclusive of all dothraki’ that will actually be as opposed to the show) plus the other companies that compose her new army. A following/labour force (Yunkai) — as she herself thinks as she goes parlay with the masters in Astapor, she feels her following is insignificant and so is she by extention. Taking in her procession around the east the freed slaves of Yunkai gives her that, labour force (this happens in Meereen too) as well as a following which is not insignificant anymore, which makes her no longer insignificant as she felt when she was, for example, in Qart and she wasn't offered poison. Riches to fund her campaign west (Meereen)— despite staying in Meereen to rule, what Daenerys does is not making the best choice for the city, but the best choice to fill her coffers to fund her campaign west of the Narrow Sea. It was explained by better meta-writers than me, how Daenerys completely ignores the commercial importance of some goods, to chose instead coin and precious metals and gems and goods that will serve the purpose of funding her campaign west. Not only that, she reinstates slavery by taking the very same percentage from the selling that the slavers did, all because wars have costs and they're won as much with gold as they are by swords (her words, not mine — Daenerys VI, ASOS).

Why saying all of this? Because the propaganda they used to frame her as Mhysa in the show is the same the slaves of Volantis fall prey to. Her reputation makes the slaves of Volantis pray for her coming and for her to free them all, but it is pretty clear Daenerys will not go to Volantis. She will turn west and begin her campaign to take back the IT.

Daenerys had the moment of choice, to be actually mother to her people. Take her dragons and go to the dead city with her khalaasar and make it bloom again — which would be the definition of mother of her people — instead she choses the path west, the path of war, because the dragons made all the difference.

This is important and it is the second aware choice she makes after the pyre, after becoming the Mother of Dragons (her first choice is the possibly half-unaware choice to sacrifice Rhaego for Drogo, and then Drogo, the stallion, Mirri and herself to raise again with three dragons to her breast) — in fact it is told in the book that the frightened child Illyrio gave as bride to Khal Drogo, the mother of his unborn child, died and was born again as a real Targaryen in fire and blood — and in fact her own fury takes charge of charcter exactly in that moment, when Daenerys realizes what she has done, and accuses Mirri of it). From thereon is a downhill path.

She must not have tears in her eyes, but the flames of the drago's fury when she faces her allies and enemies. Slowly but surely, her fury burns all vestiges of her character as mother. The fact that Martin makes her title pile up with the common theme of motherhood is to highlight how little of a mother her character is.

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I. — Daenerys II, ADWD

"None, this one grieves to confess. We beg your pardon."

Mercy, thought Dany. They will have the dragon's mercy. "Skahaz, I have changed my mind. Question the man sharply." "I could. Or I could question the daughters sharply whilst the father looks on. That will wring some names from him." "Do as you think best, but bring me names." Her fury was a fire in her belly. — Daenerys II, ADWD

Up until now, and for every other character associated with the mother, the defense of the children is foremost. And yet Daenerys' children are the dragons, and not even her being Mhysa, saves the girls (girls who are innocent of their father's eventual misdeeds) from torture.

The woman who crucified free men, without any kind of inquiry or investigation, for the crucified children, tortures children to defend men and soldier who should be able to defend themselves. Which is the difference between the soldiers killed and the girls tortured? The girls have no purpose for her, her unsullied being killed put a stain to her reputation and weakens her resources for the campaign west. You can't get much more different from the Virgin Mary than this. Or the thematic Mother. Her song is the songs of the dragons.

Sansa Stark ~ Mother of the North — teach us all a kinder way

Of all the big characters, Sansa is the only one who yet has not known pregnancy or the loss of a child. And yet, she is the character that best embodies the Mother and her mercy and compassion.

Cersei, Daenerys, even Catelyn have turned their mercy off due the trauma they endured. Not Sansa.

The trauma she endured taught Sansa a kinder way. Sansa shows compassion, mercy and gentleness from day one.

She begs Joffrey the stop his squabble with Arya and the butcher boy, hoping she might soothe his wrath; later she pleads for Jeyne to be reunited with her lord father, and she asks mercy for her lord father in open court — kneeling before Joffrey as the Virgin Mary knelt before the cross — she thinks, naively, that the love Joffrey bears her will ensure that her closeness will sooth his fury against her lord father and ensure Ned is pardoned and alive.

She's wrong, and Joffrey shows her so by executing Ned, showing her his head (and her septa's), by beating her for every victory Robb won and mistreating her for her sin of ‘having the blood of a wolf’.

And yet, despite all she endures at the hands of the Lannisters, Sansa still acts. She stills comforts the women during the siege (duty which should have befallen on Cersei), she still helps saving Lancel's life (even though he has taken part of her humiliation and beatings), she speaks out (when no one else did) to save Dontos, she still prays for Tyrion and the Hound, who have shown her a speck of decency (if confronted to the others, which is very below the line of decency but that doesn't figure for Sansa, what little they have done, sparks her compassion for them). Sansa's thoughts go to all, the old and the young, the mothers and the children as well as the soldiers when she prays during the siege of KL.

It's Sansa's doing that the woman with the dead babe is not killed, as she is the one who manipulates Joffrey to give her coin instead of death.

Her singing the hymn of the Mother not only reassures the women, but it also soothes the wrath and fury of the Hound, who had come to rape her. Her singing the hymn of the Mother softens him to her, and he doesn't harm her physically — though he has traumatized her to the point she resorts to romancing the entire encounter to suppress the trauma she suffered at his hands — saving her life and possibly being a pivotal momento for the Hound's future story.

Sansa has become, despite lady Lysa' betrayal, the primary caretaker of her cousin Robert, and she's being a mother to him. It is hinted at, that Sansa will possibly uncover LF' plot to have Robert poisoned and put a stop to it.

Sansa dreams of children, whereas Cersei dreams of the Iron throne, Lady Stoneheart doesn't dream but of vengeance and Daenerys dreams of the Last Dragon.

Sansa's children are foretold to become lords/ladies of Winterfell and restore the North, just as their mother. LF, Lysa and Lady Waynwood all want to use her and her claim, and her son (Ned Stark's grandson)'s claim to take Winterfell and exercise power over the North; the same thing Tywin wanted to do by marrying her to Tyrion.

For now Sansa is still a virgin too.

Even Jon, defending Sansa's claim reminds us that Winterfell is supposed to fall in Sansa's hands and later in her children's.

Another important piece for this analysis comes from this thought:

In the sept they sing for the Mother's mercy but on the walls it's the Warrior they pray to, and all in silence. She remembered how Septa Mordane used to tell them that the Warrior and the Mother were only two faces of the same great god. But if there is only one, whose prayers will be heard? — Sansa V, ACOK

It's Sansa the one who chooses which prayer to be heard.

She silently steels herself as the Warrior, and her weapons are the compassion and mercy of the Mother.

"Unhand me. You forget yourself." "Mercy. I have been singing love songs for hours. My blood is stirred. And yours, I know . . . there's no wench half so lusty as one bastard born. Are you wet for me?" "I'm a maiden," she protested. — Sansa VI, ASOS

Sansa in her compassion is capable to feel sorry even for Marillion, who tried to rape her and stood by as Lysa attempted to kill her. She feels dirty and sorry and guilty because she has let LF convince her to frame him for Lysa' murder, even though he would not have raised a finger to save her and in the last chapters of her as Alayne we see how this is the pivotal moment which marks her completely breaking from LF' hold. She is against framing Marillion, she'd give him mercy if she could, and this moment marks her return to Sansa Stark, because it's the moment in which more starkly she feels the difference between Ned Stark, her real father, and LF, her false father.

Honorable mentions — Lyanna, Lysa and Elia ~ save our sons from war, we pray

Lyanna Stark —› Lyanna is little more than a child when she meets Rhaegar and bears his son. While we are still in the unknown about how things have gone in the books for Lyanna dn Rhaegar and the show frames it as a romantic escape, I feel confident in saying that as such (or not only as such) it will be in the books. Lyanna only three phrases known are: “Promise me, Ned”, “That's my father's man you are kicking!” and “Love is sweet, but it cannot change a man's nature”. Given this, I would think there is much more underneath the eloping lady to Lyanna, and it will be tragic. And yet, her most important quote is Promise me, Ned. It's the phrase that saved her son, the phrase that saved Jon. Whatever else, Lyanna is a girl, and a mother. A mother who lost her life, and as she did her only thought was the protection of her son. Elia Martell —› Elia is the mother of the butchered children. Being a mother is the core fundation of her character, she risked her life to bear her children, she nursed them at her breast and potentially plotted in a capital against her to save at least her son. Elia showed same as Lyanna that often the strength of women is not in the sword that they may wield, but in their love for their children. Lysa Arryn —› Lysa undoubtedly loves her son, and yet she, if left alone to care for him, would've been his ruin. She is convinced Jon Arryn was speaking about Robert when he spoke about the seed being strong. In her paranoia and fear for her son, she stays neutral during the WO5K, and, later out of madness she attempts to kill her own niece for her jealousy over a man who never was hers to begin with.

Now, that would be enough, but it is not, since part of the whole matter was Daenerys as a foil to the Virgin Mary.

The Virgin Mary ~ Hail Mary, full of grace

Now, we've seen the hymn of the Mother in asoiaf, but what about the prayer of the Virgin Mary? (before we delve into her figure and her traits).

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death. Amen.

As you can see the hymn of the Mother shares some points with the Hail Mary. And that common trait is the compassion the Mother and the Virgin Mary are the embodiment of.

Mary prays for the sinners, even the same sinners who have crucified her son, always. And that is the cifra of her blessing, she's so pure and “holy” that the Almighty chose her to bear his son, who was born with the purpose of cleanse man of the original sin, and later didn't make her die, but rose her to the heavens, where, as per Dante's and the Church's vision she sits at the place of honor of the Heaven.

In the Divina Commedia, the structure of the heaven itself (once Dante has went through the several skies) is an embodiment of Mary's blessing, as it's a sort of rows of seat ordained in a way that forms a flower...

... wanna guess which one? You guessed it... A ROSE. The celestial rose.

As you can see, Mary has the place of honor, (a woman, has the seat of honor above the men, let that sink in — that was the kind of veneration which surrounds the Virgin Mary). The Virgin is even put in a better seat than Peter and Adam.

Of all the women of asoiaf there is one who is given a rose — in the current timeline, obv — and two more whose' fate was decided by a rose in the past, plus one who is given flowers, but they do not bode well for her.

Yeah, it's Sansa Stark. Sansa is not only given a rose during the tourney to celebrate her father, but she's given the ONLY red rose. Also she's framed as the blue rose (so the rare flower as the blue rose is framed behind her in several instances in the show). The rose of Winterfell, whose son became king in the north.

And if you think about it, Daenerys is given flowers too, but which flowers?, she's given Dusk Rose, Lady's Lace, and Harpy's Gold.

The dusk rose which represents healing — and it connects to the plague in Meereen and the drastic measures that Daenerys is foreshadowed to take once she returns and decides that the compassion she has shown has been spat in her face — it has a purple color, that not only symbolizes royalty, but also of poison (as the poison Daenerys is given in Meereen and that possibly makes her miscarry after she flees, which is a pivotal moment which marks her turning all dragon — as I've analyzed in this post).

The Lady's Lace is possibly inspired by Queen Anne's Lace which is connected with attracting love — and we know one of Daenerys' betrayal will come from love or for of love — and whilst its bloom was believed to cure epilepsy, do you know how people in the ancient times used the seeds of this flower?, to avoid pregnancies or to terminate an unwanted pregnancy, and modern studies tell us there is merit in this ancient medicine for the flower can be dangerous for a pregnant woman. Need I say more? With Daenerys at least one miscarriage, plus probably others she has not recognized as such.

And yes, the Harpy's Gold is a poisonous plant albeit very beautiful. And can a flower symbolize Daenerys as much?, I said once, I'll say again that her names imo comes from the alliteration of Deianira and Iris (which mean in turns “destroyer of men” and “very beautiful woman”). The Harpy's Gold is purple, as Daenerys' eyes.

And obviously the two women in the past whose fate was sealed by roses are Lyanna and Elia, for Rhaegar' naming Lyanna queen of love and beauty. And it ended in tragedy, both women dead, their children either survived by chance and in hiding or killed cruelly.

Also, both sons of these women “resurrect” : Aegon metaphorically by claiming his birthright and his identity after hiding behind his false death and Jon by actually being raised from death.

And what about the Virgin's traits, you might ask?

First of all, the New Testament describes Mary as a woman of such humility and obedience to the message of God that she is chosen to carry his son.

(And I have already discussed on the matter of humility and arrogance of Sansa vs Daenerys, here and here).

On the top of that, Daenerys knows that there are Gods, but she annoverates herself between them:

“Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world. Do all Gods feel so lonely?” (— Daenerys VI, ASOS);

whilst, Sansa, despite all the trauma and tragedy she has endured thinks:

“There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies.” (— Sansa IV, ACOK).

Mary has royal blood, and through her blood Jesus descends from royalty too. And, since infancy she has been known for her piety, beauty, gentleness and her devotion.

She's determined in her faith, and she never once turns her fury against the Lord for the tragedy that strikes her life (her son's death), she instead closes herself in prayer and guide others who follow her example.

“Was he mocking her? It wasn't the gods who'd been cruel, it was Joffrey.” — Sansa I, ACOK

“What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel?” — Daenerys VII, AGOT

And whilst the Magi (the three kings who bear gifts for Jesus under a comet) reminds me of Maegi (Mirri who calls herself godswife. With the consequent death of Rhaego, Daenerys' blood sacrifice and the red comet in the sky) here it defines even more the foils:

Daenerys receives “gifts” from her misadventure with Mirri, three dragons as three were the gifts borne by the Magi to Jesus. The point is this:

No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words. "Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass.— Daenerys X, ADWD

There is in Egypt, near Cairo, the Virgin Mary's Tree, where the Holy Family took at first respite whilst they escaped Herod's fury. Which speaks of Mary's nurture.

Instead the gifts the Magi gives Jesus are supposed to show for his status, whilst Daenerys receives three dragons she uses to subjugate three cities in Slavers Bay.

On the other hand, Sansa is given three gifts as well, in a way, when the comet pass. Her “betrothed — the dragon's heir” (yes this is Jonsa, because Aegon is meant for Arianne, fight me on this and Jon is already defending her birthright which is attacked on all sides); the support of the Knights of the Vale (which will help her from her exile back in her homeland) and I think it's foreshadowed also the help of the Mountain Clans&the Riverlands. As Ned and Catelyn's daughter.

(paraphrasing, she receives three gifts: her compassion, her political cleverness and her honor as well; which will grant her the three above).

Another important aspect I am reminded of, in the books and show, is that, before showing for the first time his miracles, Jesus looks at Mary and awaits for her approval.

Before changing the water in wine, Jesus — who had mostly hidden his miracles for his own safety — looks at Mary and asks her approval, approval she gives by nodding and giving him way for it is time.

Which reminds me of the way Jon (resurrected one) works in tandem with Sansa, he doesn't do everything with her approval, but damn if her approval and her way of thinking doesn't shape him as a king and as a man. Look at the times Sansa nods to him, and approves of him when he is named king.

Haven't seen that in Daenerys, as she is the woman who takes her son's place (she wanted to put Rhaego on the throne even before Viserys died, and then with his death she assumes that role; as well as that of the Stallion who mounts the world, or so she thinks) instead of the woman who is foreshadowed to bring back her son to his homeland or giving her homeland the heir needed, her and later her child.

"Balon Greyjoy thinks in terms of plunder, not rule. Let him enjoy an autumn crown and suffer a northern winter. He will give his subjects no cause to love him. Come spring, the northmen will have had a bellyful of krakens. When you bring Eddard Stark's grandson home to claim his birthright, lords and little folk alike will rise as one to place him on the high seat of his ancestors. — Tyrion III, ASOS

On the top of that Daenerys is barren, so she has no virtual, nor real, heir to her throne; instead Sansa is foreshadowed not only to become queen, but to birth kings/queens. It's the core of her character, restoring the North and rebuilding House Stark.

Mary is the first believer, and she is considered embodiment of the Woman (the perfect example of woman all women should strive to replicate) and the Church itself.

In the same way as Sansa is the epitome of the princess of a song, but she's also the North, she's House Stark — she's the one building Winterfell back from snow — and did you know there is in Italy the Holy Mary Lady of the Snows?, and do you know where is her primary sanctuary? In the city of Sanza. I'm not even joking, look it up!: city of Sanza, 5th of august, Madonna delle Nevi.

Mindblowing, isn't it?

Instead, as the flames are epitome of the Hells, there is not, to my knowledge a Holy Mary associated with the flames, though there is another Holy Mary who is associated with stopping the flames. You know which one is her name?, Holy Mary of the riverbank (yeah I am not joking, again — in the city of Cuneo, there is the Madonna della Riva) who apparently appeared and stopped the flames that were burning the city and had sparked from the sanctuary, saving the people from the fires.

I mean... it doesn't get clearer than that, doesn't it?

And that's it (for now, I've long since learned that no serie of metas is ever done with)

I mean, I knew this one would turn monstrously long (totally blame @esther-dot and @minitafan for this one, which is half classical theme of the Mother and half biblical), but I hope you enjoyed!

As always, if there is someone who is an expert and wants to adds their two cents, be my guests!

Sending all my love~G.

#sansa stark #anti daenerys targaryen #daenerys stormborn #dark daenerys #the biblical series #the role of the mother #foils and parallels #cersei lannister #catelyn stark #lady stoneheart #there's always a side dish of Jonsa #it just makes sense #it was so long I had to reset the paragraphs because they were too many #enough said #ask the hag

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librofm · 1 year

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The Four Profound Weaves

Second book I listened to for the TRR was the Four Profound Weaves by R.B. Lemberg. I enjoyed the narration by Paul Böhmer a lot, what a voice!! Gotta be honest though I had my speed settings up too high when I started, and I was on a very cold night bike ride that I was seriously unprepared for. So I missed a lot in the start.

BUT once I got with the program, what a treat to get to hang out with older (like grandparent aged) trans characters!? And a unique and beautiful magic system. Love the way the different cultures interact with each other and with magic.

I'll definitely be going back for more from this author.

#Trans rights readathon #The four profound weaves #R. B. Lemberg #audiobook

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the-celluloid-correspondent · 7 days

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Shōgun: A Historical Masterpiece.

Set in Japan in the year 1600, Lord Yoshii Toranaga is fighting for his life as his enemies on the Council of Regents unite against him, when a mysterious European ship is found marooned in a nearby fishing village.

Based upon the acclaimed novel, Shōgun is a historical retelling of Lord Tokugawa Ieyasu's (Yoshi Toranaga) establishing the Tokugawa Shōgunate in early 17th Century Japan from the point of view of an English Pilot named, William Adams (John Blackthorn)Premiering on the small screen in 1980, the series received mass critical acclaim and earned an Emmy for Outstanding Limited Series. Four decades later, it returns, breathing new life into the television with its unparalleled storytelling. Breaking away from the mediocrity that often plagues the streaming industry, Shōgun stands as a monumental historical epic of a real-life struggle over the throne for Japan.

Shōgun unfolds like a meticulously played game of Shogi, where every move, character, and line of dialogue is infused with purpose and significance. This captivating narrative takes viewers on a journey through a power struggle that shapes feudal Japan, weaving together political intrigue and human drama in a rich tapestry of storytelling. From the intricacies of Japanese society to the cunning maneuvers of rival warlords, Shōgun immerses audiences in a world where every scene serves a distinct purpose. Each twist and turn of the plot is carefully crafted, drawing viewers deeper into the heart of the conflict and revealing the complex web of alliances and betrayals that define the era. The dialogue and monologues in Shōgun are masterfully written, brimming with both context and subtext that add layers of depth to the narrative. Like beautiful lines of poetry, they flow seamlessly together, driving the story forward with precision and purpose. At its core, Shōgun captures the essence of one of the most pivotal moments in Japanese history, offering a compelling exploration of power, ambition, and the human spirit. As viewers are drawn into this world of political conspiracy and personal sacrifice, they are treated to a mesmerizing blend of drama, suspense, and historical authenticity that commands the screen from start to finish.

Shōgun derives its true essence from its characters, each intricately woven with layers of complexity and depth, enriching the overarching drama. Among them, Cosmo Jarvis's portrayal of John Blackthorn emerges as a standout performance, deftly navigating the challenges of embodying a character whose natural loudness and clumsiness contrast sharply with the subtleties of his Japanese counterparts. While some may initially interpret Blackthorn's demeanor as a flaw in the performance, Jarvis's deliberate portrayal serves a greater purpose—to underscore the cultural abyss between him and the people of Japan. Through his portrayal, Jarvis adeptly captures the profound culture shock experienced by his character, allowing viewers to witness a compelling transformation from a brash and ambitious Englishman to a man deeply immersed in Japanese customs. It is in these quieter moments that Jarvis truly shines, infusing his character with depth and nuance.

Similarly, Anna Sawai's portrayal of Toda Mariko exemplifies the art of subtle acting. With a mere glance, Sawai effortlessly conveys a myriad of emotions, her thousand-yard stare speaking volumes about her character's inner turmoil and quiet resilience. Her performance is a testament to the power of restraint, as she deftly navigates Mariko's journey of suffering and hope, her emotions simmering beneath the surface until they erupt with raw intensity. Even in moments of despair, Sawai's portrayal radiates a glimmer of hope, underscoring the resilience of the human spirit.

The ensemble cast of "Shōgun" shines brilliantly, each member delivering performances that leave a lasting impact. From the charismatically charming yet brutal portrayal of Tadanobu Asano as Yabushige to the scheming and cunning rendition of Fumi Nikaido as Ruri, every actor breathes life into their character with skill and precision. Moeka Hoshi's portrayal of the broken yet resilient Fuji, and Takehiro Hira's power-hungry depiction of Ishido, further solidify the ensemble's strength, while Tokuma Nishioka's powerful and wise portrayal of Hiromatsu adds depth to the narrative.

However, it is Hiroyuki Sanada's performance as Yoshii Toranaga that truly stands out, marking a triumphant moment in his career. Despite being typecast and overlooked by Hollywood for years, Sanada seizes the opportunity to showcase his talents as both an actor and a producer in Shōgun. In his portrayal of the powerful and intimidating Toranaga, Sanada commands the screen with a commanding presence, embodying his character's intellect, ambition, and prowess with aplomb. What sets Sanada's performance apart is his ability to infuse Toranaga with an unpredictable nature, keeping viewers on the edge of their seats as they anticipate his next move. With each moment on screen, Sanada captivates audiences with his depth and nuance, delivering what can only be described as his finest performance to date. Finally given a role where he can truly shine, Sanada proves himself to be a force to be reckoned with, cementing his status as one of the industry's most talented actors.

Every aspect of this series is a visual feast. The cinematography is nothing short of breathtaking, capturing the stunning landscapes and rich cultural tapestry of Feudal Japan with remarkable skill. From the intricate costumes to the meticulously crafted production design, every detail is thoughtfully considered, drawing viewers deeper into the immersive world of Shōgun.

But Shōgun is more than just television—it's an immersive journey into one of the most pivotal moments in Japanese history. With its masterful storytelling and captivating characters, the series transcends the screen, offering viewers a profound exploration of the human experience against the backdrop of historical upheaval. In a landscape dominated by formulaic narratives, Shōgun stands as a shining example of the power of the historical epic, reminding us of the importance of stories that not only entertain but also enlighten and inspire.

My Rating: A

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warabidakihime · 10 months

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Love, Loss, and Little Paws

Characters: Suguru Geto x Reader | Slightly/Implied Office AU (?)

Synopsis: Celebrate the healing power of love as it weaves through the tapestry of loss and new beginnings, leaving behind a trail of pawprints and cherished memories.

Content warnings: none

A/N: don't mind, i'm just writing my feelings as my way of coping haha. ;-; just lost my cat two nights ago and yeah, i've been having a hard time coping so i thought i should write it down. lowkey wish i have suguru by my side too lol but ya girl is single as fuck HAHA. well, if anyone is going through the same thing rn, *hugs*.

"Y/N? Can I come in?"

Suguru's voice echoed through the closed door, but he anticipated the lack of response. Without waiting for an answer, he quietly entered your room. As expected, he found you sitting in front of your computer, completely absorbed in your work. Your headphones were on, likely playing music at full volume, acting as a shield against any intrusive thoughts that might disrupt your focus.

Just four nights ago, you lost your beloved cat, JR. The weight of that loss had only truly hit you the previous night, and since then, you have been grappling with overwhelming emotions. The pain was deep, causing you to disassociate from reality. Tears welled up in your eyes at unpredictable moments, especially when you stumbled upon pictures of JR or when a cherished memory with him flashed in your mind.

Coping with this profound loss and trying to move forward had proven to be an immense challenge. And rightfully so—JR had been by your side for six years, witnessing your journey from student to working professional. Graduating from college and landing your first job had been particularly special, as you eagerly anticipated showering your furry companion with love and spoiling him rotten.

You had grown up in a financially struggling family, intimately familiar with the disappointment of not being able to afford the things you desired or indulge in the foods you longed to try. When you received your very first paycheck, your immediate instinct was to invest in a large sack of cat food and a tray of wet food for JR. That night, as you watched him devour the meal purchased with your hard-earned money, a profound sense of joy and determination welled up inside you. Tears streamed down your face as you witnessed the little guy's feast, and in that moment, you made a solemn promise to him. From then on, he would never have to worry about going hungry or settling for subpar, unhealthy cat food made from inferior ingredients.

However, life took a cruel turn. JR suddenly fell ill, and before you could intervene, he passed away—right in your arms. Witnessing his suffering tore at your heart, and you wished it could have been you instead. He had done nothing wrong, so why did he have to endure such hardship? In his final moments, amidst your tears and quivering lips, you summoned the strength to bid him farewell.

You began by expressing your gratitude, thanking him for the immense happiness and strength he had brought you during the time you spent together. Next, you offered your sincere apologies. You lamented your inability to provide him with more—more toys, fancier and healthier cat food, treats, or even a proper home with a spacious backyard where he could roam freely without the fear of cars. You questioned whether you had been enough for him as his owner, and remorse filled your voice. Lastly, you professed your love for him, pouring out your heartfelt and everlasting affection. You vowed that he would never be forgotten, forever occupying a special place in your heart. You pledged to remain strong, carrying him as one of your eternal inspirations in life.

On the night JR passed away, you found it hard to believe that the next day you were functioning almost normally. It was as if you hadn't spent the previous night crying your eyes out while cradling your cat in your arms during his final moments. Throughout this difficult time, Suguru had been a constant presence, providing unwavering support and love. While he had always been caring and affectionate, you needed his presence even more now. If only he could absorb your sadness and bring you solace, he would do so without hesitation. The sight of you so downhearted and broken pained him deeply, and he too mourned the loss of JR.

Though he had always considered himself more of a dog person, JR had grown fond of Suguru over time, especially during his visits to your place. He, too, shed tears for the little guy and would genuinely miss him. Suguru made a promise to JR that he would take good care of you in his absence.

And he will start by putting a smile back on your face and the stars in your eyes.

He approached you, placed his hand gently on your shoulders, and gave it a loving squeeze to let you know you have company. Surely enough, that got your attention, and so you immediately turned off the music you were listening to and turned to him. He didn’t let it show on his face, but upon seeing your face, his heart shattered into itty-bitty pieces once again.

"Oh, hey. I didn't hear you come in. What's up?" you greeted him, your voice struggling to emulate your usual cheery tone and your smile failing to reach your eyes.

Based on the bags under your eyes, disheveled hair, and unusually prominent cheekbones, you haven’t been getting enough sleep, nor have you been eating enough. He understands, though, but still, it hurts to see you like this.

Suguru's fond smile remained unwavering. "It's okay. I figured you were busy, so I let myself in. I brought some food with me. Have you eaten?" he asked, concern lacing his words.

"No, I've been busy. Deadlines to meet. You sighed, a pout forming on your face as your gaze drifted aimlessly around the room. Deep in thought, you tried to recall the last time you had a proper meal.

Suguru's smile widened a little. "Then come with me downstairs, so we can eat. You must be starving," he urged, his tone gentle yet determined.

Reluctantly, you pushed yourself up from your workspace and decided to show Suguru some affection for being such a sweet and attentive boyfriend. You leaned in, giving him a heartfelt kiss on the lips, followed by a warm side hug. You knew he deserved recognition for his unwavering support and patience. Despite being occupied with his own endeavors, he always found time for you, especially during this challenging period in your life. You were aware of the extent of your own struggle and appreciated how he stood by your side.

Having a lover and best friend in one soul is truly a blessing, and every day you thank the heavens for giving you someone like Geto Suguru.

The two of you made your way downstairs, ready to savor the Chinese takeout Suguru had picked up on his way to your apartment. Settling down with bowls of richly seasoned noodles, you engaged in much-needed chit-chat. You shared stories about your respective days, delving into various workplace gossips. Suguru revealed that his close friend and co-worker, Satoru, had recently met someone at a mutual friend's wedding, and they were now going on their third date this coming weekend. The news surprised you, as Satoru was notorious for being fickle. On the other hand, you shared the news of your subordinate, Itadori Yuji, who was finally due for a well-deserved promotion. He had shown remarkable talent among the new hires, and after just half a year on the job, he would be promoted to Assistant Manager. You suggested celebrating the achievement and invited Suguru to come along as your plus one, which he gladly accepted.

"A date is a date," Suguru playfully remarked, earning a cute chuckle from you.

"A date is a date, indeed," you replied, feeling a warmth settle within you.

After finishing your early dinner, you both returned to your room and settled onto the bed, seeking comfort in each other's presence. As the night deepened, the kisses you shared grew more passionate. Your legs intertwined like a spider's web; your arms loosely wrapped around Suguru's neck, while his hands securely held your hips, giving them loving squeezes from time to time.

After a few more affectionate kisses, you both pulled away, needing to catch your breath. You gazed at Suguru, a coy smile playing on your lips, and spoke softly, "Thank you."

"Hm?" Suguru inquired, tilting his head to the side, his captivating eyes locking onto yours, ensnaring your attention.

"For being there for me, especially these past few days. And I'm sorry, sorry for worrying you," you expressed with a hint of vulnerability.

Suguru's eyes immediately softened, fully understanding what you meant. He pulled you even closer, as if that were even possible, his strong arms enveloping you with an outpouring of love. He continued to gaze at you adoringly. "Anything and everything for you, Y/N," he assured you.

A tearful smile formed on your face, tears welling up once again as you spoke with a voice that cracked, "I miss him so much, Suguru."

"I miss him too, sweetheart," Suguru responded softly, gently kissing away your tears. Satisfied with his efforts, he rested his forehead against yours. "Take all the time you need to mourn. I'll always be here for you. Don't worry about me."

"Suguru..." you whimpered, burying your face in the junction of his neck, finding solace in his comforting scent.

His hand rubbed your back tenderly as he spoke in a soothing tone, "I'm here. I'm here."

You both remained in that intimate embrace for a while, with you weeping as you grieved and Suguru doing his utmost to provide solace and comfort.

"I love you," you managed to say between sobs.

A smile danced on Suguru's lips as he closed his eyes, cherishing your heartfelt words. "And I love you so much."

"Suguru, wait... stop the car," you urgently called out to your boyfriend, tapping his arm. You were on your way home from Yuji's celebratory party.

"Huh? Why? We're in the middle of the highway, Y/N," Suguru responded, his tone laced with concern.

"Just stop the car," you insisted firmly. "There's a kitten stuck in the middle of the road. We need to help it."

Suguru momentarily glanced at you, then followed your gaze, only to see a small, struggling kitten in the middle of the road. It appeared to be limping, a clear sign that it had been abandoned and left to fend for itself.

With a sense of urgency, Suguru brought the car to a halt, much to the dismay of the cars behind him. He was about to devise a plan to rescue the kitten, but to his surprise and horror, you swiftly bolted out of the car and dashed towards the helpless creature. Suguru clutched his chest, his heart pounding, as he watched you bravely cross the road, doing your best to signal the other cars.

A few tense minutes passed, and you finally returned, a radiant smile adorning your face. It was evident that you were overjoyed to have rescued the poor kitten. Despite the little one being covered in soot, you leaned in and gave it a gentle kiss on the nose. "That was a close one, huh?" you said to the kitten in your affectionate "cat mommy" voice.

Suguru couldn't help but chuckle fondly at the sight before him. It was clear to him that you had instantly fallen for the kitten. As you resumed your journey, the ginger-colored feline slept peacefully on your lap. Both of you assumed it was a boy.

"I'm going to name him Taiga because he looks like a mini-tiger," you giggled, gazing at the kitten with adoration.

"Hmm... witty. I like it. But we should take Taiga to the vet first thing in the morning. He was limping when we found him, right?" Suguru suggested, showing his concern for the newfound addition to your lives.

"Yeah. Stay over at my place tonight, Sugu?" you requested, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Sorry for putting you on the spot earlier."

"Nah, it's fine. I'm actually quite happy right now," Suguru replied with a warm smile, followed by his agreement to sleep at your place for the night.

"Why?" you chuckled, curious about his unexpected response.

"Taiga brought back the sparkles in your eyes. Seeing you happy makes me happy," Suguru explained, taking your hand and placing a tender kiss on it.

You looked down at the sleeping kitten on your lap, your heart swelling with affection, especially when you heard him purr. "I don't know if I'm fully happy yet, but I can say that I'm finally on my way there."

During the vet visit, much to your surprise, you discovered that Taiga was actually a girl!

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