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vxnuslogy · 1 month

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— the angel who lived. ft sunday

— warnings: f!reader (referred to as mother) but still uses "you/they" pronouns, angst, mentions and themes of death, brief mentions of blood, very lengthy/word vomit (~8k words), not proofread that much so apologies for any grammatical errors

— author's note: this is more of a character study on sunday and how i think he'll come to learn that escapism isn't really the way go about things but overall, i'm really happy with how this turned out. i hope you guys enjoy :p

death doesn't have a requirement. regardless of age, gender, or race, it will eventually reach everyone at the right moment.

sunday has always remembered the words - or rather the rumors the dreamchasers spoke of - that when death comes knocking at their door, they'll be clad in purple and a trusty crow perched on their shoulder for a companion. sunday wasn't the type of man to believe such rumors, but now, after waking up from what seemed to be an endless dream, he was forced to believe their words.

“can the angel walk?�� you spoke. emphasizing the way you called him angel made sunday furrowed his brows in contempt. you were mocking him. with a huff of his breath, he slowly rose from his position and walked with you.

“where are we?” he asks. you looked at him from the corner of your eyes before replying. “death's waiting room.” sunday felt his blood run cold. “you'll be staying here with me and the rest until your time is up.” he wanted to question you more. press you for answers on when and where death will take him.

but he never had the chance to. not when children of all ages came rushing towards you, all with bright smiles on their faces. he stood in shock, mind boggled at the thought. they were hugging death. did they not feel any ounce of fear?

one of the many children that surrounds you took notice of his presence. she had long brown hair kept in two low pigtails and bright green eyes that remind him of the garden he and robin used to play in when they were just their age. she waved him over and you urged him to walk up the steps of the giant house that stood in front of him.

“you'll be staying here with us until your time runs out. do be an angel and help me around with the chores, alright?”

and so for an indefinite amount of time — and against his will — helped you around the “orphanage”.

the younger children were all unruly and liked to cause trouble. every morning he'd wake up to a young child jumping on his bed and would be subsequently dragged into his bathroom to get ready. they'd tug at his hand with an iron grip - it really wasn't, sunday could easily pry his hand away but choose not to hurt the child’s feelings - leading him to the main kitchen where you and one of the oldest girls, elenaor he learned, cooked everyone breakfast.

“woke up on the wrong side of the bed, i presume?” your voice laced with amusement made sunday sigh. putting on the apron elanaor had given him, he reluctantly stood by your side and waited for you to hand him a few ingredients to chop. “it was more of woken up by a gremlin and getting dragged all the way here.” your and elanaor’s snickers of amusement never failed to make heat rise up to his cheeks. he had to fight the urge to hide behind his wings, if he did, you'll tease him relentlessly. this wasn't how he would normally act under any circumstances. he had a reputation to keep, but here, in what you call “death's waiting room”, no one knew him. so he was free to act how he wished.

“you've been here for a while,” turning off the tap, you pat your hands dry and walk towards a pot on the opposite side of where he was. “you'll get used to it.”

“i don't think seeing “death” act like a mother towards soon to be dead children is something i’ll ever get used to.”

the halovian bit his tongue the moment his words stumbled out of his mouth. he could still hear you moving around the kitchen but you had made no effort to respond. sunday was ready to issue an apology but you had beat him to it.

“it's something i’ve never really gotten used to.” the sound of chopping ceased from his station. the sound of water boiling echoed between the two of you - he hadn't realized that elanaor had left to escape the tense atmosphere - he turned to stare at your back, watching you dutifully stir the pot. something that reminded him of his mother. he wonders then, did you also take his mother here to this very orphanage. did she also chop ingredients as you stirred soup?

“i find that quite hard to believe…” his voice is uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. so unlike the voice of the head of the oak family.

you turn to him with a raised brow. “and why is that?” he walks to your station, chopped vegetables in his hand as he dumped them into the pots before putting the lid back on. “you look at home here. is this your home, death?”

you close your eyes and smile. “for a while, yes, yes it is.”

sunday didn't question you further. the two of you quietly set the plates on the multiple tables in the dining room. he would often take glances at you, soaking in the black off shoulder top you wore under that frilly apron; the long muted purple skirt that swayed with your movement like it was your dance partner for years; and the most eye catching of them all, the black gloves you never took off. all of the sudden, sunday remembered this one particular rumor about you.

“they say before death became death, they carried life in their steps; but their fingertips eventually caused everything they touched to wither away.”

sunday wonders if that particular rumor is actually true.

elanaor came back with wary eyes flickering between him and you. with a small smile from you, the girl started taking the utensils from the cabinet and started laying them on either side of the plates. sunday will never get used to this almost domestic scene unfolding in front of him.

“breakfast is ready!” you cup your hand beside your lips as your voice echoed throughout the house. it wasn't long before little feet dragged against the wooden floor and started to pile in the dining room. “be sure to wash your hands first.” your gentle reminder was met with a chorus of ‘we remember!’.

sunday stood idly in one of the corners, hands crossed over his chest as he started to remind himself of the next chores he'd be doing. sighing to himself, he pushed through his messy hair as his wings fluttered. without another word, he left the dining room and made his way to the backyard where there were piles of wet clothes waiting to be hung dry.

“oh! good morning, mr. sunday!” said a young boy with blonde hair and matching blue eye - the other covered with a black eye patch. “good morning, louis.” he replied with a smile before starting to take a few pieces of clothing and helping the boy with his chores.

“breakfast is ready,” sunday reminded. “i’ll take it from here.” louis shook his head and continued his actions. the older man didn't bother to urge him to get breakfast further. if there was one thing he learned by being here, it's that the children had adopted your stubborn and independent nature.

after hanging all the clothes, sunday bid louis to get breakfast - scolding him for trying to skip eating - and quietly made his way back to his room and plopping rather ungraciously on his bed with a sigh. his arm came to cover his eyes as he pondered, “when will death come to me?”

“not now, that's for sure.”

sunday quickly sat up from his position to see you come inside his room, a tray with plated food in your hands.

“it's rather rude to enter someone's room without knocking first.” he barked. you only rolled your eyes at him and placed the tray on the small table in the middle of his room. “i did, but the angel seemed too lost in his thoughts to notice.”

“be sure to finish everything. once your finished, bring them downstairs so i can clean them.”

and without another word, you exited his room. sunday sighed for the nth time today and made his way to the table, pulling a nearby chair and said his prayers before digging in.

he didn't want to admit it, but you were a good cook. every dish that you served him tasted like home; as if you had dug around his mind to take all of his nostalgic feelings and poured them all in the soup he was eating now. for “death's waiting room” it was ironically peaceful. sure the children would get into scuffles here and there, but without a fail, you'd come just in the nick of time and quell the burning banters.

but today you seemed distracted. sunday was an observant person by nature; he reads through people's emotion by the frequency they create and interpret them through the halo behind his head. recently, your usual soft yet peculiar frequency was replaced by something erratic; something that couldn't sit still. in the back of his mind, sunday wonders if it's related to the crow that's been following you like a shadow recently.

taking the tray in his hands, he made his way back downstairs to help you wash the dishes. on the way the children greeted him with bright smiles as they haul one another to play in your reading room, eager to pick out the bedtime story he or you would read later tonight despite it not being even noon. sunday didn't fight the small smile that crept up his face as some of the older kids tried to take the tray away from his hands, urging him to rest while they wash his plates.

“it's nothing to worry about.” he would reassure them with a pat on the head. “a few plates won't be the death of me.”

by the time he was back in the kitchen, his chest began to feel heavy as you and elanaor talked. both your backs facing him but judging from the heavy and somber frequency you created, he could only assume you're talking about something sorrowful.

“angel?” you're voice snapped him out of his stupor. “apologies, i zoned out.” he avoided your eyes as he set the down his dirty plates to the side and pulled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“you alright?” you question him, a brow quirked up in wonder. he looked to elanaor who was already looking at him with worry, “i should be the one asking that, but i’m alright.” you only hummed as you wiped your hands on the spare cloth and took off your apron.

“i have something i need to do.”

elanaor's frequency spiked making sunday’s heart skip a few beats.

“ely, angel, can you keep an eye on the children? i’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

“mother, wait!”

sunday felt his eyes widen as elanaor called you “mother”, dropping the plates she held on the sink and instead came to grip at your arm. her head hanging low as her hands curled into fists.

“does he need to go…?” she asks, voice below a whisper.

golden eyes met yours. sunday was trying to decipher how, or rather, why, your frequency suddenly flatlined, like how a heart would when someone passed. you were the first to break eye contact. leaning down to whisper something in elanaor's ear that broke the girl’s heart.

“angel.” your voice felt off too. it made his ears ring uncomfortably. it sounded like an untuned violin trying to play a complicated piece to impress the audience. “keep the children entertained while i’m absent.”

sunday didn't like you; he hated you. but right now, as you left the poor girl trying to harshly rub away the obvious tears spilling from her eyes, not bothering to turn back as you walked away, he decided he hated you even more.

—

“i understand. we’ll proceed like usual.”

your office was off limits to certain people for various reasons, but sunday and elanaor were exceptions. without turning to look back, you heard elanaor's voice from the other side of the door as you put the telephone down.

“come in.” you called out. the creak of the door always unnerved girl, you said you'd get it fixed but after the angel’s arrival you hadn't found any time to do so. “do you need something?”

“the children are asking for you.” this time it was the angel who spoke. his voice like a river flowing endlessly in a creak, you were distinctly aware that his kind had a natural affinity to having captivating voices.

“i’ll be down in a—”

you were cut off as a crow started cawing and scratching at your window. from its reflection you see elanaor look down and sunday staring at you with a narrowed gaze. with a sigh, you circled around your desk and opened the window. the crow situated itself on your shoulder, a piece of paper tied around one of its foot.

“the two of you go ahead of me.” you spoke, taking the piece of paper from the bird. “i still need to finish this.”

from the corner of your eyes, you see elanaor leave but sunday didn't budge from his spot.

“something the matter, angel?”

“enough with the mind games, death.”

he barged in your office, closing the door on his way and standing face to face with you. an angry fog clouding his eyes that reminded you of molten gold and sweet dreams.

“what's going on?”

“nothing is going on.”

“you're a terrible liar.” he snapped. you quirked a brow at him with a tilt of your head that made him even more furious.

“so the angel can feel angry. that's good to know.” you turn your back on him and open up the piece of paper in your hand despite already having guessed it's content.

gaining back his composure, you heard him take a deep breath before trying to calmly question you further.

“what did you whisper to elanaor this morning?”

“i believe that's none of your business.”

“you—!”

sunday was ready to snap again but reigned himself in just in time for you to walk past him.

“if you're so curious,” you opened your office door and paused to turn back on him. “why don't you join us later tonight?”

“join you for what?” he didn't like where this one was going. the air felt heavy, it's as if the entire world were resting on his shoulders. it didn't helpt that you gave him a bitter closed eyed smiled as you left the room.

“one of our boys will be leaving soon.”

—

“and so, they all lived happily ever after…”

by the time you and sunday reached the reading room, children of all ages were all huddled into a cozy circle with elenaor in the middle. in her lap was an old storybook you had found in one of your travels.

you placed blankets on each and every children sleeping on their makeshift fortress of scattered pillows and stuffed animals. brushing some of their hairs away from their eyes, letting your gloved hand linger on their faces for a while longer. all the while, sunday kept his gaze on you as elenaor stood by his side, storybook in her hands with an iron grip.

after tucking in everyone, you joined the two of them. you were the last one to exit the room. turning off the lights and letting your gaze loiter around the many sleeping faces in the now dark room.

“let's go.” you uttered with a sigh. taking the storybook from elanaor's hand and tucking it under your arms. “where are we going?” sunday asked who was a few paces behind you.

“we'll be bidding farewell to one of the older boys here.”

he didn't question you further like you had imagined, but you were grateful nonetheless. on the way you stopped by your office to take a candlestick and lit it up to serve as your guide through the dark house.

after climbing up a few steps, you stopped in front of an old rusting door. turning back to elanaor and sunday, you asked, “are you sure you want to be here?”

sunday was the first to answer.

“you were the one to invite me.” he crossed his arms over his chest. he kept his eyes closed to hide the anxiety he felt, but the wings behind his ears betrayed him as they came to try and hide away half of his face.

you turn to elanaor who only nodded solemnly.

“death doesn't have a requirement..” you mutter as you open the door and enter the room. the two followed you inside and heard elenaor choking back on her tears. “it will eventually come to everyone, regardless of their age, gender, race.”

“death will find us all.”

in the cold and lonely room stood a bed, a boy with deadly pale skin laid there as he looked at you with a knowing look on his face.

“it's good to see you again, mother.”

sunday was at a loss for words as you sat down on the edge of the bed as you took off the gloves you wore and placed them on the bedside table along with the candlestick. the crow that was perched on your shoulder came to rest on the boy's bedframe instead.

“it's good to see you again too, corvy.” the sickly boy reached out his hand to pet the crow’s head but heaved a cough in the middle of the action.

the sound of his coughing urged elenaor to leave his side and run towards that other side of the bed opposite to yours. she gripped the sheets in a tight fist, sunday feared her palms would begin to bleed if she gripped any tighter.

“everyone's time eventually runs out…” you mutter as a strange red chord appeared in your hands the moment you touched the boy's forehead. “it's only a matter of when and how you're time runs out.”

“did you enjoy your stay here, michael?”

the boy named michael smiled with content. his boney hand holding yours that rested on his cheek.

“i did, mother.” you smiled at his response. the same smile you would greet the children with once they have woken up; the same smile the children would close their eyes to whenever you finished reading them a bedtime story.

“that's good. i’m reassured that i did my job just fine.”

“you've always done a good job, mother.”

sunday couldn't believe his eyes. he didn't want to believe his eyes as your tears slowly cascaded down your face as you leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. elanaor jumping over to your side and hugging you tightly as her tears soaked your shirt.

your other hand came to hold the red string that was tied around the boy's sickly figure on the bed. you motioned your hand in a weird way and suddenly a pair of black scissors appeared. sunday felt his blood run cold as sweat dribbled down to his chin.

“may destruction have mercy on you.” you whisper to him, forehead resting against his. “leading your journey in the afterlife, forever peaceful.”

“may this be the end of your painful dreams.”

and in the blink of an eye, the cord was cut and the boy closed his eyes.

sunday read the way his lips moved and felt his heart break in sympathy.

“may you have peaceful dreams, too, mother.”

—

you carried destruction — death — in your fingertips. ever since that night, sunday had kept his distance from you. he always kept his distance with you, but now, you would never catch him standing near your vicinity.

the children found it strange. the two of you, without a fail, would always banter back and forth until the halovian had to leave to do other chores. some would turn to elenaor and ask what had happened between the two of you, but girl would only smiled with her eyes closed, pat them on the head and say “it's alright, they'll come around.”

but sunday thought otherwise.

how could death, shed any tears? it didn't make any sense. you were an emanator of destruction - he deduced from your words that night - death itself, so how come you brought life to the very house he and the soon be deceased children here?

they all considered you a mother. a mother. a parental figure they could go to to share their sorrows and woes.

you couldn't possibly be the death he's come to know and fear, but at the same time you were.

he wanted to hate you. hating you would be easier. it is easier. but his mind kept reminding him of the multiple times you would treat these children with the utmost gentleness. because you knew that one wrong touch could end their dreams.

“mr. sunday,” he looked up from his downcast position to look at elenaor. she'd been crying, sunday concluded. her eyes were red around the corners and she would sniffle from time to time. “will you be joining us for lunch?”

“ah…” he awkwardly turned his head away to hide the scratch that one of younger girls had accidentally given him. if she were to notice, elenaor would come bursting into your office to inform of his injury. “i’m feeling rather full as of now. I'm afraid i’ll have to decline.”

“i… see…” she only gave him a closed eyed smile. “well, goodbye then, mr. sunday.”

he waved goodbye to the girl who ran back inside the orphanage and sighed. hand coming to graze the cut on his left cheek and wincing as he did so.

“it'll get infected if you don't get that treated soon.”

sunday visibly froze, much to his dismay, as your figure emurged from his side. speak of the devil and they'll arrive, he thought.

“it's a scratch.” he weakly argued to which you only just hummed.

he kept his eyes on his hand playing with the grass as a shadow was cast over him. sunday flinched back when a gloved hand came to reach for his face, making him back up more to the tree he had been leaning on all morning. his actions startled you making you recoil your hand, all the while your hair obscured your eyes. but sunday swore he saw a flash of hurt in them. he felt guilty.

against his better judgement, his free hand came to hold yours in his.

“sunday?!” you said in shock trying to pull your hand away.

your hand was warm. he wondered if they ever got sweaty and uncomfortable when the heat reached its peak, wearing black under the scorching sun didn't seem too appealing.

“you said my name.” sunday replied, making you furrow your brows. of all the things he took note of, it was the way you said his name. slowly, he let go of your hand and let it fall back to your side. you held such a strange expression on your face, but who was he to talk. he did something strange too.

with a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “come on, let's get that scratch of yours a bandaid.”

sunday walked quietly with you as you navigated to the house’s makeshift infirmary. on the way there, children looked at the two of you with wide eyes and quickly rushed to each other's side to have hushed conversations.

“sit down.” you command and he followed.

the following minutes were spent in silence. you scavenging for a bandaid and some disinfectant, while he sat on the bed watching you move from one place to another.

“look to the right for me, angel.” your voice instructed him. this time, it wasn't your usual soft tone, nor was it the mellow and somber one on that night. it was more monotone this time around but still held some semblance of what he assumed was “fondness”.

your fingers carefully dabbed the cotton on his scratch before placing a bandaid over it. sunday noticed you didn't let your touch linger on his face like how you would when you patched up some of the kids when they got their own injuries.

“do you sing?” sunday asked on a whim, making you pause as you put away your tools. “what brought this on?” you question with a tilt of your head.

“louis and i heard someone humming the other day.” his finger grazed the fresh bandaid on his face. gold eyes never leaving your figure as you turned to look at him. “he told me you often hummed some of the children to sleep.”

“there's your answer then.”

sunday wanted to throw a pillow to your face. with an aggravated sigh, he stood up and followed you out the door.

“would it kill you to try and answer directly?”

“maybe.”

before you could step out of the infirmary, a pecking noise came from one of the windows, stopping sunday and you in your tracks.

you left his side and opened the window and let the crow inside the room. like the first time, it sat on your shoulder as you unraveled the piece of paper it handed you.

“will another child be leaving?” he mumbled. you walk towards him again and the both of you walk out of the infirmary. “everyone in this orphanage will leave.” your eyes met his and sunday pondered on what was going on in your mind.

“including you?”

“yes.” your answer was unexpected. “including me.”

“how so?”

“i’m no exception, angel.” there you were again, calling him by that blasted pet name. he couldn't fight the urge to roll his eyes as he followed you to the library. “i may bring death, but death will eventually come for me one day.”

“will someone replace you once you're gone?”

you only nod your head in agreement. hands grazing the many spines of the books that make up your library.

“ely would probably replace me.”

sunday pressed his lips to a firm line. in his mind, it made sense. elanoar was undeniably the closest child to you. she even accompanied you and him when michael departed, and he could only imagine how many children she's seen leave this orphanage in that room.

“they aren't really children, you know.”

the gray haired man furrowed his brows in confusion. “what do you mean?”

“you know what dreamscapes are, right?” he nods and follows you to sit down on one of many seats in the library beside the window. “people sleep and enter this fantastical world created by your predecessors. this place is similar. the reason why i call it “death's waiting room”, is because it's actually a waiting room.”

“do you mean…” sunday paused, trying to connect all the pieces you've given him. “these… children… they probably aren't children. they're people who've fallen asleep and are waiting for death.”

“exactly.” you flip through the pages of the book you had taken from one of the shelves. every page was filled with different words in elegant cursive handwriting. “right now, you're in a dream. waiting for your time to run out. waiting for death to come to you.”

“then, if that's the case, when will you cut the cord of my life?”

“even i don't know the answer to that.”

“is my name not written on the paper your companion gave you?”

you shook your head. “then how do you know when someone's time is up?” you take a few minutes to organize your thoughts, trying to think of a way to explain it, but in the end you couldn't.

“i don't know.”

“you don't know?!” sunday snapped. hands crashing on the wooden table as he stood up. his eyes were furious at you, making you sigh. “i’m not a god, angel.” you snap the book shut in hand. the sound echoing in the empty library as sunday sat back down.

“i may bring death to everyone i touch, but i am no more than a pawn in the grander schemes of things.”

“even i don't know why death comes to take the lives of us humans.”

sunday was speechless as he looked at you. you looked tired — absolutely exhausted — just like how his sister would describe him whenever he refused to leave his office back in penacony.

“i… apologize..” he bowed his head in shame. “i don't normally lose my composure like this.”

“it's fine.” he heard you sigh. “everyone grows on edge when death is waiting outside their door.”

“do you have to cut the cord?”

what a silly question, you must've thought. but sunday wanted to know even if what he was asking was inevitable.

you only smiled bitterly in response.

“even i fear the consequences of death, angel. i have to.”

sunday felt sick in the stomach when dinner approached. his ears ringed with your response, that you too, will eventually meet your end. it made him sick, and he didn't want to admit it.

he didn't come down to the dining room as usual. he expected elenaor to knock on his door, carrying a tray of food, something she's been doing after michael’s departure. but this time, when he opened the door, he had to stop you from stumbling inside his room as elenaor kept pushing you inside even with her hands occupied.

“elenaor..?!” you both whisper yell to the girl.

“you two need to talk!” she said with a huff. you winced when she dropped the tray of food on his table. “everyone's been worried about you two, y'know.” you both look away, sunday scratching his cheek while you were blatantly ignoring the girl as she put her hands on her hips.

“mother,” she called out to you but you pretended to not hear. “mother!” she said a little louder, now standing in front of you as she tugged and whined for you to acknowledge her. “you're so mean, mother!”

sunday’s wings hid the growing smile and laughter that was bubbling in his chest at the comical sight.

your cold facade was cracking with the way your lips were curving upwards; eyes pooling with mirth as the girl continued to scold you for some odd reason.

“and you!” elenaor pointed at sunday with her finger. he saw you snicker under your breath, fist in front of your lips, a futile attempt to hide your amusement. “you're supposed to be the more mature one between the two of you!”

“i am?” he points to himself with a tilt of his head. “yes!” she replied with a huff. elanaor made her way to the door, but not without giving the two of you another half attempt to glare. “by tomorrow, the two of you should be back to normal!” and for good measure, she slammed the door shut on the both of you.

the room was quiet, that is until, your giggles filled the room. your poor attempt in stopping your laughter made sunday's eyes go wide in shock, though he didn't know why. you always laughed in the house. be it from the teasing you always do to him and the other kids or by something else, you were always a giggly person.

but this was different. sunday just knew this was different. the way your eyes crinkled and shaped itself into little crescent moons and how tears of pure joy would escape every now and then. and your smile, aeons your smile. that smile didn't belong to death, it belonged to you.

sunday's laugh rang like church bells, you had to double check if what you were hearing was real. the two of you shared a moment of silence before erupting into fits of giggles again. the sound reminded you both of children running around the orphanage, playing kings and queens, monsters and knights, and the laughter that came after all the playing.

“what a strange girl she is.” sunday said after coughing into his fist. he had to reign himself in when you laughed in reply. “she is. but she's my strange girl.”

your eyes lingered on the door the younger girl had slammed. they held such fondness, sunday wouldn't have guessed the “death” he's always been afraid of would be so loving.

“well, now that's done.” you wipe away any stray tears left and motion sunday to his food. “eat. louis told me you hadn't eaten lunch. you must be starving.”

sunday sat down on the chair while you sat on the edge of his bed. smoothing out any creases on his blanket as he ate his food. every once in a while, he'd look at you between bites and still see that smile present on your face.

“you should smile more.” he said before wiping his lips on the towel elanaor had kindly prepared his food with.

“i could say the same to you, angel.” you look back at him. the same soft smile still on your lips as the streams of moonlight in this beautiful dream started to fill in the gaps of the window in the room, bathing you in a glow that made you look divine. “you look more handsome when you smile.”

he coughed into his fist as you laughed. wings coming to try and cover his face and hide his flustered state.

“i never… took you one for compliments.”

you tilt your head curiously, “do i not look like the type to give compliments.” sunday shook his head. hair and wings following his movement that made you swoon inside, it was nothing short of adorable. seeing the always composed mr. sunday stuff his face with the food you cooked for him.

this wasn't good. but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

“you're wrong then.” you say as you let yourself fall onto his bed.

“are you fond of children?”

“well, i wouldn't have gone through all this trouble by creating this dream if i wasn't.”

“just answer me directly, death.”

you laugh again in response. how strange it was, that the name “death” the halovian would always use to describe you no longer sounded hostile.

“yes.” you said softly. “i’m very fond of them.”

“why?” he questions. you hear the sound of plates and utensils move around and it wasn't long before another weight made the bed dip from the other side. “everyone dreams of having their own family, angel. i’m no exception.”

you closed your eyes for a moment before they open again in bewilderment as you looked to your side.

your right hand, still with it's glove on, was being held by sunday's own hands. his thumbs and index finger would tug at your fingers before his palm settled in your own.

you could hear the way your heart was beating in your ears. “do you not fear death, angel?” you ask as you let the man play with your hand like a child.

“i do.” he answered. you felt the bed dip and shift as he turned to lay on his side. “but recently, i've come to know them very well.”

you close your eyes again. letting the feeling of sunday tracing shapes in your palms lull you into a momentary sleep.

“what is death like, if you've gotten to know them very well.”

“death is a scary thing.” he paused, making sure you were listening. “i tiptoed around it back at home, like how two siblings would've tried to hide from their father when they played hide and seek.”

“i didn't believe death existed until it took something - someone - very important away from me. it was the first time in a while did i felt the fear and fury of it all being poured into my body.”

“do you hate death, angel?” you ask, still not opening your eyes.

“i do.” he answered with no hesitation, making you scoff. “death is impatient, not waiting for me to finish my explanation before jumping to conclusions.”

alright, you admit, he got you there.

“i hate death. i don't ever want to experience it anytime soon. it takes and it takes, and i don't want it to take anything important away from me ever again.” you felt sunday weave your fingers together as he spoke. “but i learned that death, also gives.”

“death is a lot kinder than i imagined. they didn't snarl or bite - but they did tease and scoff - at me. they're fond of children, much to my surprise. treating them with the utmost care and gentleness, even i believe i don't possess.”

“death, though not intentionally, showed me that even beautiful dreams can cause suffering. something i've refused to believe — to acknowledge — for the longest time.”

“are you scared?” you ask. opening your eyes to turn to lay on your side as well. not letting sunday's hand slip away from yours.

“no, not anymore.” somehow, you could almost see the smile his handsome face wore. “because death is gentle when someone's time is up.”

“what if they aren't gentle with you?”

“well,” he only chuckles. “death is gentle with me right now, are they not?”

ah, he got you again.

—

sunday, from a very young age, was taught that dreams were one of the many ways that the gods used to convey their intentions to mankind.

all his life, sunday had seen the ugliest side of humanity and yet he wished nothing but the best for them. he dreamed of creating a paradise where humanity no longer had to fight for survival; the strong wouldn't grow stronger nor will the weak grow weaker. everyone would be equal.

sunday's existence was to be everyone's savior; their saving grace in this perpetually cruel world. he would willingly spend the rest of eternity in solitude if it meant that others could live in a paradise, free from all misery and suffering.

he's never seen anything wrong with wanting to escape; taking the easy way out. who would want to be in pain after all.

you would.

why does life slumber? he always asks — he wanted to ask you but never got that chance to.

“we slumber because we don't want to wake up. we do not wish to see a painful and unfair tomorrow. we want to hold on to this beautiful dream where everything is alright. because we fear the future, we don't wish to wake up. the future is not kind, not to everyone. we will lose everything.”

“but we still have to.”

jolting awake, sunday pressed his hand over his chest where his heart was beating erratically, its sound ringing uncomfortably in his ears. no longer was he in the orphanage he'd grown accustomed to. now, he was all alone, in a damp, cold, and dark room.

“can the angel walk?”

twisting his head to the side, there you sat. the same black off shoulder top, muted purple skirt, and your companion perched on your shoulder as you close the book in your grasp.

you smiled at him. “so the angel can wake up, good to know.” your words ring in his ears. it feels nostalgic, a sudden sense of deja vu, but it left him with a feeling of doom as you walked to stretch a hand to him.

sunday took it with a moment of hesitation. he let himself be pulled up with your help and let you lead him somewhere else.

“where are we?” he asks.

“in reality.”

his eyes narrowed in a confused glare.

“what happened to the orphanage?” he didn't like the quietness of everything. he couldn't read your emotions, frequency practically nonexistent. “gone. everyone left.”

the ground shook along with his heart. he couldn't properly process the way you took hold of his hand and began to run straight into the darkness.

he was scared. he was so uncontrollably scared with what you've done because why…. why was he still alive?

“pick up the pace angel.” you turn your head to him. a teasing smile on your lips trying to hide the panic and terror in your eyes. “don't tell me the angel forgot how to run?”

“what's going on…”

“nothing's going on.” there you were again, avoiding the question; leaving him guessing in the dark.

against his instincts — the nagging voice in his mind to follow you and run — he pried his hand away from yours and skid to a stop.

“angel?!” you shout in confusion. your panic doubled as the ground shook more and more.

“you can't just keep me in the dark, death.” his hands balled up into fists at his sides. the look of foreboding did not suit you, he much preferred your easy going natured smile. “i’m not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.”

what a stubborn child, your mind replayed. eyes fogging up with an unreadable emotion.

“alright,” you say calmly. “how about a game then?”

sunday looked confused but stayed patient with you. something you're not used to.

“let's play a round of tag. you're it. if you tag me, i’ll tell you everything.”

“this isn't a game, death.”

sunday had come to the forlorn conclusion that he didn't even know your name.

“all is fair in love and war.” your voice matched your somber eyes.

what did you mean in love and war? what love? what war?

“come on now, angel, can't you just play one game with me?”

his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed his fears down along with his hesitation.

“okay.” he said. “let's play, but just one game.”

you smiled in thanks. “on my count, we run.”

“three.”

“two.”

“one.”

“RUN!”

and so the both of you did. you ran with such vigor, sunday felt that he'd lose here. lose the chance of finally knowing the truth.

“don't give up on me now, angel. we're almost there!”

your laughter echoed in the dim lit corridors of this nightmare that seemed to never end. but the way a crown of light bathed you, sunday felt his feet push further and further until they burned from the pain.

you kept smiling back at him. the childish smile he'd always see on the faces of the many children back in the when they also played tag. you would always be “it” and tagged one child to another, leaving you the victor by the end of it all.

but this time, sunday would rise victorious.

“brother!”

sunday skid to a stop as a body slammed on his own, nearly making him stumble down. a warm embrace enveloped him, the same embrace that woke him from his dreams of order back in penacony.

“it's mr. sunday!”

“are you alright?”

everything was too fast. one moment he was playing tag with death and now he's reunited with his sister and the astral express crew.

“robin…” he quietly murmured. arms snaking to hug his sister tightly as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “i’m here, brother.”

sunday let a smile break out of his face as he let robin check up on him. laughing at the way she weakly punched him on the chest.

“it's a good thing you're unharmed, mr. sunday.” welt said, fixing his glasses. “it took us quite a while to find you, but i’m glad our efforts weren't in vain.”

sunday furrowed his brows. “what do you mean?”

“after your disappearance in penacony, me and the astral express crew had joined forces to track you down.” robin explained.

“i… see…” sunday pondered if the reason they weren't able to find him was because he was inside your dream.

wait.

“death?!” he shouted into the space but no one answered. he was sure that everyone was looking at him weirdly as he lightly pushed robin to the side to try and look for you.

“death?!” the pink haired girl exclaimed. “what's going on mr. sunday?!”

before sunday could respond, another tremor broke out.

“brother!”

something flashed in sunday’s mind for a quick moment. his mind replayed the first time he arrived at “death's waiting room”, how he was forced to do chores and help around, tell the children bedtime stories and tuck them in for bed. how the first night he witnessed death made his stomach swirl with uncontrollably fear and how “death” itself cried for the departed.

he remembered how elanaor barged into his temporary room and pushed you in. how he ate his dinner in silence as you smooth out the creases on his bed. how, against his own judgement, came to lay on the bed and hold your hand that he couldn't believe brought upon ruin to someone's dream.

“it's time to wake up, sunday.”

sunday felt a body hug him tightly before he was pushed out of the way. in a quick flash, a red cord wrapped around him and death before it snapped.

the loud clamor of a giant gate dropping made his ears ring. sunday felt his breath quicken as he ran to the metal gate and slammed his fist against it in a poor attempt to get it to open.

“death!” another slam of his fist. “death you said you'd explain!” and another. “don't leave me in the dark!”

sunday felt his breath becoming shorter and shorter.

and how his heart dropped when crimson started to slip through the cracks of the metal gate.

“you didn't tag me, so i still win.”

“no…” another slam of his fist, louder than ever. “no! death hang on, we can save you!”

“you can't.”

“you don't know that!”

the trailblazer came to pry him away from the gate but he persisted.

“i know death better than anyone else, angel.”

“you…!” sunday felt his legs give out on him. he could only gaze at the way your blood pooled at the floor. “what did you do…”

you chuckled. “i never thought i’d die for someone else, you know.” sunday's caught wind of the cawing noises on the other side of the gate.

“no…”

“who would've guessed i would die for your sins.”

“the papers…” and you only hummed to confirm his suspicion.

there was one thing that sunday noticed whenever s child needed to depart: your companion will always bring you a piece of paper with their name written on it.

“my name…” he weakly muttered. “i was supposed to die…”

“you were.”

were. you didn't kill him.

the papers that started to pile in your office and the way your companion never once left your side; they way that never - not even once - have you taken off your gloves off whenever you fondly brushed his bangs away from his eyes or the way you let him hold your hands.

you didn't kill him.

the room shook again, this time stronger than the previous ones.

“we need to leave, now!” the navigator shouted.

sunday felt his body being supported as the trailblazer slung one his arms over his shoulder.

“fly. fly far, far, away from here sunday; you're free now.”

how ironic it was, that you, “death” itself, would die for a man who tried to go against the principles of the aeon he claimed to follow.

you brought the head of the oak family to your waiting room, waiting for the moment when his name would be delivered to you so could cut the cord of his life. but you never did.

“you're no longer guilty, your sins have been cleansed.”

you didn't want to let him go, as he did with you when he held your hand that night.

“i’m sorry i couldn't be gentle like you hoped for. but this was the only way.”

“i hope you finally understand that human suffering is inevitable. that even when we're in pain we still find a way to value our lives.”

“we are not gods, angel, we don't get a say in what happens to humankind. but i hope you'll come around to accept that it's what makes us all human. remember us — me — with fondness in mind.”

sunday will never come to know death, because death died for him and his sins.

“i hope you enjoyed your time with death, sunday.”

#✒️ — works #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail angst #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail imagines #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday angst #sunday imagines #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #star rail x you #hsr angst #hsr x you #hsr x reader

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bunnyreaper · 9 months

Text

come crawling

kinktober 7 - stuck in a wall

(18+/mdni stepcest, dubcon/noncon)

Deployments are always long and hard for Johnny--especially without his favourite little step sister to take care of him. You've been ignoring his calls and leaving his texts on read, anytime he tries to reach out to you for relief.

All he has had to rely on is some old pictures and videos he has of him filling you full of sticky cum, or painting your face with ropes as he makes you stick your tongue out and smile for him--back when you weren't such a fucking brat.

The second he arrives back at your parents, he's hoping for a hero's welcome--his pretty little sister in a skimpy outfit giving him a warm smile and tight hug. Instead you're fixated on your phone, giggling and smiling for someone who isn't him, and his blood fucking boils.

His ma and your father at least greet him with the warmth he expects, but you don't even acknowledge his existence.

"She's always texting that boy she's talking to." Your dad explains with a clap to Johnny's shoulder. "Don't take it personally, son."

"Oh aye, boy?" Johnny asks, hoping to draw your attention so he can learn more about whatever fucking unworthy prick has got his hands all over you while Johnny is away. If it is even real, and not just part of one of your bratty schemes.

Clearly Johnny hasn't been firm enough with you lately, or showed you just who you belong to. You're long overdue a fucking lesson. Johnny's palm is already itching to make your pretty little arse red raw, but for now you all have to play happy families, and pretend like the two of you aren't entangled in a filthy, forbidden back and forth.

Throughout dinner, you barely put down your phone, and as soon as your meal is complete, you excuse yourself to your room, explaining that you're oh so tired. Johnny sees right through it, but he bites his tongue, intent on paying you a visit later that night and finally giving you the reminder that you so clearly need.

When he finally makes his way to your room, his knock goes ignored. He shouldn't be surprised, but his jaw ticks anyway. His hand starts to shake as he goes to knock again, before he decides to just wrench the door open and force his way inside. You won't ignore him any longer, he won't allow it.

What he sees shouldn't take him by surprise--you, trying to sneak out of your fucking window, presumably to see that boy you've been texting.

Johnny is over in an instant, startling you as the window slides back down and traps you between it and the sill.

"Help me, Johnny!" You cry out, squirming and trying to free yourself from the awkward, revealing position.

You feel your step-brother approach, feel the warmth of his body as he presses himself against you.

"Oh lass, I'll help yer alright." His hands rove over your waist, following your curves down to the bottom of your teeny tiny skirt, which he flips up in favour of grabbing fist fulls of your arse. "Such a pretty sight. Where d'ya think yer going?"

You try to kick out your legs to wriggle free, but Johnny is stronger, he's a soldier, and you've never been able to fight back. "Let me go, Johnny, you sicko!"

He moves back slightly so his knuckle can brush over your exposed panties, his finger nudging against your rapidly swelling clit. "If I'm a sicko, why are you so wet, bonnie?"

The finger hooks your panties aside, as his other hand comes to stroke through your wetness. "I think yer just as sick as I am."

His touch forces moans out of your throat, ones you can't hold back, before he withdraws. You hear the jingle of his belt and the rustle of his jeans, and before you know it he's plunging his length straight into your needy hole.

"Not going anywhere, not when I'm right here tae take care of you." His hips start to thrust, driving his cock deeper inside you and fucking away any and all resistance you've been building up over the past few weeks.

All this time you were kidding yourself, thinking you could go without Johnny's touch, go without his cock. No one can take care of you like he can.

As he pushes against that spot inside you, you have to clamp a hand around your mouth to stifle the moans, to make sure your parents don't get to find out about yours and Johnny's special relationship.

His hand smacks down on the flesh of your behind, the sound cracking in the cool night air alongside the slick sounds of skin against skin--the two of you giving in to your forbidden addiction.

Johnny stills for a moment.

"I'm gonna grab yer phone, and you're gonna give yer little boyfriend a ring and tell him you won't be coming out to play." He smacks your arse once more when you don't immediately respond. "Understood?"

"Yes, Johnny!" You whine, hole clenching around nothing as he pulls out. He's gone only for a few moments, returning as he pushes open the window and sets the phone against your face as he pushes his cock back inside and captures your reaction.

"Go on, tell him how good yer getting fucked by me."

#john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #is this just an expanded ver of an old post?? yes what about it smh #but this time its not pretend!!!!

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topguncortez · 6 months

Text

Are You With Me? | Chapter 4

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: Y/N wakes up from the same reoccurring nightmare since Ella had been diagnosed. Some parts of what Jake did during the divorce come to light. Jake and Y/N cross a line.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, nightmares, traumatic events, vomiting, divorce, fighting, cursing, childhood cancer, child character death (not graphic), smut, unprotected sex, mentions of cheating

“She’s not breathing,” A constant beeping sound filled the air as doctors and nurses came running into the small hospital room. Y/N was pushed out of the room, left to look at the action from behind a plate glass window. However, the doctors and nurses didn’t spring into action like she had seen them do when rushing into other childrens’ rooms. They stood there, watching as the child struggled to breath.

“Do something to help her!” Y/N yelled, pounding her fists against the glass, but it was as if it fell on deaf ears. Doctors and nurses crowded the hospital bed as the small girl lay there unmoving. Tubes and wires covered her body as the obnoxious long tone filled the air.

“Do something! She’s dying!” Y/N yelled again trying to move her spot to get to the little girl, her feet were stuck where they were, “Help her!”

“Time of death,”

“No! My baby! No!”

“Nine thirty six.”

“No! Ella!”

Her body nearly collapsed to the floor, but strong arms wrapped around her, holding her up. She fought against the hard body, wanting to get to her daughter and hold her. The doctor pulled the white sheet over Ella’s head as Y/N continued to thrash in the strangers arms.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Y/N, you’re alright.”

“No! Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N! Wake up!”

With a jolt, she sat up in bed. The cold grip of fear still around her heart, making it beat erratically. A thin layer of sweat covered her body, as her hair stuck to the back of her neck. It took a moment for her to get her bearings, finding herself in the same room she had laid down in, and her ex-husband sitting next to her on the bed. Jake had turned the lamp on, coating them in a warm orange glow.

“Are you alright?” Jake asked, taking in the sight of his bewildered wife. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his chest, but he had earned an elbow to the face trying to attempt it earlier.

Y/N nodded her head, not trusting her voice at the moment. Her throat felt dry, presumably from screaming in her sleep. She sucked in a couple of breaths, feeling her heart beat slow to a steady rhythm. She was no stranger to nightmares, especially after Ella got sick. The haunting sound of asystole alarms and the cries of grief stricken parents kept her awake at night.

“What time is it?” She asked, her voice hoarse.

“Two twenty.”

“And the kids?”

“Still asleep, but, Y/N…” Jake swallowed, “Have you thought about going to that support group Doctor Thomas suggested?”

Y/N scoffed, flinging back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, “No,” She stood up, walking towards the bathroom to get a drink of water, “Don’t need it.”

Jake stood up from the bed, walking over to the bathroom door, leaning against it. Y/N splashed some cool water on her face, before filling up the cup she kept by the sink. Jake couldn’t help but take in the sight of her pajamas; a white tank top and a pair of his old plaid boxer shorts. He could remember when she stole them from him when she was about seven months pregnant with Alex, “It might help you sleep better if you talk to someone.”

“Oh, like you did?” Y/N knew it was a low blow the moment the words left her mouth.

The divorce had been finalized for two years and Y/N always used Jake’s affair as a deflection tactic. When she didn’t want to talk about herself or anything that was bothering her, she always brought up the affair. Jake had learned to ignore it over the past couple of years.

“Look,” Jake ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair, “I know I messed up and didn’t do things right in the past, but I am now. The group is really helping me get through this.”

Y/N looked up at Jake in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t the first time he has brought up therapy. Hell, even Miles had suggested it once before but it was quickly brought down. Y/N didn’t want to sit in a circle with other parents of sick kids and listen as they tried to one up each other with who’s kid is the sickest.

Y/N grabbed a quick drink of water, before turning to face Jake, “Thanks for the suggestion, but I got this.” She patted his chest before walking back into the bedroom.

Jake shook his head as she climbed back in, pulling the blankets up to her chin and turning the light off, engulfing him in darkness.

“Whatever, Y/N,” Jake pushed off of the door jam, leaving the room without another word and going back to the guest room he had been inhabiting.

— — —

Sleep did not come easy to Y/N after the nightmare. Hell, sleep hadn’t been coming easy to her for about six weeks since Ella got sick. She had created a strict schedule of being at the hospital when first rounds started at six am. But between the early wake-ups, the late nights making dinner and getting the kids to bed, nightmares waking her up, and now Eli’s newly developed sleep regression, Y/N was a walking zombie.

“I don’t wanna be sick,” Ella cried as Y/N held the pink basin in front of her.

“I know, baby,” Y/N cooed, as tears ran down Ella’s cheeks. It was the same battle every day about an hour after Ella left the chemo room. The nausea slowly creeped up in her little body until she threw up. Y/N hated when Alex would have the occasional sick day, and it was killing her seeing Ella getting sick every day like clockwork.

“Mommy,” Ella whined as she dry heaved over the basin.

“Just let it out,” Y/N rubbed her back, “Let it out, baby. You’ll feel better.” She grimaced as the scent of vomit filled the air, Ella’s small body nearly convulsing as she puked, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, baby.” Y/N kept repeating sweet nothings to Ella as she emptied the very limited things in her small stomach. Her weight loss has become more evident by her protruding collarbones and ribs. Jake was almost scared to pick her up these days, worried that he’d break her.

A knock sounded at the door, “Knock, knock,” The person said, “Is now a good time?”

Y/N rolled her eyes as she sat the basin down in between Ella’s legs. It was never a good time for Doctor Thomas to barge into the room, but it wasn’t like she cared. What do you even say to a doctor when they ask ‘is now a good time?’ “No, come back later when I’m dying”?

“Yes,” Y/N answered, but Doctor Thomas was already halfway into the room. Y/N grabbed a cool rag, putting it on Ella’s forehead and removing the emesis bucket, “How can we help you, Doctor Thomas?”

“Just checking in,” She smiled that perfect smile that all doctors seemed to have. Pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. Doctor Thomas pulled up a chair, sitting at Ella’s bedside, “How are you, Ella?”

The little girl pouted, “I threw up.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” She rubbed the back of Ella’s hand, “Today wasn’t a good treatment day?”

“They didn’t even have sugar cookies,” Ella muttered. Y/N shook her head with a light laugh. Of course Ella was upset about the cookies.

“You’re letting her have sweets?” Doctor Thomas asked, looking up at Y/N.

“We’re monitoring her diet, but yes, we allow her to have something sweet to eat every once in a while. Miles said-”

“Miles isn’t an oncologist,” Doctor Thomas said, tilting her head slightly and plastering that smile on her face.

Doctor Nicole Thomas, oncologist, top of her class at Northwestern, top resident at the Mayo Clinic, one of the best oncologists on this side of the Missouri river, and total bitch to parents. April, the mother of Sammy, the little boy next door to Ella, shared her dislike for Doctor Thomas. She was blonde, had legs for days and breasts that seemed to be the perfect size and perky. The wives had all noticed their husbands wandering eyes when Doctor Thomas walked by. And to make matters even worse, Doctor Thomas knew Jake. . . personally.

“If you have an issue with my daughter’s diet, please, Doctor Thomas, enlighten me,” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest.

Doctor Thomas’s smile didn’t falter, “Things like cookies and sugary treats aren’t good for children with compromised immune systems. Over processed pre-packaged snacks or snacks full of butter and frosting. . . you want your child eating heart healthy snacks. I think Jake would agree.”

The slip of her husband’s name from Doctor Thomas’s lips had Y/N seeing red, her arms falling down to her sides, “I know what is best for my child. You are pumping her full of toxins that are making her throw up and lose weight. If she wants a sugar cookie, I’m going to let her have a sugar cookie. At least she’s eating something. . .” She rolled her shoulders back as she mumbled, “And keep my husband’s name out of your mouth.”

“Noted,” Doctor Thomas said, standing up from the chair. She looked down at Ella, “I hope you feel better, Ella. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye Doctor Thomas,” Ella waved to the blonde woman.

Before she left the room, Doctor Thomas turned around, the condescending smile still on her face, “Have you looked into that support group? I think it would really, really do you some good, Y/N.”

Y/N scoffed, marching towards the door to rip into Doctor Thomas, but she was gone by the time Y/N stepped out into the hallway, her chest heaving. Her eyes narrowed as another familiar blonde made his way down the hall, smiling and waving to the kids and their parents as they passed. Fire burned in Y/N’s veins as she stalked down the hall, determination written on her face.

“Hey!” She yelled as she set in on Jake, “Tell your little side piece to keep her nose out of the way I raise my child.”

“Side piece?” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Doctor Thomas,” Y/N sneered, “Trying to tell me what's right for my child.”

“Our child,” Jake corrected her, “And she’s probably right. She is a doctor after all.”

Y/N scoffed, “Of course you would side with her.”

“Unbelievable,” Jake shook his head. He looked around, noticing the eyes of the nurses, doctors, parents and techs on them as they squabled in the hallway. He grabbed Y/N’s arm, pulling her into an alcove by the nurses’ station, “You need to get yourself together. You’re causing a scene.”

“Me? Get myself together?” Y/N’s eyebrows rose in shock, “You’re the one screwing our child’s doctor!”

“I didn’t screw her!” Jake snapped.

“No,” Y/N chuckled, shaking her head, “You’re just spending late nights having secret conversations and confiding in her behind my back.”

“Do you blame me? It’s like talking to a brick wall with you,” The hurt settled into Y/N’s chest. She wrapped her arms around her chest, as if she could protect herself against Jake’s words. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips, “Y/N. . . you need to talk to someone. You aren’t sleeping. You’re lashing out at people. Your mother called me in tears the other day because you yelled at her. This isn’t you.”

“You don’t know what's me,” Y/N whispered, taking a step back from Ella, “I need to be with my daughter.”

“Our daughter,” Jake corrected her again. Y/N just shook her head, walking out of the alcove and back to Ella’s room.

— — —

Three days had passed since Jake and Y/N’s fight in the hallway. They had been walking on eggshells around one another. Y/N had started keeping some clothes and showering in Ella’s hospital room to avoid going home when Jake was there. Jake started placing a plate of food in the microwave for when Y/N would come home from the hospital before he went to be with Ella for the night. It had all seemed to work just fine, until it came crashing down.

Y/N was running late to switch Jake off from his night shift with Ella so he could get to work. Eli had pitched a fit about wanting to put pants on for daycare, and Alex was taking his time with packing his backpack for school. She had barely managed to get out the door on time to get the boys to school before zooming to the hospital to drop off Eli and relieve Jake.

Jake was pacing the lobby, waiting for his ex-wife to show up. It wasn’t like her to be late without texting or calling first. The worst came to his mind as he tried to keep his heart from pounding in his chest.

“Fuck it,” He cursed, pulling his phone out ready to call her, when the elevator dinged.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N breathed out, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve called by Eli dumped his breakfast on his pants and Alex forget his glasses and we were running-”

“It’s fine,” Jake huffed, “Mav has us doing classroom work. Nothing Dragon and Rooster can’t handle.”

Y/N shook her head, “I’m just. . . I’m so sorry.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched his normally strong partner crumble because she was fifteen minutes late. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at Jake, “I promise next time I’ll-”

“Code Blue Room 310. Code Blue.”

The speaker above them sounded out interrupting them.

“That’s the room next to Ella’s,” Jake said, his heart coming to a complete stop in his chest.

“April,” Y/N breathed out.

Both of them turned on their feet, rushing down the hall as a mass of doctors and nurses went rushing into the room next to Ella’s. Y/N could see through the large bay window into the room as Miles started doing compressions on the little boy's chest, his parents standing in the corner with tears streaming down their faces.

It was like Y/N was stuck in that nightmare again. The images of her standing outside the hospital room, looking through the window while the doctors just stood around her child. Y/N turned her head as Sammy’s chest convulsed off the bed as they shocked his heart. Jake wrapped his arm around her, his hand cradling the back of her head as she held onto his flight suit. It was like a car crash on the side of the road, Jake couldn’t look away as they shocked Sammy’s heart again. The scene went on for only a few more minutes until the loud beep of asystole sounded out from the room, as the wails of parents filled the air.

“No! My Baby!”

“Time of death. . . nine thirty six.”

“Sammy! No! No!”

A sob left Y/N’s mouth, and Jake held her tighter.. The door to the room opened up, Miles being the first one to walk out, a discouraged look on his face. Y/N lifted her head meeting his sad brown eyes. It was the same look that he had given Y/N many months ago. The look of heartbreak and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” Miles said, shaking his head and stalking off.

Y/N looked over her shoulder, seeing Jake’s stoic and shocked face, “W-what do we do?”

Jake looked down at her, and then back towards the room where the two parents cried over their dead son, “I don’t know. But we need to tell Ella. . . they are-were friends.” Y/N nodded her head.

Ella was wide awake in her bed when Y/N and Jake walked into the room. She smiled at them both, but it quickly faded seeing the frowns on her parents' faces. Y/N sat on the edge of Ella’s bed, and Jake stood behind her. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. They didn’t exactly cover the topic of telling your four year old child that they’re friend just died of the same cancer they have in the parenting books. Jake sensed Y/N’s turmoil, taking a step forward and grabbing her hand. He squeezed it twice, and Y/N looked up at him. She gave him a tight lipped smile before squeezing his hand back twice.

“Ella,” Y/N started, “We need to tell you something. . .”

— — —

Y/N had never been so thankful to have her parents living in the same city. Clara and James were at the hospital within minutes of Y/N asking if they could stay with Ella. It had been a rough day with Ella, between trying to explain what happened to Sammy, to holding her while she threw up. It had been a day of tears and tantrums from the little girl, she didn’t want to be stuck with needles or be pumped full of medicine and neither one of her parents could blame her. Ella had fallen asleep on Jake’s chest before Clara and James arrived.

Y/N and Jake had moved in near silence as they made dinner, bathed the boys, and put them both to bed. The mental and physical toll of the day was starting to hit them like trains. Jake was amazed by how strong Y/N had been, being able to keep a smile on her face and care for Ella. He just wanted to go home and drink the day away.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Jake said as they walked up the stairs. Y/N’s legs felt like bricks when she reached the top, “I called Mav and told him what happened. I got tomorrow off,” Y/N didn’t say anything as she stared at her bedroom door, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

It was silent for a moment as Y/N listened to the creak of the floorboards as Jake walked to his room.

“Jake,” Y/N called out, her voice barely above a whisper. He stopped in his tracks, not daring to look down the hall at her, “Stay with me,” She looked at him, “Please.” Unshed tears shone in her eyes.

Jake swallowed thickly, “Y/N,” He scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t think that's a good-”

Y/N shook her head, walking over to him, “Please,” She stood in front of him. She wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but refrained, “Please. . . stay with me. . . I don’t want to be alone after today.”

Jake looked into her eyes, seeing the longing and the fear that hid behind unshed tears. Silently, Jake agreed, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers and lead her down the hall. He gently pushed open her bedroom door. It was just the same as it was two years ago. It was as if she was still living in a time capsule where Jake had never betrayed her. Where they were still married. Where they were still one.

Jake walked Y/N over to her side of the bed, having her take a seat on the mattress. She watched as he moved around the room with muscle memory, opening drawers to her dresser, pulling out her normal pajamas; an oversized shirt and boxer shorts. He set them on the bed next to her, standing in front of her.

“Can you-”

“Help me?” They spoke at the same time.

Every fiber in Jake’s being was telling him no. Every fiber was telling him to leave the room, to tell her that she would be fine on her own and he’d be right down the hall if she needed him. But his heart was telling him that he couldn’t leave her. Not like this. Not when she had witnessed every sick parents’ worst nightmare. Jake functioned wordlessly, as he reached for Y/N’s hands, standing her up. His hands went to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. He refrained from looking at her chest, which he felt like he deserved an award for. He folded the shirt nicely placing it on the bed behind her.

“You should probably do the um. . . pants,” Jake gestured to her lower half.

“Jake,” She chuckled, “We were married and had three kids. You can’t take my pants off?”

“Yes I-. . . Well you know that I can but this is. . . This is different,” Jake said.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Y/N,” Jake challenged.

“Jake,” Y/N shot back, “Look at me.”

Jake huffed, turning his head to look at her. It was the first time in nearly three years that he had seen her like this. His body felt like it had been lit on fire. Three years, and Y/N hadn’t aged a day. Her body was still perfect; beautiful skin, perky breasts, curves that brought grown men to their knees. Jake’s hands itched to touch her, to remember the feel of her skin beneath his palms. He felt his groin tighten at the memories of her being under him.

“Jake,” Y/N sighed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him as she took a step closer..

“Y/N,” He warned.

“Please,” She begged, her eyes wide with lust, “I need you.”

“Y/N.”

“One night,” Y/N begged, “One night to make me forget, please.”

Jake groaned, grabbing her face and crashing his lips to hers. The familiar taste of her chapstick, something that hadn’t changed over the past three years. Her hands went to his hair, pulling on his blonde locks as his hands roamed her body, walking her backwards until they both landed on the bed. Y/N moaned as Jake’s lips landed on her neck, sucking and biting gently. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t dreamed of having his lips on her skin again.

“Did he touch you?” Jake asked, his hot breath fanning her neck.

Y/N shook her head.

“I need to hear it, Y/N,” Jake said, looking at her, “Did he touch you?”

“No,” Her answer was solid, “Not like this. Not ever, like this.”

“Good,” Jake sat back on his haunches, grabbing the neck of his shirt and pulling it over his head, “Cause I don’t share.”

Y/N’s eyes shamelessly ran down his naked torso. It was obvious that Jake took care of his body. She remembered all those mornings of waking up to him playing music in the garage turned home gym. But seeing his sculpted body up close again, sent her into a frenzy as she reached out for him, pulling him back down against her. The two of them kissed passionately, hands roaming each other’s bodies, trying to pull one another as physically close as possible. Clothes ended up scattered around the room until they were bare in front of one another.

“Are you sure?” Jake asked, placing himself in between Y/N’s legs. His cock was hard and leaking, aching for some sort of relief. Y/N’s eyes wandered down his body, a shiver running through her body.

“Please,” She reached down and grabbed his cock, guiding it in between her legs, “Please, fuck me, Jake.”

Jake nodded his head, replacing Y/N’s hand with his own. He ran it over her folds, before gently pushing the head into her opening. A hiss left Y/N’s lips at the unfamiliar feeling of being stretched. Jake knelt down on his elbows, caging her head in between his arms.

“Look at me,” Jake whispered. Y/N’s eyes fluttered up to his green ones, “Breathe, I got you. I won’t hurt you.” Y/N nodded her head as Jake grabbed her thigh, guiding it over his hip, pushing into her a bit more. They both let out a gasp as Jake bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He waited a moment, letting them both get used to the feel of one another.

“Jake,” Y/N placed both hands on his cheeks, “Move. Please.”

Jake complied moving his hips back ever so slightly and then pushing back into her. The painful stretch of Jake’s cock in her pussy slowly faded away until pleasure filled her body. Jake’s grunts filled the air, as he sped his hips up, and hit all the right places. Y/N dug her nails into his back, surely leaving angry red marks down the skin.

Neither one could remember the last time they had sex like this. Raw, emotional, full of passion. The two of them pawed and pulled each other as close as possible. Their lips swallow one another’s moans and cries of pleasure. Jake brought Y/N to the brink of orgasm twice, before cumming inside of her. He collapsed on her chest, their heartbeats erratic but still beating in time.

The two of them had cleaned each other up in near silence, both scared of even talking about what had transpired between them. Y/N laid on her side of the bed, far away from the door, wrapped in Jake’s arms, her head on his chest. She gently traced over the tattoo on his pec, the gentle cursive of her name. She had noticed the other day that he still had her initials tattooed on his ring finger.

“I’ll do it,” Y/N mumbled.

Jake furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his wife, “Do what?”

Tears filled her eyes, as she looked at him, “I’ll go to the support group.”

Jake gave her a sad smile as he bent his head down, placing a feather soft kiss on her lips, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

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twelvemonkeyswere · 2 months

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Brienne and Femininity (and Masculinity)

I’ve been musing how one of the most important topics in Brienne's storyline is femininity, and even though her story isn't finished, we can fairly see what some of her major themes are around this—particularly, how performing or failing at performing femininity affects her both internally and externally.

Often I see people pointing out that, in spite of all of Brienne’s traditionally masculine ways—her clothes, her skill set, her body shape, to name a few—she does not fully reject femininity. That she likes little cute animals and fairy tales and wears dresses, and is shy and blushes frequently. This is an important point because, very often, fantasy settings made the assumption that a woman can only be taken seriously if she goes beyond “her womanhood” and acts and thinks “like a man,” as opposed to other girls who are too busy mending or wanting romance. Brienne challenges those tendencies that GRRM saw in his contemporaries. Things have changed a lot since (hello The Locked Tomb, for example), but you can still see where he is working from, and how many of the aspects of Brienne's story still resonate with more modern audiences because, well, sexism hasn't stopped existing. It's also important because the larger asoiaf and got fandoms often refuse to see this side of her, reducing her to a walking sword or a cardboard cut out of a pushover.

Now, my main issue here is that I feel several interpretations of Brienne have now gone on the other direction, and focus so much on Brienne PERFORMING traditional femininity—wearing luxurious dresses, using make up, accepting lavishing gifts, or wondering if she can be desired, for example—that we've gone sometimes on the opposite direction. I feel like many times we’re afraid or do not know how to approach characterizing her as someone who rejects aspects of femininity without making her into another “not like other girls” stereotype.

My two cents on the matter is that if we focus too much in what Brienne can't but "wants" to perform, we forget that she is, in fact, gladly rejecting some common impositions of femininity in her society.

Beginning with swordplay at a young age, for example, she was very glad to ditch a more traditional education in order to learn how to fight the way we know men are taught in asoiaf/got. She is also explicitly more comfortable in men's clothes. We all like the scene where Jaime makes an effort to give her a dress and she appreciates it, but we don't even find out what happened to the dress, because, presumably, the dress itself is not THAT important, at least not as much as the fact Jaime gave her gifts as a form of appreciation. Dresses have been used in Brienne's past to mock her (the event with the bear being the most recent one), and the important part is that Jaime is the only one who has given her one without that ulterior motive. The point of the scene is that where everyone undermines and underestimates her, he is acting the opposite way. We’re seeing how the relationship between them has evolved and that he is doing his best to mend what has happened and what he has done. She is given a dress and a sword as symbols that someone else in the story is beginning to appreciate her for all she is.

Beyond that, we even get details on the old shield Brienne got at Harrenhal, but not a word about the dress. Brienne explicitly doesn't really like being in dresses, she prefers mail and breeches, and feels more at ease in them than anything else. This is not her hating dresses because she is above them. I can’t remember well but as far as we know it’s just her preference: I don’t recall her saying she hates dresses, just that she prefers trousers. She must have been wearing dresses her whole life! It’s not likely she is unused to them. But we do know the act of being given a dress is important in Brienne’s story. The problem is not that they can’t make dresses for her, the problem is that everyone who forces her to wear a dress wants to signal how lacking she is as a woman, trying to fit her in a box too small for her real shape and then mocking her because she doesn’t meet their standard. The problem is they want to make her uncomfortable and they want to humiliate her, because she dares to exist in a way that doesn’t conform to patriarchal ideals. And the problem is that she likes to wear trousers and mail. She likes to wear masculine clothes, and they want her to be very aware of how much they disapprove.

And we also hear a great deal about marrying and having children out of duty. There's a certain loss she feels there because she believes that, at that point, all those missed opportunities will never present themselves again. All her life, she grew up with a dichotomy that dictated that the chance of having a family or children was through duty or none at all, because she is her father’s heir and—they kept telling her—nobody would want an ugly, masculine, temperamental girl as a wife. They could only want her for the money she brought. The point of the story is that, once again, failing the standards of femininity has forced her into a mentality where she thinks she can’t be loved because nobody would like who and what she is. But even then, even with that thorn in her mind, she still feels relieved she didn't have to perform these particular duties. The only thing she’s sad about is that she thinks she's missed any chance at having a family at all and will never know what that might be like. She doesn’t actively want babies or even to be married. She is still young, and at least to me, she seems to view these things in hypothetical rather than explicit goals or wants. She thinks that, at 20, there is no opportunity for her to experience these things because of how her society works. It’s the lack of choice that she mourns, down the line. But she rejects that particularly role that femininity imposes on her now. She didn’t want it, and she is happy it didn’t go through. She literally fought an old man to prove how much she didn’t want those impositions.

All this is interesting to me because Brienne also sort of thinks of herself as her father's son as well as her father's daughter. It almost slips her mouth once or twice. She is aware, I think, that many times the differences between a son and a daughter boil down not really to gender but to the sort of duty they perform. And she wants to do the sorts of things sons do, too. Men regularly learned to fight and wore the clothes she liked best and used hard-earned skills in a way she wanted to use them. There are layers to this (we’ll get to that in a bit) but she is, I think, very aware of her masculinity, and, if left to her own devices, she seems comfortable in it. The problem is she is NOT left to her own devices.

Most of Brienne's self doubt comes from outside forces. As a woman, they underestimate her. As a woman, they think she is stupid. As a gender non-conforming woman, every jape uttered goes directly to her womanhood. As a woman, if she looks the way she does and dresses the way she does and fights the way she does, when she expresses any vulnerable emotion, any shred of “femininity,” she is mocked for it. She likes dancing and beautiful things and pretty boys but a woman as masculine as she is is not the sort of person who gets to express those preferences without judgment from those around her.

The point is Brienne’s world wants her miserable either way: being unable to be a woman the way they demand of her, because she is too much “like a man” for it, or being unable to be a man, because she is too much a woman for that. The point is she can’t win regardless of what she does. Because that’s how sexism works.

But Brienne’s story is, I think, one about choices. The thing is that the world makes it harder for her, but she shouldn't have to be one thing or the other. She shouldn’t have to be defined by one or the other. If she wants to fight in the mud and smell roses and wear chain-mail and talk to charming men, she should be able to choose all of those things. I think it’s easy to focus too much in what aspects of femininity Brienne likes or dislikes instead of looking at what the story is proposing, which is to look at what Brienne,as a person, likes or dislikes. What she wants. Her parallel story to Jaime is about how the world will always try to put folks in boxes, especially those who, for some reason or another, do not easily fit in those boxes. The question is not “what feminine/masculine parts of Brienne is she happy performing” but rather “what does Brienne want, and why does she feel like she cannot get it and doesn't dare ask.”

This is also what drives her to servitude. There’s a phrase out there that says that if you don’t think you can be liked, you try to become useful, so at least there’s a reason to keep you around. It’s heartbreaking to see how Brienne’s vision of herself has been so skewed by the emotional abuse, parental neglect, and bullying she’s experienced since a young age. She doesn’t think anyone will grow close to her, so at least she can be close to people by serving them. She wants to put her skills to use, she wants to find a place where she fits, where she can be more herself, but she isn’t sure what that looks like or how to find it. She’s still searching, and learning many things on the way.

And Brienne is still very young. We can see her confidence growing and her worldview challenged and she is beginning to see the realities of herself and of the world around her through various trials by fire. Misogyny makes her feel incomplete, but we know the things she trusts about herself while simultaneously seeing the way she constantly doubts others. How she can't never express all of herself without constant judgment or mockery.

I feel like yes, the fact Brienne doesn't reject all traditional femininity is really important to her themes, but by extension, it's as important that shedoes reject some of those traditional expressions of femininity. What she is truly rejecting is imposition, not femininity. What she truly needs to embrace is freedom, not masculinity. She's making her own vows, breaking her own promises, going through her own mistakes. She is learning the hard way. Agency in a world of limited choices is one of Brienne's main themes too. There are moral issues that go deep within her story as well as examinations of the effects of war and the struggle to find authenticity and connection in a community that refuses to acknowledge yours, a community drenched in pretense and lost in performance.

And I think it’s easy to get too caught up in her wanting to be a girlfriend or a mother or wearing a dress that we bypass the whole conversation around why that matters at all. I feel like Brienne's success isn't going to come from her fully embracing all her feminine traits or fully accepting all her masculine traits but from being able, down the line, to be exactly who she is.

#i was looking at my drafts and here are some scrambled ideas I had that I wanted to release so I've tried to make them more organized #brienne of tarth #asoiaf

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roe-and-memory · 6 months

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every time someone says cars 3 is the worst cars movie another angel punches me in the stomach and pulls my hair.

this is probably just my intense special interest in the origins of nascar, but that movie feels like such a nice send-off for the main “trilogy”, and yes people can have their own opinions but i NEED to talk about how much this movie means to me

first of all, a major misconception is that lightning quit racing - he DIDNT! this is proven by both the end of the movie (where he says hes obviously going to keep racing) and cars on the road where, in the final episode, cruz and lightning wish each other “goodbye” and say they’ll see each other on the racetrack. he was only cruz’s crew chief for that one season, presumably healing from the trauma of the crash (because lets be real his ass did not mentally recover from that in FOUR MONTHS) and also waiting for a permanent crew chief to take his place.

second.. the sheer amount of detail put into that movie is INSANE. the racing center being shaped like grandstands at a track? fireball beach being both a direct reference to the daytona beach race course and also “fireball roberts”, a 1950s racer (he was actually the reason that firesuits were mandated in the sport), we meet a bunch of 1950s racers as well and just augh.. so good. also, the detail of thomasville being in north carolina is brilliant - N.C is the “racing state”, and thomasville speedway is based off of north wilkesboro, a track that was opened in 1949, and last used in 1996 (aside from the series of races in 2010), and it fell into disrepair. (fun fact, north wilkesboro is reopening in 2024 for the nascar all star race!! they fixed my bbg)

third. cars three brings so much more lore than the first movie did. yes, we knew doc raced in the 50s when the sport was getting its start, but in cars 3? they brought in characters based off of real 1950s racers (doc is based off of herb thomas, smokey is smokey yunick, lou is louise smith, junior is junior johnson, river is wendell scott, and leroy hemming is tim flock) (another reference in the movie is “jocko flockos party supplies” as macks disguise - jocko flocko was tim flocks pet monkey that was the FIRST and only co-driver in the history of the sport. he won a race with his monkey in the car with him :) )

as i was saying, the lore we learn is insane. we learn that lou and river had to fight for their place in the sport, which is similar to what both louise smith and wendell scott experienced in the 50s, they show us accurately how racing worked back then too - they didnt have fancy pits, they had a fence and a pit member with a sign that would tell them to come in the next lap for service. all of these cars are gen 1 nascar, which means that they were strictly stock - they had much more intense pit sessions than any of the other “built for racing” generations have ever needed. i recall watching a race wherein smokey yunick had to change the radiator of one of his racers vehicles mid-race due to a crash.

this isnt everything, but seriously for an animated movie about talking cars, they discuss grief and hardships and handle them so well its insane. i know cruz isnt everyones cup of tea, but (in reference to the flip scene at the end of the movie) watching cruz get shoved into the sport must’ve been insane for lou to watch. she saw herself in that girl. it wasnt some movie about lightning giving up, it was him sharing the torch with another kid who lost their way just like he had.

also i dont cry at movies but i literally bawl my fucking eyes out at the letters scene every time. its PATHETIC (its not im literally tearing up just thinking about it)

#cars 2006 #cars fandom #lightning mcqueen #cars 3 (2017)#pixar cars #doc hudson #louise nash #i seriously love cars 3 so much man #and the animation.. augh…. ITS SO GOOD #this was so much longer than i thought it’d be oops 😭

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inhuman-obey-me · 1 year

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Diavolo & The Loyalty Thing

Alrighty everyone, we're going to be blunt here -- if there is one character misunderstanding in this fandom that has always pissed us off (jk there are many actually), it is how people interpret Diavolo's deal with Lucifer after the war.

We know a lot of y'all don't like him because of that agreement. We know a lot of you think that Lucifer is magically bound to Diavolo's will because of it, as with a pact, and is unable to defy him. We know that many of you dislike Diavolo because you think he was taking advantage of Lucifer in that scene.

Well, the devs have made it plain time and time again and even more so in Nightbringer: that is not the case.

You are wrong, and here's why. (Or, to put it more nicely, please let us convince you otherwise.)

(spoilers including Nightbringer Lesson 17 below the cut)

Let's start by reviewing the situation from Lucifer's side:

Lucifer, a guest to the Devildom many times before in a diplomatic coordination context, has just led, and subsequently lost, a civil war in the Celestial Realm. The catalyst that pushed him to start this war was the impending punishment declared against his sister, Lilith. Seeing that sister get fatally wounded in said war, he flies down after her falling body, where both of them land in the Devildom.

Diavolo then shows up with Barbatos, presumably because they, you know, saw two war-wounded angels falling from the sky into his domain. Lucifer turns to Diavolo and starts shouting that he knows the prince has the power to save his sister -- and pleads with him to do exactly that.

Diavolo makes a point of telling Lucifer that it may not be in the way he expects or wants, but he agrees to do it on the condition that Lucifer swears loyalty to him. Barbatos attempts to interject against the idea, to which Diavolo responds that he's aware already that this is a big risk for him. Lucifer, upon realizing that he is becoming a demon himself as a consequence of the war, agrees to Diavolo's terms.

(OG Scene on left, Nightbringer scene on right)

Diavolo then takes Lilith before she dies and reincarnates her as a human. This then remains a secret between the three of them from that moment all the way until the events of OG Lesson 15, when Lucifer finally confesses the whole thing to his brothers in the first timeline, and then OG Lesson 16, when MC reveals it (in the second timeline).

So to recap: Lucifer started a war with Lilith's punishment as the catalyst, lost, showed up in the Devildom, and then demanded the prince of that realm save his sister from essentially the same punishment he was fighting against in the first place.

To be clear about Diavolo and Lucifer's relationship at this point, they had been communicating about diplomatic affairs, as a governmental head and a top representative respectively. They are friendly, but not close friends yet. They are not allies in this war. Diavolo is not involved at all in the Great Celestial War or the situation with Lilith. And with this rebellion, Lucifer no longer holds that diplomatic status -- in fact, as mentioned in Nightbringer Lesson 8, the brothers were essentially war criminals in the eyes of the Celestial Realm, with Lucifer as the leader.

Moreover, Diavolo's goal as prince is that he wants to establish peace and cooperation between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm. These two realms were enemies for the vast majority of history, and although there is a nonaggression agreement between them currently, it's a tense sort of truce, not true peace.

Helping Lucifer defy the Celestial Realm is in direct opposition to that goal. Taking in the brothers at all is pretty risky in terms of that goal, as Barbatos makes clear above, but there's at least a sort of implication that it is the Demon Prince's business what to do with new demons. Interfering in the Celestial Realm's punishment of one of its angels though? Well, Asmodeus and Leviathan understand right away when they learned the truth from Lucifer back in OG Lesson 15.

There was a very real risk of pissing off the Celestial Realm that he had to calculate against here, and it's a risk that threatens not only him but everything that matters to him most -- his realm, which is a responsibility he takes very seriously, and his goals, for peace between the realms.

And then there's Diavolo's own precarious political situation.

Though Nightbringer retcons this a bit with Diavolo's father falling into a slumber and leaving the realm to Diavolo more suddenly, the original OM actually established that Diavolo was in charge before the fall, with the Demon King going off to sleep shortly after giving the brothers' their titles. And Nightbringer has shown that his position as the de facto leader of the realm is very much in question.

The nobles of the House of Lords are very blatantly unhappy about Diavolo and his goals, especially in regards to the now-fallen angels. Really, the whole realm doesn't really approve of angels -- they've made a clear point of it in NB, and even well into OG's main story, approval ratings for the exchange program are mentioned as being better but still pretty low, with various references to demons threatening to eat the angels.

But more to the point, the House of Lords has power over Diavolo. Though he is the rightful heir to the throne in terms of birth, they are able to challenge that right, and they even choose when he will be allowed to ascend to the throne -- something which, even in the distant future of OG, they still have apparently never allowed him to do, seeing as he's still not the king even after all this time. And just between his goals for peace and his taking in the fallen angels, they already maneuvered to punish him with suddenly demanding he go through the Kingsblood Crucible to potentially prevent him from ever becoming king. And as Diavolo says, even if he passes, they could still decide against appointing him king.

Now imagine if they found out that he risked the safety of the entire realm to help save a dying angel. If they knew that, they probably wouldn't stop at just challenging his fitness to rule.

So, to be clear, when Lucifer showed up with Lilith, yelling at Diavolo to save her? Diavolo was NOT free to just do whatever he pleases. When he said he's taking a big risk by helping Lilith, he really was. There were so many reasons why he shouldn't, and no real reason why he should -- but Lucifer was begging him to do it anyway. So, he needed something in return. Some kind of reassurance, some kind of protection in the potential consequences.

And there certainly are consequences for helping Lucifer. Even with the Lilith deal being a secret, there are consequences. We saw that already with the House of Lords' increased animosity -- as said above, he was nearly removed from power over it. And as for the Celestial Realm?

Well, that brings us to the end of Nightbringer Lesson 17, where Raphael comes bearing a message from the Celestial Realm -- or, more aptly, a threat.

(We could go into a whole thing about why the Celestial Realm is threatening this but that's for another time)

So, here we are, at the very dangerous crossroads that Diavolo finds himself at now in Nightbringer -- the Celestial Realm coming into his domain with blatant threats of war, while the nobles of his own realm just tried to remove him from power. Threats that are being made against him over helping Lucifer and the brothers. And that's without any of them knowing about Lilith, which would only make all sides even angrier.

You know what he could really use, amidst all those threats? An ally. Someone he could depend on to have his back. Someone he could rely on to be unequivocally on his side, in that very precarious balance of powers.

So that's what he asked for -- loyalty. For all that he was putting on the line for Lucifer's request, he asked for Lucifer to stand by him in turn. What he asked was simply this: "Don't stab me in the back. Don't leave me to deal with the consequences alone. If I'm going to help you, promise me you will be there for me too."

P.S. Lucifer himself has said he agrees with Diavolo's goals. Talking with Diavolo about the peace and cooperation plan was a huge part of why he started having doubts about the Celestial Realm! He was not being asked to do anything he disagreed with; Diavolo knew Lucifer feels the same about his goals as he does. Lucifer takes the loyalty thing too far in OG Season 1, but it was never the only reason for him supporting Diavolo!

#meant to post this right after lesson 17 and here we are moments before lesson 18 drops loool #anyway yes one of our biggest pet peeves #we'll go into more about the celestial realm and why they're doing this in another post probably #they're another thing we want to yell about because THEY SUCK ACTUALLY #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #omnb #obey me nightbringer spoilers #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer #om! diavolo #om! lucifer #obey me analysis

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getvalentined · 2 months

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Thinking about Vincent's involvement in the Queen's Blood storyline and how it's the perfect explanation for everything going south with the game in fairly recent history even though the game has canonically been around for decades. It's genuinely so clever, I'm in love.

So, for anyone who hasn't done the full questline, Vincent is the highest ranking Queen's Blood player in the entire game prior to facing off against the Shadowblood Queen herself and the completion of the questline. (After this, ranks are adjusted worldwide because of game mechanics; Nanaki is rank 10 in the QB Arena at Gold Saucer.)

A lot of people have poked fun at this, like Vincent apparently learned the game really fast and was just naturally really good at it—but no, actually, Vincent played the game before. He's this good because he was champion level back in the 70s, back when he was human.

We know this to be the case because when you match against Lidrehl, he says "the Emerald Witch sleeps in Nibelheim with a monster of chaos, and that is where it will remain." This means that Vincent already had the card when Hojo killed him. It's not clear how the Emerald Witch came into his possession, but you don't make his rank without being a very active player, so it's clear that he was very prolific in the scene back then!

And back then, it was just a game. No mysterious deaths or disappearances. The myth of the Shadowblood Queen and the Emerald Witch was still there, as Lidrehl developed the game based on the story, but everything was fine.

This is definitely because Vincent was active in the scene, and he had the Emerald Witch. The Rebirth Ultimania implies that the Shadowblood Queen is a piece of Jenova (which I thought was pretty obvious since she calls Cloud a "puppet" and he's also apparently the only one capable of facing her head-on), and the Emerald Witch is the soul of a Cetra that serves as the silent warden to her imprisonment within the game. (Imprisoning monsters in cards is not new to the series, either, since FF8 literally allowed players to turn monsters into cards rather than fighting them.) Vincent being so active in the circuit allowed him to spread the Emerald Witch's influence through the scene and kept the Shadowblood Queen quiet, reminded her to keep her head down, kept her from trying anything at risk of being spiritually shitmixed again.

But then Hojo killed Vincent, and the Cetra warden Emerald Witch was in his deck, and that deck was tucked away with his things in Nibelheim. And so she spent thirty years unable to perform her ongoing duty to assure the safety of the planet. This time allowed Jenova the Shadowblood Queen to regain the power and confidence to manifest and start wreaking havoc again, finally building up enough strength to directly possess her current holder—during the period that Sephiroth is calling for Reunion, which presumably helped to really draw her back to full consciousness.

There's a whole detailed storyline here that makes perfect sense, with Vincent's murder literally being the catalyst leading to the resurrection of the Shadowblood Queen, and Hojo never having a clue what he'd done.

This is super interesting to me not only because it actually showed some of the more far-reaching consequences of Vincent's death, but also because it indicates that Hojo has unwittingly been Jenova's most loyal emissary for decades. He gave her his wife, his son, himself—and the first murder he ever committed served to imprison the only power holding a piece of her thought lost to history at bay, allowing her to manifest decades later with her own will and personality completely intact, something that she can't do through Sephiroth.

As it turns out, Hojo and Vincent have been opposing forces in supporting fate's "chosen ones," the forces around them capable of choosing the final fate of the planet, for much longer than either of them ever thought.

Still not a huge fan of the card game itself, but I adore the way it's been woven into the story, and strengthened it as a result.

#vincent valentine #professor hojo #queen's blood #final fantasy 7 rebirth #ff7 rebirth #ff7rb #ff7 rebirth spoilers #fandom ramble

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tantei-chan01 · 4 months

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Did you know Branch was originally going to be the one Velvet and Veneer had kidnapped? That would be extremely traumatic for him in the mute au since he had just gotten to the point he felt comfortable even singing in front of other people and not running for cover whenever Bridget or Gristle comes by and suddenly MORE giants are kidnapping him and trying to use his talents specifically because he started singing again.

I like to think in that circumstance, Bridget and Gristle would postpone the wedding to support Poppy, but John Dory would somehow still crash some important even they were a part of, that Poppy would still insist on going with John to save Branch and probably be joined by more than a few guests, maybe even Bridget while Gristle stays back (someone has to watch the kingdom and while he may be bros with Branch, he also knows his first Troll friend is justifiably nervous around Bergans and probably gonna have a bad time if he sees him), and the group would not have as many jokes about Brozone still thinking Branch is a baby because A) he isn't there and B) his friends are and while they are all there for teasing their most introverted friend and learning about his past they cannot get over the fact Branch had been left alone for over 20 years with no family and suddenly they discover he had 4 older brothers who all presumably had jeut up and left

I did know about that and agree it would have gone much differently. Mr. Dinkles would have sent some critters to Mount Rageous to delay the performance for as long as possible.

Poppy would enlist the bounty hunters to help them track down the brothers. First, finding John Dory thanks to Delta's help. Him being horrified at the fact of his brother's kidnapping just as he was packing up to go see him and at the fact that he was also traumatized into losing his voice and turning gray and now this will just make it worse. Luckily he has clues that helps the group find the others.

Floyd would be performing in a small town when they find him. He immediately agrees to go with and feels guilty on what he's been informed about.

Bruce immediately jumps to save the baby of the family, which Brandy encourages and beats himself up for not thinking of going back for Branch after he found Vacay Island.

Clay can immediately tell what's going on after a few words and immediately packed a rescue bag, refusing to leave his brotherbehind again. Viva tries to keep them from leaving, but Poppy, who's already stressed with worry, shuts that down and tells her that sometimes you have to do scary things if it means protecting someone.

They make it to Mount Rageous, where the critters successfully delay the performance for another day, they find out where they live and sneak into the bedroom to find Branch. He's already lost a large amount of talent and can barely pull himself up. The brothers immediately hug the prison and express worry.

Crimp walks into the room and tries to tell Velvet and Veneer when the bounty hunters restrain her. They convince her to help them expose the two fakes of their crime. The brothers try harmonizing again, but it fails due to unresolved issues. Then Cooper asks if it really was necessary for them to be perfect?

He explains that it was something Branch always told Poppy and others trolls when they stressed out about it. He always says that perfection doesn't exist and that being yourself is enough. Velvet and Veneer walk in and immediately try to capture the trolls. The bounty hunters and critters distract them long enough for Poppy to start singing.

Everyone starts singing together and manages to break the prison, Branch landing in Floyd's arms, clearly exhausted and in bad shape but alive. Bridget bursts in the room with the authorities, Velvet tries to argue that they have no proof only for Crimp to reveal that she had livestreamed the entire thing. Veneer willingly gives himself up to the police while his sister fights the entire process.

They head back to Pop Village to get Branch checked out. Along the way, the brothers finally have a much needed talk with each other and agree that being separated for so long affected them in many ways and decided to work on their family relationship. With the help of licensed professionals.

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booksandabeer · 6 months

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Ramblings on Fandom: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, Delusional Shippers, and Alleged Misogyny

So with the release of Season 2 of What If…? emotions are once again running high, the outrage is outraging, and people are up in arms about the whole Captain Carter situation. While I do think that some reactions are a little overblown, even needlessly aggressive in tone to the unfortunate detriment of their otherwise convincing arguments, I share the confusion and frustration about the sudden centering of a long-dead & never excessively popular character, the sidelining of the Steve-Bucky friendship, and the as-inexplicable-as-it-is-total exclusion of Sam Wilson as Captain America. However, I’m not here to talk about the show because (1) I haven’t watched this season and have no plans to (why waste time torturing myself with something I know I’ll hate?) and (2) other people have already written dozens of metas about it, so what could I possibly add at this point.

What I do want need to talk about (lest I explode) is something that has irritated me for a long time and that is now happening again: Every time someone even mildly criticizes Peggy Carter, expresses doubts about her suitability as a heroine, or even just questions her disproportionate importance to the franchise post-EG, inevitably a certain section of fans will come out of the woodwork to immediately throw around accusations of misogyny and yell about how we’re all just a bunch of delusional Stuckies who are mad that she got "in the way" of our ship. Sigh.

This is gonna be a long one, so I’ll put it under a cut. Rant incoming. You've been warned. If you don't want to read, simply scroll on by.

First of all, let me state very clearly that I’m not debating the existence of misogyny and sexism in fandom spaces—or in the media from which these fandoms originate. At all. It exists, it’s a thing, I’m not denying that. Which is exactly why it frustrates me endlessly to see these accusations thrown around as a gotcha! argument to shut down any and all critical debate around a female character. All it does in the end is escalate rhetoric and radicalize attitudes.

In the case of Peggy Carter, specifically her treatment by Stucky shippers, I’ve always found 'misogyny as a motive' to be a largely unsubstantiated accusation.¹ Now, I neither presume nor do I want to speak for the entirety of Stuckynation, so I will not claim that there aren't corners of the fandom where people discuss her in ways that I find off-putting and deeply unserious, but I will say this: If you genuinely believe that disliking one (1) fictional female character equals “hating all women” and wanting to suppress and marginalize their presence in fiction and real life alike—then I think we need to take that word away from you until you’ve learned its true meaning.

You might also want to ask yourself how exactly reducing a female character to a mute trophy wife or a heroine who has to act out her love interest’s recycled storylines helps your feminist fight.

As to the “standing in the way of your ship” part of the argument. Very simply put: No character can stand in the way of something if there never ever was “a way” to that something to begin with. “Being mad” implies that there was a reasonable expectation that wasn’t met, a substantive hope that was crushed. Now, I’ve said this before and I’ll gladly say it again a million more times: No Stucky shipper in their right mind ever truly thought that there was even the slightest chance that Marvel Studios owned by the Walt Disney Company would allow Steve “Captain America” Rogers and Bucky “Winter Soldier” Barnes to be canonized as an explicitly romantic pairing in their billion dollar franchise. Be serious. That was never in the cards. I wish we all lived in a world where it was, but we don’t, and it wasn’t. The best we could ever hope for was for Steve and Bucky to get a good, satisfying, in-character ending. And if, in Steve’s case, that would’ve included hints (or more) about a possible rekindling of his, uh, aborted romance with Sharon—then so be it. But we never got any of that. The characters never got any of that. Instead they sent Steve into 1950s suburban hell, literally trapped him behind a white picket fence, and condemned him to a life of passivity and lies, all so he could be married to a woman he barely knew a long time ago in a completely different world; who built and ran a top-to-bottom Hydra-infested organization, but apparently never noticed that there was anything wrong with her life's work. For decades. Great. As for Bucky—well, we’ve all seen the devastatingly grim-faced, utterly lonely, and deeply sad version of him that was presented to us in TFATWS. Happy endings all around, I guess.

So. Am I mad that Steve didn’t get to ride into the rainbow-colored sunset with Bucky at the end of EG? No. Because that was never going to happen anyway. Would I have been mad had he ended up with Sharon or another female character in the 21st century? Also no. Granted, I wouldn’t have been ecstatic about it, but mad? No. But am I mad that Steve ended up with this specific female character under these specific circumstances as presented in canon? Fuck yeah, I am.

The thing is: I personally believe Steve and Peggy to be fundamentally incompatible when it comes to the way they view the world and their respective places in it; their morals and values; their capacity for compassion and empathy; their ability and willingness to compartmentalize, compromise, and collaborate with people and institutions whose ethics and/or politics do not align with their own. I have a real hard time believing that a relationship between these two (or worse, a hasty marriage) could be either happy or long-lasting.

I don’t believe Peggy to be inherently evil, I don’t hate her, I simply think she operates within a different moral framework than Steve (and even genuinely believes it to be a righteous one).² Your mileage may vary, but I personally happen to find that framework reprehensible, even indecent, and ultimately dangerous. After all, over the course of the 20th century, we have seen exactly where that kind of “the ends justify the means” brand of pragmatism leads—over and over again. Not to mention that the people who use this line of argument to defend characters like Peggy (or real-life politicians for that matter) never seem to want to look too closely at who gets to define what "the ends" are in the first place and who decides when they've finally been met.

(Never. The answer is never.)

And to be clear, there is absolutely nothing wrong with depicting, and even centering a narrative around a morally (dark)gray character—oftentimes it’s actually the more interesting option—but you cannot at the same time claim that they are purely good and should be only admired as such when their actions literally tell an entirely different story.

So, no. I will not accept Peggy Carter as the shining aspirational heroine that the MCU so badly wants to sell her to me as—while simultaneously continuing to reveal things that paint an increasingly darker picture of her character. And I will certainly not celebrate seeing one of my favorite characters of all time—whose defining trait was that he couldn't ignore "a situation pointed south"; who used to fight for the little guy and against the establishment; who once said about the very organization that Peggy Carter helped build that it was so corrupt, it all needed to go—rendered morally inert for some hollow happy ending that may as well be a conservative’s wet dream full of false nostalgia for an America that never really existed. I cannot find it in me to be anything less but mad about that.

But that does not make me a misogynist. It does not make me a delusional shipper. It makes me someone who looks at what the MCU has been telling me about Peggy Carter for years now—over and over again—and takes it at its own word.

--------

¹ If you’ve actually read a a fair number of Stucky(!) fanfics you will have noticed that the reverence afforded to and "page time" devoted to her character and her relationship with Steve is somewhat disproportionate to anything that's backed up by canon—well, up until EG, where she was suddenly reanimated as The Great Love of Steve’s Life—and in my experience, it's highly unusual for any fandom to put so much (mostly) positive attention on another character, let alone a potential love interest that is not part of the endgame ship.

² I also want to emphasize that if you love Peggy and she's your fave: good for you! I genuinely have no beef with you. People can agree to disagree. All I ask for is that we maybe stop willfully ignoring the less savory aspects of her character. You don't need to pretend she's perfect to justify your affection for her. I LOVE Steve, and yet I have no problem conceding that he is FAR from perfect.

#*drops post & runs away* i may regret this but it's my blog and i rant if i want to #i know some people will roll their eyes & i debated posting this at all but i simply had to get it off my chest once and for all.#so there. now i can be free. or something.#also i have no idea what to tag this & i personally find 'anti' tags silly bc why is critical discussion automatically labeled as 'anti'?#but whatever i'll play nice. so i guess:#anti peggy carter #anti steggy #anti endgame #hope that covers it #wading into the dIsCoUrsE

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kenshimybeloved · 8 months

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Hi!! Here’s a probably-too-long analysis of Kenshi and Johnny’s first scene together that’s probably just part 1 of a series where I over analyze every scene of these two!

In previous scenes, it’s made clear that Johnny is disappointed with the current trajectory of his life- his career is going downhill, he’s losing money, his wife is leaving him, and we see him drinking despite it being implied multiple times throughout the game that Johnny has had some kind of issue with alcohol/possibly substances of some kind. The nail in the coffin for his marriage is an argument not over just Johnnys spending in general, but the fact that he spent $3M on a sword that he refuses to get rid of. It’s not super clear initially why it is he feels so strongly about this particular sword- sure he doesn’t wanna get rid of anything Chris lists, but the sword seems to strike a nerve when she suggests reselling it. Why is it he’s so fascinated with its deep history? Are we to assume Johnny is a history nerd in this timeline? That’s what it seems to imply when you’re first playing this part of the game, but as it goes on we learn this is all Liu Kangs doing. Liu Kang admits to using Sento as a means to introduce Johnny and Kenshi to each other (this is confirmed through a fight intro with him and Kenshi), but since he also does his best not to interfere too much with free will, he leaves the meeting up to them.

[side note: I find it interesting that it’s confirmed Liu Kang had Johnny buy Sento so that Kenshi would eventually come looking for it, considering that Liu Kang also likely new this would be the demise of Johnnys marriage. Him meeting Kenshi this way was more important than his literal wife. Not that the marriage wouldn’t likely end eventually anyways- just interesting that he felt the need to speed up the process]

Immediately we see he’s extremely disappointed in them for fighting, but what honestly did he expect? And I don’t mean that sarcastically- legitimately, why would he expect anything different? To Kenshi, Sento is the key to freeing and leading his family out of the Yakuzas grasp- nothing else matters to him at this point. To Johnny, Sento is a prized possession- one so important he let it get in the way of his marriage. He very clearly isn’t ready to let go of his old life (as evident through him attempting to pitch movie ideas to uninterested producers and flirt with a wife who’s been emotionally detached for quite some time), and he’s not letting go of Sento either. Sento means far too much to the both of them for either of them to let it go without a fight. However, while normally this would cause a significant rift in the relationship between the two people fighting over an object, this time the object seems to be the very thing forcing them together. But more on that later when I eventually analyze the scenes of them at the Wu Shi Academy! Lastly, I’d like to point out that even this early on in their relationship, Johnny is very clearly infatuated with Kenshi as a person. I mean imagine spending $3M on a sword because you find the history of one of the first families in Japan incredibly fascinating, just so that one day a supposed member of that presumably dead family breaks into your home demanding the sword. But Kenshi is cold, closed off, and (seemingly) completely uninterested in Johnny. And to me, this is what really reels Johnny in. Kenshi being Taira clan was already enough to get Johnny hooked- but add onto that that Kenshi doesn’t give a flying fuck about him? That just leaves room for gay pining baby!

#mk1 #mortal kombat #johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #johnshi #i’m so normal about them #johnny x kenshi #I think about this a normal amount #god I love their slow burn #navi rambles about johnshi

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katakaluptastrophy · 8 months

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OK, Tamsyn, I want to know what Ianthe and Abigail's beef is.

In the Cohort Intelligence Files, in the midst of talking about how very, very pretty Coronabeth is, Judith says:

"Tridentarius has a long history of close interaction with the Second and the Fifth."

We know quite a bit about the social interactions between the Second and the Third, who are close in age. In the case of the Fifth, we have to assume Abigail and Magnus were friendly with the twins' parents, as the girls would have been about 12 when Abigail and Magnus got married. But presumably they've encountered each other socially over the last decade or so with some regularity. And they clearly have opinions about each other.

When Abigail learns that Ianthe became a Lyctor, her response is immediate:

“Blast. It should have been Coronabeth. Ianthe never was quite the thing."

As if she has, for some time, been of the opinion that there is something off about that girl. Magnus uses the same "never quite the thing" line to say that he doesn't think Silas' apparent suicide is much of a loss, so you get the sense that it's quite the withering put down on the Fifth.

Meanwhile, Ianthe doesn't think much of Abigail.

I mean, look at the Fifth! Abigail Pent literally brought her husband, and look where that got her.

Later in TUG, she dismisses the Fifth as "dull and stupid" and compares Corona's fighting abilities to the corpse of Magnus Quinn, making the Fifth by far the most referred to people apart from the actual subjects of TUG.

Love that there's tragedy unfolding on a galactic scale and Ianthe is still complaining about her parents' weird, square friends and Abigail and Magnus are, literally from beyond the grave, feeling vindicated in their suspicions that that kid was really weird.

#the locked tomb #tlt #abigail pent #magnus quinn #ianthe tridentarius #Coronabeth Tridentarius

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md-confessions · 14 days

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Sorry if I sound rambly, but

For the story Liam wanted to tell, he needed N and V's relationship, also, Nuzi was the plan by episode 3 at the latest, the pilot/heartbeat at the earliest. V's treatment of N is required to why N and Uzi connected so much, both N and Uzi were disliked by pretty much everyone in their lives (especially J and Khan in the lives of the Disassembly Drone and the Worker Drone, the former is straight up an Abuser, both physically and emotionally, it's hard to deny it, while Khan says Uzi is a disappointment in public tv like it's nothing, which is kinda abusive IMO. Not even when N was a worker he was free of abuse, the Elliots and other humans aside from Tessa treated him like he was nothing but mere scrap) and they found comfort in each other.

While she cared for N and didn't wanna have him hurt, much less wanting him to remember how his life went downhill, she did it in the worst way she could, she pushed and neglected N for at least 2 decades if we're presuming the DDs were in Copper-9 back when Uzi was a pill baby. (Uzi is canonically 18-19, maybe 20)

V was a stepping stone in N's development, not only as a character but also his relationships, he originally was a traumatized man that was scared to stand up for others, I'd argue his feelings for V were partly due to him still having faint memories of the Manor days but also the fact V didn't abuse him physically like J did, it's sorta like an abused child. They might flock to their "less abusive" parent.

This changed when he met Uzi Doorman, a Worker Drone who had gotten into the corpse spire, while he thought he was some sort of Disassembly/Worker Drone hybrid thing made to blend in with the Workers, but when they got to talking, she wasn't like J or V, she showed him kindness and he showed her kindness back, it's something both have not had for pretty much their entire lives, we also get to see the scene with the heart gun during the V and N/J and Uzi fight, another example of how N still had feelings for V at this point. By the end of the pilot, N hasn't developed his personality much, but he at least has someone to rely on, Uzi.

In episode 2 we get to see N try to keep Uzi and V from fighting during the intro, with the scene where N drags Uzi behind him after V accuses Uzi of her backstory being bullshit, also with later context, V was the liar, she probably knows why the Solver sent them there yet she hid it, trying to act all cool and stuff.

By the end of the episode Uzi becomes scared of N, which causes N to become worried he might have lost his only friend, V just says she hates him normally but this is worse, the only concern is in her face, and it's mild concern. V looks at the broken chain, which leads to the next episode.

And episode 3 is a major part of their relationship, it is where it's revealed V still cares for N and her treatment of him was a way of trying to protect him from the solver stuff, she has a reason and justification for her actions now, it's not just "I don't care about him" V's role in this episode is as its secondary antagonist (just behind Doll) This episode has a very important moment for their relationship, At the start, V demanded N to get her and him suits for the Prom, and get Uzi to let them in and kill all the Workers, V makes fun of Uzi by saying she doesn't have any friends, and then shoot her in the head, N is against this plan, already a sign he's starting to learn to stand up for himself by refusing to free V for "Prom Murder" and he starts talking about his dreams, talking about how they possibly grew up in a haunted mansion, V shows actual concern for N (for the first time in the show, at least directly), asking him and Uzi to stop prying into the Solver business.

She tries to barter with N to free her, she promises she'll only kill if necessary, though she says "You and Me, N" implying she'll still kill Uzi. Before V flies off to go commit mass murder, N tries to get her to talk about her past and work together with him, though she decapitates him, she says she knows what's best for him, even if he hates her for it. This moment outright confirms that V definitely cares for N and just doesn't want him getting hurt, even if it means she has to do it by extreme means.

And then the whole main episode happens, Uzi discovers the plan, Uzi and N reconcile, Uzi's feelings for N probably blossomed here, yadda yadda yadda, Lizzy says V is hot, yadda yadda yadda, Doll fight, yadda yadda yadda, Chica-bow V shoots Doll.

Later while exploring Doll's home, the two Disassembly Drones find the corpses of Yeva and Adam (fan name for Doll's father, I am not calling him Doll's father everytime I mention him) and when V sees the corpses, after Doll used her powers to remind her of her actions, she doesn't care much and the most she says is "they didn't taste good" which leads to N saying "V, you kinda suck" this is something N would have never said in the pilot.

N finally starts to doubt his feelings for V, at this point he doesn't have his memories of the manor, so to him, he's pretty much only ever had those feelings due to the fact she was the least abusive to him, and she literally cut his damn head off, I get why he'd be doubting if he even actually loved V at all.

Episode 4 is also important, it's where N's completely learns to stand up for himself, pretty much part of the reason why Uzi went freaky deaky is because V pretty much gaslighted and antagonize Uzi into thinking N didn't care about her and how if she died he wouldn't care. (Something she for a fact knows isn't true, as seen with N between Heartbeat and The Promening and Uzi didn't even die, imagine if she did) V is still trying to keep Uzi and N away, since from last episode, V knows that Uzi has the solver and she's scared N might get killed by Uzi due to it.

At a later point Uzi turns an arrow into some weird fleshy homunculus and V for a second looked panic, she immediately drew her weapons as she saw that. V went to go chase after Uzi while N tried to stop V, the two argue, at this argument, N finally is honest about this whole thing where V is hiding shit from N and Uzi, it's scaring him, V uses cryptic language to refer to a certain "thing" that will leave them alone, N then finally stands up to V, he berates her about her treatment of him, asking what she's so afraid of, he explains how V keeping him in the dark about this is scaring him and Uzi, N reminds V that Uzi is a kid, like them, to him, V has no reason to fear Uzi. N doesn't know about Cyn and the Solver and stuff due to the Solver wiping his and J's memories.

This argument comes to halt when N asks "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" V's face goes from anger to worry, N tells V to look after the campers as he goes investigate what's going on with Uzi.

After Uzi murders 2/3rds of her whole class V comes into put down Uzi, the Solver Drone pleads with the Dissasembly Drone to let her live, V refers to Uzi as "Cyn" saying "New Body, same Horrors?" in V's point of view, Cyn is the one behind this, not the solver, for all she knows Cyn IS the solver itself. Uzi pleads with V, asking if she can talk with N, the only person that could calm her down, and as shown later, if V had allowed N to come and comfort Uzi, things probably wouldn't have gone as bad, some campers might still have died but V still got her ass kicked.

V gets her ass kicked by Uzi Yadda, Yadda, Yadda, N comes to the rescue and after Uzi stabs him with the nanite tail she goes back to normal, N throws her into the sky and the two Dissasembly Drones talk, N tells her "what did I tell you about antagonizing her" before he goes comfort Uzi, telling her they'll take baby steps, together. After V sees N and Uzi hugging, she goes from being on edge to calming down slightly, at this point she notices maybe N doesn't need her anymore, maybe he's fine with just Uzi supporting him.

At the end she looks at Uzi and N, worried, a lot of people think she's jealous but I don't think so, I think she's still got that worry that Uzi go haywire again and get N killed, but it could also be due to N and Uzi now looking into the Solver, together.

Episode 5 is mostly a flashback episode (technically) and it shows that N and V, at one point in the past had mutual feelings for each other, as throughout most of that episode N and V are their past selves, they're silly little teenagers who got a mutual crush on each other, I'd argue this is the closest eNVy ever got to being canon. The solver uses V to do weird robot surgery on N and turn him into a Dissasembly Drone, and N gives V back her glasses so she could grab the scalpel, V hesitates and slowly recites the Golden Retrievers have gentle mouths thing, cute moment, sadly the Solver decides to ruin this moment by slamming V into the wall and trying to give N a lobotomy.

Episode 6 is V's (presumable final episode) in this episode V seems to care for both Uzi and N, though there isn't a big V and N moment before the big one (there's more Uzi and V in this episode before the big one)

Ok now lets talk about the big one, AKA: V's sacrifice at the end of the episode, so pretty much throughout the entire episode the reason why V defended Uzi so much against the sentinels, Alice and Beau is because she noticed how much she mattered to N, and it's part of the reason for the sacrifice in my eyes, I wouldn't say she did it exclusively for that though, I feel like you could read it as a form of suicide (I know this took a dark turn but) V has pretty much lived a horrible life, form conception down to this moment, as said before, she has noticed that N needs Uzi, and from V's POV, she has done her purpose, she finally trusts Uzi, the reason she didn't get in the elevator wasn't just because she couldn't, it's because she didn't want to.

I think The Genius page on Eternal Dream is not only an amazing Breakdown of V's character but also the song itself.

N and V never directly do anything in episode 7 (as V doesn't appear herself aside from the Solver posing as her), when Nori tells him to hide the fact she's actually alive, N refuses, saying she won't hide anything from Uzi anymore. Not only is he hiding the fact "Tessa" wants him to kill her, but also, he doesn't want to do the same mistakes V did when trying to protect him.

#md confessions #murder drones #serial designation n #serial designation v #uzi doorman #n/uzi #serial designation j #khan doorman #tessa james elliot #md doll #the absolute solver #md lizzy #md yeva #md cyn #n/v #n/v crit #md alice #md beau

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