#but i certainly have a LOT of responsibilities to deal with along with my grief so. yeah.

[kohakuhime]

I was reading your fics about the bikers and had a question. Do you really think Rafael was abused by his relatives?

(I'm going to assume the relatives Raphael ends up with after coming back from the island, because Raphael speaks of his immediate family with nothing but love, care, and respect most of the time. If this isn't the case, let me know.)

Honestly? I wouldn't say it's to the degree of The Bad YGO Dads (looking at the Kaiba/Wheeler/Ishtar patriarchs), but I also don't think for one second that Raphael had a healthy dynamic with his living relatives. Canonically, Raphael even says as much in the subbed episode 156 (the basis for most of this post):

"My relatives stole my father's inheritance and used me for publicity stunts." There's a good deal of disgust conveyed in that one sentence.

"Publicity stunts" could mean anything, but we also know the media doesn't have any sense of boundaries; even back then, if this is set in the eighties and nineties, there's not a lot of boundaries that are enforced. Forced interviews and photoshoots could very well be something Raphael had to deal with, given that he's still a child when he comes back from the island. He's got no real say if his guardians decide he needs to do interviews or make public appearances.

Look at the magazine compared to the actual island Raphael ended up on. That is not the same island. The magazine shows sandy hills. Raphael's island is a mix of rock and sand. That tells me there's a very strong chance Raphael's relatives/the public media did a photoshoot with Raphael in the clothing he's wearing on the island when he got back.

It's not just this one magazine.

There's multiple magazines with multiple interviews, and not one has a picture he's smiling in (although honestly? Who would, given the circumstances?). And it's interesting that "only despair awaited me" is what he says about this, and that the subtitle is placed over these magazines. It pans to the cemetery in the next shot, true, but there's something to be said that this line and this imagery are linked.

Now, let's look at Raphael himself.

(On a completely unrelated note, I find it hilarious that Raphael asks the Pharaoh, "Have you ever lived alone for three years, not talking or dealing with anyone?", knowing full well that the spirit of the Puzzle has been in said Puzzle for three thousand years).

Raphael canonically states that as a child on the island he doesn't talk to anyone, or socialize, unless it's with his cards; he almost goes insane from being so alone, and the only thing that helps him is the cards.

That alone confirms that a younger Raphael is going to require speech therapy, along with grief counseling and therapy to help process the trauma he's lived through. He was a child stranded on an island as the only survivor. He's returning to a world that's moved on without him, to a place he's not been in for three years, having to face something he's not had time or proper preparation to deal with. He's going to need time to process what happened to him, time to heal, therapy to help him adjust and cope. His relatives are now his legal guardians and have a responsibility to protect him.

And they do none of that. Instead, they immediately throw him into the spotlight. Remember that first magazine?

Who do you think agreed to that photo being taken? I can guarantee Raphael certainly didn't.

This next part is conjecture, granted, so take it with a pinch of salt because Raphael never talks about anything that happened to him aside from what's stated in canon. But this is where I get angry on his behalf because I can't help but think about the what-ifs.

Think of the questions that come up in interviews. We know there's talk show hosts who have zero self control or empathy and can ask or put their guests through some truly cruel things (deliberately not naming anyone). Imagine a shell-shocked teenager who's only barely used to speaking to people (and possibly has forgotten how to talk) having to answer those questions. Questions or situations in which he's forced to relive the trauma, where he has to answer questions he genuinely can't and yet is expected to. Having to meet with families who are hoping for closure about their lost loved ones, and yet he can't because he doesn't know. How is he supposed to answer those? How can he tell these families he has nothing to say? That's a hopeless situation that a child has been forced into.

Now, as Raphael gets older, that's going to change because of course he's going to get the help he needs. Sooner or later someone is going to raise the question about his welfare to his relatives, so they have to accommodate for that. They can't physically hurt him as a result. But...

"Raphael, it's just one interview. We feed you and put a roof over your head. After all we've done for you, surely you can do that?"

"We took you in, son. You have to pay us back somehow, right? Well, just appear this time on television and we'll call it even."

"If you don't do this photoshoot, we're kicking you out."

"If you don't like it, then leave. But where are you going to go? Who's going to take you in? We're your only family left."

A family's love, blood or chosen, is supposed to be unconditional. His relatives could have easily turned it conditional. It's no wonder Raphael clings as tightly as he does to his Guardians, and to Alister and Valon to a certain degree - they're people and beings who've shown him that unconditional care that he lost.

Raphael says that he's in despair over the world he's come back to. If this is what waited for him when he got back? I can't blame him for wanting to go back to the island.

TLDR: Raphael never confirms he's been emotionally abused, gaslit, or otherwise harmed by his relatives - but he sure as hell doesn't deny it, either.

#kohaku answers #ygo #raphael #rafael #long post #sorry this got longer than i thought it would #ygo s4 #ygo dm s4 #waking the dragons

[despairforme]

Could Nnoitra ever genuinely fall for a woman? Like truly care about her? Like/love her? Would ever be able not to see himself superior?

for the main verse and what about royal au (or any other of your choice)?

❝ Sure, I could fall in love with a woman. ❞ Falling in love what not something that came easy for him. He'd only been in love with two people so far in his life - and both had been guys. But, he didn't see a reason why he shouldn't be able to fall for a chick. He was bisexual after all, and he slept with women just as easily as with men. Men and women had different perks and cons about them ( when it came to the bedroom anyway ). He really had NO idea what it would be like to date a woman. No woman had ever wanted to date him - and no wonder. He felt like women were more sensitive about how they were treated. Men were easier. Nnoitra understood them more. And, also, men didn't have the same sort of expectations. A woman would want him to be ROMANTIC with her if they were dating, right? No fucking thanks.

But - if he really DID fall in love with a woman... Then she wouldn't be the type to expect romantic shit. What WOULD she be like? Nnoitra had to think about that. Whenever he looked at a woman, his first instinct was to rate how fuckable she was, and if her personality was too annoying for it to be worth dealing with her in order to ( maybe ) fuck her later. In contrast - most of his friends were actually women. They were his friends because they had the nurturing, kind and caring attributes that women should have. They gave him food and treated him with kindness, without him having to do anything in return. And that was probably why they were his friends instead of his girlfriends, right? If he started dating one of them, then yeah - he could fuck her, but he'd also have the responsibilities as a ' boyfriend ' thrust upon him. And he'd never been a good boyfriend. Nah. What was the point? If he was going to date a girl - or date anyone, for that matter - he'd have to be in love. What a cliche.

He wasn't able to imagine how the dynamic between him and a potential girlfriend would be. Of course he was going to consider himself superior in strength, but she'd probably be smarter than him, and better at a lot of stuff ( like cooking? ). It was hard to imagine having a balanced relationship with someone who he'd expect to serve him. Mah, maybe love would take care of that problem? He didn't know.

❝ I hope I'm going to a at least like my future wife. ❞ Was it the right thing to say? At least he dropped the accent. As the FUTURE KING, he was bound to marry, and probably soon. His wife would be chosen for him, by his parents, the King and Queen. A Crown Prince had the pick of the noblest and finest of women, both within the kingdom, and from afar. He knew it was very likely that he'd make a marriage that was meant to form an alliance between his kingdom and another. He --- didn't want to marry yet. It was all a bit too much. He had only JUST been forced to step into the role as Crown Prince. He wanted to get used to that before he had to get used to being a husband.

But, when he eventually did marry... He certainly hoped his wife was nice. Someone who maybe could make him laugh. Someone who didn't criticise him would be good. As for seeing himself as superior to her? Well - he would be the king, so everyone was inferior to him. Including his wife. Her task would mainly be to provide him with sons. He hoped she would ( otherwise he'd be given even more grief ), but, even if she had a ' job ' to do, that didn't mean the two of them couldn't get along. Nnoitra knew he was not the nicest of people, but he really did his best to play the role he was given. He imagined he would try to be a good husband too. If his wife deserved it.

#[ eyyyy thank you for the ask anon! :O this was another really fun one to answer! ] #[ i also wonder if he'll find a woman to fall in love with ] #[ it would be very interesting! ] #[ AND ALSO WOW it's been ages since i used the royal au ] #[ i actually love writing for it so thank you! 8))) ] #despair for me. ╱ in character. #talking shit. ╱ answers. #burn the city. ╱ main verse. #all the king's horses & all the king's men. ╱ au.10.

[eartht137]

FOR THE BETTER pt. III

Oh curvies I have another part to put up for you. I'm hoping this is enjoyable please feel free to leave feedback, I need it lol. Not too much to say about this chapter except here ya go. I had fun writing more about Lois in this chapter and giving her perspective a bit about the whole "friendship" so let me know so I can improve. Alright read away love ya MMMMwwwwahhhhh!!!

Summary: Clark and Y/n have been spending a lot of time together. Y/n has asked Clark to invite Lois along but she hardly ever shows up. Y/n doesn't think much of it, but she should, because Lois wants time with her man and Y/n is in the way. How will Clark handle the distance though?

Dark Clark Kent x Black!Plus Size Reader

Over the next few weeks you and Clark spent almost everyday together, and you were starting to feel a bit bad that Lois hadn't been able to join, but a handful of times. Clark spent every moment he had available working to get you to fully trust him and you finally relented to having movie night at his place.

"Hey bestie." You greeted as you removed you jacket.

"I was thinking, I want to take you out one day." he commented from his couch as you began moving around his kitchen to start making dinner.

"Uh, no." You said calmly.

"You do realize I've only seen you your uniform, casual clothes, and pajamas. I've never seen you dressed up."

"Well tough luck Kent," You said pointing a big metal spoon at him. "I don't do dress up." You said sticking your nose in the air.

"You don't do a lot of things." He complained under his breath. You held the cooking spoon to your chest and calmly walked in front of him. "It is my job in my life and the next to give you the biggest amount of grief and shit since you made the decision to bulldoze your way into my blissful loneliness." he erupted into a fit of laughter as you spoke in your overly proper accent. "Furthermore, I shall repeat my earlier sentiment. I don't do dress up. Now, Mr. Kent, I am preparing our meal and you shall behave if you want dessert." You said holding you overly proper dramatic demeanor.

"Dessert?" He asked biting his lip, his mind traveling to dangerous thoughts.

"Oh yes, a quite delightful dessert-a mortal weakness of mine." You said in a dramatically evil way, rubbing your hands together as if you'd created something diabolical.

"Oh god here we go." Clark said pinching the bridge of his nose.

"CHOCOLATE!!!!" You both yelled out together, you added and evil laugh at the end and walked like Igor to the stove, rubbing circles on the glass.

"Yes, yes, bake my pretty's and we shall take over this world-TOGETHER!!!" You definitely had Clark in tears of laughter. A slow clap brought him out of his euphoric laughter. You both looked and saw Lois standing in the door way and she didn't seem too happy. You assumed it was because of work.

"Hey Lois." You said cheerfully not really noticing how she was looking between you and Clark.

"What's going on?" She asked folding her arms across her chest.

"It's movie night." You said excited that she was there. "Come, come. I show you." You said getting back in character to cheer her up. You Igor walked with her back to the kitchen making her laugh even though she was upset and didn't want to. You opened the stove and showed her the dessert. "Shh shh, no one must know of my plan." You said rubbing your hands together evilly.

"What plan?" She asked confused.

"To take over the world with CHOCOLATE!!!" You said throwing your hands in the air adding the evil laugh at the end.

"Go, go you must go and prepare yourself." You said shooing her away.

"Prepare myself?" she asked even more confused.

"For movie night. A night of terrifying, horrible, scary-wait, what are we watching again?" you asked Clark. He said a movie you hated and you immediately deflated laying on the floor in tantrum style. "You said we wouldn't watch that one. No wait, its our viewer of honors turn to choose. Lois, you don't know how great it is to have you for movie night!" you said jumping up genuinely excited. She couldn't help but smile because she could see you didn't have bad intentions, but the same couldn't be said for Clark. She really didn't know what his deal was. She questioned him from the beginning when he began to talk about you and your work. She didn't think much of it at first, even when he invited you for dinner at his mom's, she honestly thought he was just being nice because you were a loner in his class, but when the movie nights and friend outings overshadowed their relationship, that's when she realized something else was up. She saw the long stares and smiles at you, she remembered when he used to look at her that way. The only thing that kept her certain that he still loved her was that he hadn't told you his biggest secret. Your gasp startled them out of there stare down.

"I forgot the whipped cream." You said urgently.

"There's some in the fridge." Clark said pointing at the refrigerator. You put your hands on your hips and glared at him.

"Is it cool whip?" You asked waiting for his answer and his silence was answer enough. "Its alright, I'll go get some."

"You most certainly will not. I'll go get some. I'll be right back."

"Woah dude, you're forgetting the cash." You said fishing in your pocket for money. He chuckled, ruffled your fro, and left. "Dude, I said not the mop." you said fixing your hair.

"So..." Lois said a bit awkwardly as you walked back to the kitchen.

So, how's everything at the Daily Planet going? Clark was telling me you were on this really big blow up article. I can help. I can go and get info that way you don't have to and you can spend more time with Clark." You said with a smile.

"Yeah, lets talk about that, spending more time with Clark. How about you back off a bit and not spend so much time with him."

"Oh-I...." You trailed off feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize-I....I didn't know, honest, but you're absolutely right. I'm so sorry." You said genuinely feeling bad that Clark hadn't been spending time with her as you thought. You respected that she needed him and even though you tried to avoid it, you figured something like that would happen. "Should-do you want me to leave?" You asked not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

"No, stay, just....I need him too. Tonight's okay, but just a couple of weeks? I need him to myself." she said hoping you'd understand.

"I completely understand." you said continuing to prepare the meal for the evening. You really wanted to leave, but you didn't want to make everything awkward. When Clark made it back, Lois was able to keep up the act, you weren't. Clark could tell right off something was up, even when you kept saying you were okay, he could tell you were lying. Once dinner was done, you all sat quietly watching the movie Lois had picked. Soon he and Lois had fallen asleep together on the couch. Taking that as your moment, you tried to leave as quietly as you could. You were just opening the door when you heard him stir awake.

"Y/n? Where are you going? Its too late."

You quickly rushed out and left without saying a word. That was the last he heard from you for almost 3 weeks. You didn't show up for class in person, only opting to take the online course for awhile, and you wouldn't answer his texts or calls. One evening after not getting a response, Clark was fed up and he was ready to confront you about your sudden absence. When he got to your door he saw that it wasn't fully closed. He heard your muffled cries and made his way to make sure you were okay. He saw you burying your face in the pillow trying to quiet your cries. His arms wrapped around you like a blanket and you immediately began to calm down and feel better. After awhile when you calmed down, you tried to get up, but Clark held you still. He went and got you a glass of water and aspirin. He made sure you got everything down safely and he hovered over you not giving you room to escape.

"Are you okay?" He asked still caging you in. You nodded. "What's going on? Why have you been avoiding me? I thought we were friends? I would've been able to be here to help you but you shut me out and I want to know why?"

"Clark, really? Right now?"

"You're damn right, right now."

"You can't spend everyday with me and neglect Lois, its not right. She needs you to be there for her and you can't do that hanging around with me." You said trying to get from under him.

"She said something to you?"

"Of course she did, I assumed she'd spoken with you, I just didn't want to upset her or cause problems."

"You didn't want to upset her? Oh right, but you didn't think of how it would upset me, your friend?"

"Clark, are you even listening? Lois needs you she-"

"I'm not talking about Lois, I'm talking about you and me. You don't shut me out like that. Did you even consider what I would think or feel? Did you think of maybe coming to me and talking about it?"

"N-no, I-"

"No you didn't, you were being selfish!" He yelled making you feel bad. You'd never seen him so upset and you immediately wanted to make it right.

"Dude, I'm sorry okay. I just felt so bad that I was coming between your relationship, I just didn't want to upset her."

"Once again, we're not talking about her, we're talking about you and me. I'm trying to make you understand that what you did was hurtful."

"-and I'm explaining why I did it. I was asked to step back, so I did. What more should I have done?"

"You should've come to me! You talk to me and tell me what's going on."

"Clark, yes you are my friend, but that is mad disrespectful and I won't disrespect her. She came first, I'm just the little lost puppy you picked up okay? You can't neglect her you will lose her." you tried explaining to him. He stared at you for a second, before storming off. He went and stood on your patio to cool off and you took him a drink as a peace offering. When you handed it to him, he grabbed your hand in his.

"Don't ever do that again." He chastised before pulling you into a big hug. That night, you both cooked dinner together and sat to talk a bit more.

"Clark, I know you might not want to talk about it anymore, but I really do think you need to talk with Lois. She needs you more than you know."

"She doesn't need me, she hasn't needed me for a long time. We don't even sleep together anymore. I can't even remember the last time we had sex." he said taking a long swig of his beer. You shifted a bit uncomfortably. That was a huge no-no topic for you and you fought to keep the image from crossing your mind. You already felt bad for the very vivid dreams you'd been having about him, so vivid they'd jerk you awake.

"You really should talk to her." you whispered. "I-I have something I wanted to tell you."

"Oh yeah?" he asked curious.

"I met someone, we're just getting to know each other now, but I really like them. They're super awesome and super sweet, and before you ask, its not the guy from class." you said smiling and finally looking at him. You noticed that he looked pissed. His jaw was tight and he wouldn't look at you. "Dude you okay?" he sat silent for a moment too long. "Clark, what's wrong?" He didn't say anything, he just got up and walked out of your apartment. It was his turn to ghost you and you didn't speak with him again until you decided to go back to class in person and you'd hoped whatever was bugging him had passed. When you walked in class, he didn't even acknowledge you and you were hurt. You waited back after class to at least speak to him. Once everyone cleared out you tried talking to him.

"Hey, how've you been?" you asked carefully.

"Oh I've just been, trying to spend time with Lois as requested." He snipped at you.

"O-kay well, just wanted to check on you." you said turning to leave, but he grabbed your hand.

"No, don't leave. I'm sorry, its just...it been a really long day and I haven't talked to my friend in weeks. Come on, lets go to the office." He said leading you back to the back. You both sat back there catching up and joking.

"Well I have a favor to ask, and I promise you don't have to if you can't or don't want to, but I wanted to ask if you and Lois would like to come on a double date with me and my new partner this weekend."

The look he gave you quickly made you rethink asking him that question.

"I mean you don't have to, I understand if you have plans."

He stood stone still staring at you for way too long, then he smiled.

"Yeah, we'll be there. What time and where?" He asked.

What you'd missed was the deviousness dripping off of his voice because his smile made it seem like he was being nice. You gave him all the info and hugged him before waving goodbye.

"Dinner this weekend huh?" Clark said to himself. "Dinner is going to be very nice." He said before getting his material together for his next class.

#dark clark kent #x black reader #plus size reader #lois lane #henry cavill

[americancowgirl19]

Expendable

Summary: Consumed by your grief over Jason’s death, you track down the Joker on your own. Only you end up finding some... thing very different.

Warnings: vampires, violence, depression, fluff, angst

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader (Platonic), Jason Todd x Reader (Platonic), Tim Drake x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 6,113

A/n: Enjoy

Masterlist

You heaved heavily hunched over the bathroom sink. Your fingers grip the edge of the counter top, knuckles turning white. Your eyes are screwed shut as you try not fall apart for the millionth time that week.

It’s only been a month since Jason died and you felt as if you saw his freshly dead body a few hours ago. Your dreams are riddled with nightmares. You can’t even escape the thoughts while awake.

All you can think about is Jason’s beaten and burned body. You can hear the Jokers mocking laugh when you and Batman found him after Jason’s death. Bruce refused to kill him and stopped you from doing it yourself. Batman turned him into Arkham and like everyone could predict, the pale bastard escaped.

Slowly, your eyes open. You look at yourself in the mirror. You try to push back the tears as visions of Jason plague your mind. 

You were Bruce’s daughter. You were a few years younger than Dick but a few years older than Jason. You and Dick had a rocky friendship the first couple of years but you managed to work it out. With Jason, however, the connection was instant.

The both of you had tempers. Tempers which the other knew how to calm. The two of you just had an understanding. You became close quickly. 

You didn’t want to believe that Jason was dead. You didn’t want to believe that Bruce just let Joke get away with it. You wanted your brother back, you wanted Bruce to avenge him.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” You whisper. You wished you could have been there to save Jason. If only you had gotten to him sooner. Just 5 minutes would have made all the difference.

Your anger bubbles up to the surface all at once and before you know it, your punching the mirror until it’s all broken in the bathroom sink. Ignoring the stinging pain in your hand, you march out of the bathroom.

You storm out of your room and head toward the Batcave. You didn’t have to worry about running into your father. He’s either hiding in his room or out capturing other bad guys that have nothing to do with Jason’s death. Because apparently everyone else mattered while you, Dick and Jason were expendable.

Not to you, however. Your brothers were not expendable to you. They’re your world and the fact that you couldn’t protect Jason killed you. If Bruce wasn’t going to avenge him then that responsibility fell onto you.

You changed into your Sparrow uniform. By the time your pulling your mask on and making your way to your motorcycle, Alfred is entering the cave. You ignore him but he isn’t a man you can just ignore.

“Ms. Y/n?” He questions. You adjust your getup and swing your leg over the bike. Before you can turn the bike on, the man you’re closer to than your own father appears before you. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” You answer. He gives you a look but you don’t back down.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” He advises.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking for permission,” You snap. “Why don’t you go tend to daddy dearest and let me do what needs to be done?” Alfred looks even more concerned as you turn the bike on. You don’t allow yourself to feel guilty for being rude to Alfred. You have to stay focused.

You speed away from the manor and toward Gotham City. The Joker could be in a number of places but you knew who to ask to narrow down his location.

Before Jason’s death, you weren’t as ruthless as you were now. You were a happy medium between Bruce’s temperament and Jason’s. But now, you didn’t even recognize yourself anymore. 

You wanted blood.

You interrogated bad guy after bad guy. You left each of them in the streets, inches from death like the scum they were. You felt no sympathy for them as they struggled to breathe. You ignored their pleas for mercy and for help as you walked to your bike to find your next target.

You were so consumed on what you were doing and your goal to find the Joker that you didn’t realize you were being watched. And Bruce wasn’t the one stalking you.

“Where’s the Joker?!” You shouted before slamming your fist into the guys face. “Tell me!” You screamed. He grunted when you resorted to breaking his rips with your foot. You kicked him before he rolled onto his back prompting you to switch to stomping on his chest.

“Oh, you poor child,” A voice sounded from the shadows. In an instant, you whip the gun you had stolen out of the thigh holster and point it into the dark blindly.

“Show yourself,” You demand. You listen to the steps before a tall man comes into the moonlight. “Who are you?” You ask.

“Someone who can help you,” Your head tilts. “You can put that gun away, it cannot harm me.” He states.

“Who. Are. You?” 

“As I said, I’m someone who can help,” He says, sauntering closer to you. Your eyes narrow at him. “I know where the Joker is, I can take you to him,”

“Where is he?”

“I’ll tell you, but that information isn’t free,” He shakes his head.

“Tell me or you’ll end up like this deadbeat,” You motion to the man on the ground that’s slowly choking on his own blood. The man in front of you looks at him and smirks.

“You surely have potential... and you certainly have anger. Oh, so much anger,” He whispers coming forward. “You live on the need for vengeance. I can give it to you and so much more. All I want is to make a deal,”

“What kind of deal?” You ask, tilting your head. 

“I give you the Joker, and you give me your allegiance,” He says, stepping up to the end of the barrel of the gun. If you pull the trigger, the bullet goes straight through his heart.

“My allegiance?” You ask, slowly.

“You get the chance to finally sate your need for vengeance and you work for me.”

You stare into his eyes for a few moments before lowering your gun to the holster. He smirks and scoops you into his arms. Before you can ask a question he’s running at a speed that could outmatch the Flash.

“What the fuck?” You gasp when he comes to a stop and sets you down. “You’re a metahuman?”

“Not exactly,” He smirks. “I’ll explain everything once you’re finished. Inside is the Joker along with a lot of his friends. If you survive, you’ll be an excellent addition to my collection,” He states, prior to running off.

“Who the fuck is that guy?” You mutter to yourself. Sighing, you turn towards the building. A moment later, people start coming out. Large men in suits. They stop and look at you. A few draw their weapons. You smirk. “Who’s first?”

It took you a half an hour to reach the Joker. You’re not sure if you killed anyone, although it’s highly likely that you have. By the time you reach the pale skin fucker you’re covered in blood and bruises (maybe a bullet hole or two). Some of the blood is yours but most of it isn’t.

The Joker talks. He’s taunting you. Yet, you don’t really hear what he says. As you look at him, your mind is filled with images of Jason’s dead body. You stalk closer to him. 

You put your weapons away and pick up the crowbar you had found on a lower level. You had set it down in order to take care of the goons in the room quickly. 

But now you had the Joker right where you wanted him. You weren’t going to make this quick. Every time you brought the crowbar down on him, he only cackled loudly. Every strike just fueled your anger. 

You continued to beat him. At some point, his skull caved in but you continued to swing. You scream, tears falling down your face but you hardly notice. You just swing and swing until you collapse on the ground.

You let out one large, loud scream that echoes throughout the entire building. When you quiet down, your body curls into a tight ball and you begin to sob.

“Easy now, little one,” The inhuman man whispers, kneeling before you. “I’ll take your pain away,” He promises, picking you off the ground. “Rest now, I’ll look after you,” He whispers, racing you out of the building seconds before Batman shows up.

You don’t know how long you’re asleep, but when you wake up everything is different. You sit up from the unusually comfortable bed and look around. You don’t recognize where you are but at the moment it’s the least of your worries.

You never had absolutely perfect vision but now you’re eyes were acting like binoculars. You could see a far distance out the window and everything in clear detail that’s around you. Hell, you could even hear the cars going down the road miles from the house you’re in.

You move closer to the window but stop at the sound of the man who had taken you. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” You spin around toward him. You frown your eyebrows and look back to the window. You didn’t understand what he was warning you about. 

You soon find out when you step into the sunlight and find your skin heating up until it begins to burn. You gasp and speed to the other side of the room.

“What’s happening to me?” You whisper, watching your skin begin to blister. 

“Here, drink this,” He tosses you a bag. Your reflexes catch it. You want to ask what it is but your instincts take over as the smell reaches your nose. Within a minute, you have the bag drained of it’s liquid. 

When your done drinking, you look at the man. He nods to your arm and your eyes widen. You see your arm heal until there’s no trace of what had happened.

“Come, we have a lot to talk about,” You follow him down the hall. “My name is Vladimir but you may know me as Dracula,”

“Dracula?” You deadpan. “For real?”

“What? You do not believe that vampires are real? Even though you are one?” You stop walking. He stops as well and turns to you. “You are the daughter of Bruce Wayne, The Batman, you should be able to connect the dots,”

The blood, the enhanced senses, the vulnerability to light. You didn’t know how it was possible, but it was true. You were a vampire. You had made a deal with the devil... But oh, was it worth it.

****

“Whe-where am I?” A pale, redhead whimpers.

“Vicki Vale,” You state from the shadows. Your voice echoes off the walls making it impossible for her to pinpoint where you are. “So, you’re the one that’s obsessed with my father,” You growled. For a long time, the woman in front of you reported on both Bruce Wayne and Batman. She wrote article after article about him.

“Who are you?” She asks, in a shaky voice.

“Oh don’t worry, it’s not me you have to worry about,” You assure her, a smirk dancing on your lips.

“Alright, Y/n, that’s enough,” Vlad says coming into the room. Vicki gasps and turns to him. “Oh, you are beautiful,” Vlad whispers. “You will work perfectly,”

“Wh-what?” She whimpers, shying away from him.

“Y/n, leave Vicki to rest in peace, we have things to discuss,” Vlad calmly orders before turning to leave the room. You come out of the shadows, smirking when you startle her.

“So, she’ll work?” You ask him, the two of you walking toward his office.

“Yes, but we must move quickly. Your father and brother are causing trouble,” He tells you. Your head tilts at the information.

“They’ve killed more of your vampires?” You ask him.

“They found a way to cure them,” Vlad corrects you. “I need you to end them. I can’t afford to lose anymore vampires and I will not let them stop me from bringing Carmilla back,” He growls.

“Don’t worry, master, I’ll stop them,” You promise.

“I don’t want you to just stop them,” Vlad says, moving closer to you. “I want them dead and I want you to bring me their bodies. Do not fail me,” He growls.

“Have I ever?” You ask, smirking.

“Be quick about it,” Vlad orders. “The sun will be up in a few hours,”

****

“Viki Vale has gone missing,” Bruce informs Dick and Tim as he enters the Batcave. 

“Dracula?” Dick asks, crossing his arms in his Nightwing costume. His mask resting on the desk by Tim.

“He’s planning something. More and more people are being turned, we have to stop him before we’re too outnumbered.” Bruce says.

“Reports are coming in about a string of animal like murders in the Narrows. Fits vampire descriptions,” Tim says, reading the reports off the computer.

“Can you get a read on how many vampires there could be?” Dick asks.

“Doesn’t seem like a lot,” Tim mutters. “One, possibly two,”

“Let’s check it out,” Bruce orders. Tim nods standing up. He and Dick pull their masks on. Tim and Bruce get in the batmobile while Duke powers up the motorcycle. They both drive to the Narrows to investigate.

****

You hide in the shadows as the infamous Batman, Robin and Nightwing appear. You glare at the young Robin boy. Of course Bruce replaced Jason. It was typical for Bruce to replace someone. Fury fills your heart but you manage to control it knowing that if you waited a little longer, you would get the opportunity to unleash hell.

You didn’t want to hurt Dick. He’s your brother. But you didn’t have a choice. Vlad ordered you to kill them and that’s what you had to do. You wouldn’t necessarily take pleasure in killing your father and his newest protégé. However, you hoped that with Bruce’s death you would finally feel at peace with yourself.

You killed the Joker but your anger remained. You killed Jason’s bitch of a mother yet storm within you continued to rage. Maybe with the death of Batman you would finally know peace and tranquility. You didn’t blame Bruce for Jason’s death but you hated that he didn’t avenge him. You hated that he replaced him. That hatred mixed with your growing anger consumed you.

“This one’s still alive,” Dick announced, kneeling beside a woman. Bruce moved to kneel beside him while Tim wandered off. You smirked and followed him. You made some noise to draw him further from the others.

“You’re the new Robin, hmm?” You asked. Tim looked around. Technically, Tim wasn’t new. He had been at this for a couple of years now but you aren’t exactly up to date on the world around you. You’ve been training and isolated from the world for a long time. So, while Tim isn’t exactly new, he’s new to you.

He took a defensive stance but it wouldn’t do any good against you. You could kill him with a flick of your finger.

“We can help you,” Tim says, his eyes searching for you. “You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to be a vampire,”

“Oh, but I want to be,” You smirk, walking around him but continued to stay out of sight. Tim looks confused by your statement.

“We have a cure,” Tim states. You sneak up behind him.

“I don’t want it,” You whisper, in his ear. By the time he spins around, you’re out of sight. You grin, loving the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. “Tell me, what do you know about the Robin before you?”

“What?” Tim asks, tensing.

“You’re not Jason Todd,” You growl. Tim becomes increasingly more nervous. “So, may I know the name of his replacement?” You spit. He doesn’t answer you. “Fine, don’t answer, doesn’t matter anyway,” 

Tim tenses as things fall eerily silent. He goes to fall for back up but before he can finish the first syllable he’s lifted off the ground. You hand becomes tighter and tighter around his throat.

“You’re not Jason and you will never be him,” You growl, glaring at him. Tim choke, gripping your wrist but your grip doesn’t falter. His eyes widen a fraction as he recognizes you.

All throughout the mansion there’s picture of you. Dick talks about you all the time. He knows who you are but he can’t believe it. Bruce assumed you were dead, Dick insisted you were just missing. For nearly 7 years Dick worked to find you. Almost every spare moment went into finding some clue about you but you had vanished. 

“If you were,” You smirked. “You would have been able to take me down... You’re pathetic... Weak,” You bring him closer to your face. He struggles to breathe, looking even more terrified when your fangs extend. “And I’m so hungry,” 

Before you can feed on him, you’re knocked to the ground. You let Tim go as you tumble away. The boy collapses on the ground, coughing and struggling to breath in.

“Has anyone ever told you not to get between a vampire and her meal?” You growled, standing up. You turn to the man who had tackled you and smirked. There, only two feet away, is your older brother.

“Y/n,” Dick whispers, his defenses falling.

“Hey, big brother,” You wink. You take advantage of his astonishment and attack. You don’t even realize it but you’re holing back. You’re not going as fast as you could nor are you striking with all your strength. Hell, you’re barely hitting him with 20% power.

“Y/n! Stop! This isn’t you!” Dick shouts but you don’t listen to him. You grab his shoulders and fling him into a nearby wall. He collapses and struggles to breath.

“I’m not you’re little sister, anymore Dickie Poo,” You say, stalking up to him. “And all you are to me is a meal,”

“Then why haven’t you killed me yet?” Dick groaned pushing himself up. You freeze for just a moment but Dick notices it.

“What can I say? I’ve always liked playing with my food,” You growled, trying to cover up your hesitance.

“You’ve always been a shit liar, sis,” Dick teases. You hiss as he stands. “You’ll always be my baby sister, you’re just more of a pain in my ass right now,” He smirks putting up his hands. “And you hit like a bitch,”

Crying out, you attack Dick once again. This time you hold back even less but you’re still not aiming to kill him. It angers you as you hear Vlad’s comment in the back of your mind. Your vampiric instincts are fighting against your humanity. 

Just when you’re about to give into your inclination to follow your masters orders a batarang sinks into your arm. It snaps you out of your instinctual daze. You look at it before following it’s path. You’re eyes land on Batman. For the first time in years you stare into your fathers eyes.

Before anything can happen, something catches your attention. You turn your head and watch the sun begin to peak over the buildings. You’re out of time.

“Wait!” Dick shouts reaching for you but you’re already gone.

****

You stand in front of Vlad for a solid five minutes. Five minutes of absolute silence. Intense, awkward, silence. You barely have the strength to hold his gaze for these few minutes but know if you look away you’ll look weak.

“I told you not to fail me,” Vlad tells you.

“I underestimated the skill of-”

“You’re a vampire!” Vlad shouts. It takes everything in you to not flinch. “You have the strength of a hundred men! I could possibly forgive you not being able to defeat your father, I failed that as well. However, you couldn’t kill an 18 year-old boy? Or your older brother?” Vlad asks, walking toward you.

“My humanity got in the way,” Vlad backhands you harshly.

“Your humanity,” Vlad says slowly. “For 6 year I’ve been working so hard to perfect you and yet here you are, a disappointment.” He spits.

“I’ll make it up to you,” You promise.

“You will,” Vlad nods, walking back to his seat. “And if you fail me again. I will rip your heart out,” You bow to him. “Wait for my word in your room,”

“Yes, master,” 

****

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tim asks, his voice horas. You had bruise his throat pretty good. It was a miracle he was able to talk at all at the moment.

“If anyone is going to get through to her, it’s him,” Dick assures him. Tim presses his lips together and follows his brother into the worn down building.

“How do we know he’ll even help?” Tim wonders.

“Because it’s Y/n,” Dick answers simply. Tim glances at him but says nothing else.

“You’ve got a lot of balls to come here, Dick,” Tim and Dick spin around to face Red Hood. Tim is in a defensive stance remembering the last time they had crossed paths. Red Hood and him fought, Tim barely escaping hospital time.

“Relax,” Dick mutters to Tim.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” He asks, looking around for Batman.

“Bruce isn’t here... It’s just us,” Dick assures him. They stare at each other for a moment before he takes off his red mask. “Jason,” Dick nods. Jason ignores the greeting and walks around them to get to his stuff. “Y/n’s alive,” Jason freezes completely. “We saw her a few hours ago,”

“Where?” Jason asks, keeping his back to them.

“Have you come across any vampires?” Dick asks. Jason turns to them.

“They’ve been crawling around town like cockroaches,” Jason says.

“Y/n’s one of them,” Dick tells him. “She attacked us a few hours ago. She tried to kill us but didn’t follow through.”

“We think that she still has some humanity left,” Tim says.

“I know she’s still in there.” Dick insists. “She could have very easily killed Tim and I but she held back,” Jason looks at the bruise around Tim’s throat. 

“She still mourns you,” Tim tells him. “If she knew you were alive, maybe we can get her back. If we can get her back to the mansion, we can cure her,”

****

“Everything is in place,” Vlad says. You stand in the background watching him. On the tables in the middle of the room lay two women. One is Vlad’s beloved Carmilla. The other is Viki Vale. The plan was to transfer Viki’s life essence into Carmilla to bring her back to life.

“Master,” A newly turned vampire interrupts. Vlad turns to her. “Batman, Robin and Nightwing have arrived.” Vlad snarls and turns to you.

“They must not stop the transference,” Vlad tells you.

“I will kill them once and for all master,” You vow.

“Kill the Batman, capture Robin and Nightwing. Take them to my office and keep them there,” Vlad orders. You tilt your head but nod.

“As you wish,” You bow and exit the room. You hunt down the three men but only find two of them; Dick and Tim. “I see your stubbornness has only increased with age,” You state standing at one end of the hall while they stand on the other. They look a little worn down but you can tell they still have plenty of energy.

“Guess I spent too much time around you as kids,” Dick shrugs, twirling his batons. 

“You should have stayed away,” You tell them, cursing yourself for how soft your voice had gotten. Your humanity, yet again, was showing. You pushed it back and locked it in a box but the little slip up was enough to confirm to both Dick and Tim that you could still be saved.

“You’ve been gone a long time, little sister,” Dick states. “It’s time to bring you home,”

“This is home,” You hiss. Dick shakes his head.

“This is a prison,” Dick corrects you. You smirk.

“You once said the same about Wayne Manor,” You remind him. You stare at him and your eyes flicker to Tim. “Join me,” You suggest. “We can give you the power you can only dream of,” You say, stepping closer to him. “We can be a family again,” You whisper, your humanity coming up once more. You allow it, for now.

“We can be a family,” Dick agrees. You perk slightly. “When you’re cured and back at the Manor,” Your face turns sour.

“Fuck the Manor,” You spat. “Fuck Bruce and Fuck Batman,” You hiss. “You think he cares?”

“He does!” Tim snaps. You laugh.

“Where did he pick you up from?” You ask Tim. “You must have a past. Bruce never takes in anybody mentally stable,”

“We’re not talking about that right now,” Dick cuts in. “If you don’t want to go to the manor, fine. Come with me,” Dick suggests. “I have an apartment in Bludhaven. You can stay with me... It’ll be like old times,” You’re so tempted to give in.

“I can’t,” You shake your head. “This is who I am now, this is where I belong,”

“No, you belong with us,” Dick insists.

“I haven’t belonged with you in years,” You mutter but he hears it. “I’m happy to see you alive, Dick... But you really should have stayed away,” You said, your voice hardening.

“We don’t have to do this,” Dick says. He and Tim fall into a defensive stance.

“I won’t go back,” You tell him. “Not with you, not with him and certainly not with Bruce,” You growl. “Why can’t you see that you’re not worth anything to him! All you are is an expendable tool! He’ll just replace you when you’re done being useful to him,”

“That’s a lie!” Tim shouts.

“Oh really?” You ask. “Then why are you standing here? Tell me, how long did he wait to replace Jason with you?” You wonder. “You’re nothing to him and when you die, he’ll move on like he always does and not give you a second thought!”

“You’re head is twisted, Y/n! You’re blinded by hatred and anger and grief, let us help you!” Dick pleads.

“No, I don’t need your help,” You growl racing toward them. Tim and Dick put up a good fight but you were done letting your humanity control you. Before they could pull any fancy tricks like they used to stop the other vampires, you knocked them out cold. Grabbing them by their collars you drag them to Vlad’s office. You lock them inside before hunting down your father.

You find him in the transference room fighting Vlad. You quickly join your master. With the both of you fighting against Batman, you’re beginning to overpower him. Until he uses a UV light which causes you and Vlad to scream in pain. When it’s gone, you slowly begin to heal.

“No! No! No!” Vlad screams seeing Vicki has disappeared before the transference  could complete. “NO!” You force yourself to a stand. You gasp when Vlad appears before you and grabs you by the throat. You struggle against him but he’s a great deal stronger than you. “I told you to kill him!” He snarls. You try to talk but he’s crushing your windpipe. “You’ve failed me for the last time,” He goes to rip your heart out when he’s pull away from you.

You fall to the ground and shake the dizziness from your head. You look up and see a grappling hook in Vlad’s chest. A man by the door holds the string and continues to pull Vlad from you until he gets his footing and yanks the man to him. You watch as Vlad throws him across the room.

“You vigilantes are a disease,” Vlad growls stalking toward him. You force yourself to stand. You feel your thirst begin to rise as your healing completes. 

Fresh blood gains your attention. You turn to the door seeing Dick and Tim at the entrance. You figured you had the guy in the red mask to thank for their escape

“Ah, look at this,” Vlad claps his hands. “A family reunion,” The red mask guy pushes himself up, grimacing at the pain in his back. “If you want another chance to live, Y/n,” Vlad turns toward you. “I want you to kill your brothers,”

You turn to Dick and Tim. They’re eyeing you as you eye them. The human voice in your head gets smaller and smaller as your animal instincts and need for blood overcome you.

“Kill them,” Vlad orders. Unable to fight his order, you advance to Dick. You stop when a clunk of stone is throne at your head. It doesn’t hurt you but it gets your attention. Your head snaps to the red mask guy with a growl.

“You on your period or something sis?” Your entire body freezes at the sound of his voice. No, it’s not possible. “You know how you get during that time of the month... I swear you turn into a fucking gremlin,” He raises his hands and takes the mask off. “Or, I guess, in this case a vampire,” Jason smirks.

“No,” You whisper shaking your head. “It’s not possible... You... you’re dead,”

“Didn’t stick,” He shrugs with that arrogant smirk of his. “Amazing what a Lazarus pit can do, huh?” Your breath hitches in your throat. It was possible.

“Y/n,” Vlad says regaining your attention instantly. “Kill. Them.” Your humanity vanished. With a hiss, you turn to attack Jason when Dick’s voice reaches your ears.

“You’re not expendable,” Dick states. You don’t look at him but it’s obvious you’re listening. “You mean so much more to us. We’re here for you and we’re not leaving without you. You’re one of us, not this creature he’s turned you in,”

“You know how much I hate agree with Dickwad,” Jason chuckles. “But on this, I do. Look, we’ve both changed over the years and that’s fine but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re brothers and you’re our sister. You went against father and killed the Joker for me. You beat the shit out of that one girl that cheated on Dick. You’ve stood up against Bruce for both of us on more than one occasion. You’ve always been there but now we’re here for you. It’s time to come home. Come with us,”

“Kill them!” Vlad shouts. Your eyes screw shut as you struggle between obeying Vlad and listening to your brothers. Realization hits Tim like a freight train.

“Don’t listen to him!” Tim encourages you. It finally made sense. All the vampires they came across were unnaturally loyal to Dracula. It was like they had forgotten their human lives and followed him. He figured it was just instinct but it was something more than that. Vampires were connected to their creator, Dracula, on a level they had severely underestimated. Tim theorized that Dracula had gotten to you, changed you, and manipulated/forced you to follow him. You had to follow his orders but that didn’t mean you wanted to.

You showed multiple signs of humanity. Dick and Jason were you’re anchors to your human side. If you could fight against Dracula’s orders then you could sever the connection. If that happened, getting you back to the manor and cured would be much easier.

“He’s the one who doesn’t care! He’s the one who believes you’re expendable, not us! We care about you, we’ll help you but you have to break his hold over you!” Tim said as clearly but as quickly as he could.

“Shut up!” Vlad shouted turning toward him. Before he could attack, Jason launches a wooden stake at him. It doesn’t kill him but it knocks them to the ground. “Kill them, Y/n! Kill them right now!”

You groan. Your hands grip your hair and begin to pull. You felt as if your head was being torn apart. You fall to your knees. A large part of you wanted to kill them, needed to kill them. Yet a big enough part of you didn’t.

“Y/n,” Jason says, softly. He slowly knelt a few feet in front of you. 

“Kill me,” You whimper, looking into his eyes. “I can’t hold myself back for long,”

“You can,” Jason encourages you. “You’re not going to hurt me, Dick or Tiny Tim,” Tim scowls but remains silent. “You’re Y/n Y/L/N. You were turned when you were 18 years old but you’re 24. You’re favorite food is y/f/f and your favorite show is y/f/s. You always let me sneak into your room if I was having trouble sleeping and you always helped me through the bad days just like I did for you. We look after each other, we have since we met each other. That didn’t stop when I died and it isn’t going to stop since you’re a vampire,”

In the corner of your eye you see Dick and Tim going to end Vlad. Something within you snaps. You snarl and before you know it you’re protecting your master. Before you can reach Dick and Tim, something pierces your shoulder. You look down to see a similar grappling hook hooked into you.

You gasp as Jason yank you back. You snarl and struggle but Jason is able to fight against you allowing Dick and Tim to destroy your master.

“No! NO!” You scream. The pain of your bond to Dracula is excoriating. You scream and writhe on the ground.

“It’s alright sis,” Jason whispers, knocking you out with a special tool they used on all the other vampires. “You’re safe now,” He whispers picking you up. “How do we cure her?”

“We have a serum at the manor,” Tim says,

“Bring it to my place,” Jason ordered. Tim goes to argue but Dick lays a hand on his shoulder. Dick nods and Jason nods back.

****

When you wake up you have the worst hangover known to man. You groan, your hand slapping your forehead. You try to think about what could have given you this feeling but you get nothing. Until everything comes rushing back to you a minute later.

All the killings, Dracula and the whole vampire ordeal hardly phases you. What makes your heart quench is the man you saw before you passed out.

“Jason!” You cry out, sitting up quickly. The motion causes you to groan again.

“Easy, easy,” You’re gently pushed back onto the bed. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Opening your eyes, you look at Jason. You really look at him. He still has that spark, that anger in his eyes but there’s also relief and happiness. You lift your hand and gently caress his face. He leans into your touch.

“You’re real,” You whisper.

“Yeah, I’m real,” He whispers, tears coming to his eyes. “I thought I lost you there for a second,” He laughs.

“I did lose you,” You whimper. 

“I know, I’m so sorry,” Jason gently pushes you over and climbs into the bed. You instantly hug him with all your might. “I’m here now and I won’t be leaving your side for a damn long time,”

“You saved me,” You whisper. “You, Dick and Tim,” You whimper the tears coming down your face.

“You just got a little lost for a while,” Jason muttered. “You would do the same if any one of us was in your position,” You nod, snuggling into his chest. He rubs circles into your back. “Everything’s going to be ok, now... You’re cured, Dracula’s dead and you’re with me,”

“Can I stay with you?” You whisper, looking up at him.

“I thought I told you that you weren’t leaving my side for a long time,” Jason smirks. “We have 6 years to catch up on and I need my big sis to keep my head on straight,”

“I need you too, Jason...” You whisper. “God, do I need you,” You snuggle back into his chest. He kisses the top of your head and holds you even tighter. “I was so lost without you,”

“Shh.. You don’t have to worry about living without me again,” Jason promises.

“Good... Because next time, you die I die,” Jason smirks.

“We’re going to be one kick ass team,” Jason mutters. You grin closing your eyes. The both of you got the first real sleep you had since Jason died.

#Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Richard Grayson #Robin #Batman #Nightwing #Red Hood #Tim Drake #Jason Todd x Reader #Dick Grayson x Reader #Tim Drake x Reader #Jason Todd x Female!reader #Dick Grayson x Female!reader #Tim Drake x Female!reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #female!reader #Vampire #x platonic!reader #platonic!reader #DC Comics #dc universe #Dracula #Joker #x sister!reader #Wayne!reader

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: “It’s a New Day”: THR Drama Actress Roundtable

THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER: Gillian Anderson had been dreading this. A tripod had arrived at her home in the U.K., along with a mess of lights and, really, just the thought of having to sit through an hour-plus on Zoom had her practically reeling. But then the woman who stuns as Margaret Thatcher in the most recent season of Netflix’s The Crown got talking — about pigeonholing and pay equity, about grieving and giving oneself over — and soon she didn’t want to stop talking. And neither did anyone else — The Queen’s Gambit‘s Anya Taylor-Joy, Pose‘s Mj Rodriguez, Genius: Aretha‘s Cynthia Erivo, WandaVision’s Elizabeth Olsen and Ratched‘s Sarah Paulson — at THR’s annual (virtual) Drama Actress Roundtable.

Let’s start easy. Complete this sentence: On set, I’m the one who is most likely to be …

GILLIAN ANDERSON Hiding in a corner. (Laughter.)

ANYA TAYLOR-JOY Pacing whilst moving my hands like this (waving above) trying to figure out what it is that I’m doing.

SARAH PAULSON Bossing everyone around.

ELIZABETH OLSEN Probably trying to make the crew laugh.

At the same time, you’re also inhabiting characters for long stretches and often they require you to go to dark or heavy places. What happens when a director yells, “Cut”? Do they come home with you?

MJ RODRIGUEZ I try to separate myself from Blanca as much as possible, especially [because we’re] dealing with immense trauma. So, when I go home, it’s Michaela Jaé going home, and I bring Blanca to the set. It’s easier that way because it can weigh on you otherwise and wash off on your family.

TAYLOR-JOY I wish I had as much control over it. For me, there are some characters that you can very easily snap in and out of and then there are other ones like Beth in The Queen’s Gambit. I’d worked back-to-back on two projects with one day off in between, so by the time I got to filming the show, I was exhausted and there was no energy to create a barrier. And that was potentially the toughest thing about the show, because it was a wonderful experience as an actor to be able to not have to reach for any emotion, but then you also have to go through the psychological warfare of figuring out, “Why do I feel so awful in the morning?” Like, “What is happening?” And then you go, “Oh, it’s not my feelings,” but I have to sit in them all day and I have to be aware enough to go, “You are not depressed, the character is depressed, and at some point that will leave you.” But I do think a bath every single night — being able to have the visual representation of washing yourself clean of something — helps.

OLSEN Regardless of what exactly the day requires of you, emotionally, you’re just tired. And so you try to be patient and professional and kind, and then when you go home, that’s when your fuse is just … smaller. (Laughter.)

TAYLOR-JOY You should date us, we’re fabulous.

CYNTHIA ERIVO I did, it was a real ugly cry. After playing [Harriet Tubman in the 2019 film], I went straight to see my mother in London and I don’t know what happened, but I just broke. You know the visual representation of shattering glass? That was what was happening to me. All the stuff I had to dig through to play her, all that heartbreaking stuff didn’t leave me when I finished, and it took time to just dissipate. And it was the same with Aretha — unfortunately, the pandemic hit when we were in the middle of shooting, so I couldn’t completely get rid of her during the six-month hiatus, and then I had to go right back into playing her. And it’s little things, like mannerisms, that stick with you. The lilt in her voice when she’s speaking to people. Like, that’s not me but I was stuck with that for a bit. And I was recording an album at the same time, so there was no space between one and the other. It took me a while before I could listen to an Aretha song again.

ANDERSON I certainly had that experience doing X-Files for nine seasons. I had a good couple of mini breakdowns during that, and at the end, could not talk about it, could not see it, could not see pictures, could not. I needed to immerse immediately in theater in another country. And then after a while, I was able to embrace it again, but when I started to embrace it, it was almost like I separated myself so much that I was looking at the image as if it was another person. When you immerse yourself so entirely as we can and we do for such long periods of time, there’s not going to be no consequence to that. Of course, there’s going to be consequence to that.

TAYLOR-JOY May I pose a question to the group?

Please do.

TAYLOR-JOY It’s so wonderful hearing you two talk about this, because I’ve always felt really crazy for the depressions that you go into after you leave a character and not being able to necessarily connect with yourself. And I’m really curious to hear what your relationship is with something being seen. Because when I first started working, I convinced myself that filmmaking was a very private practice with a private group of people and that no one was ever going to see it. And I thought I’d grow out of that, and I haven’t. Every project I have to sit myself down about two months after it’s finished and go, “People are going to see this and have access to it whenever they want.” How do you guys work [handle that]? Because for Queen’s Gambit, I had to go through a grieving period. It was grief, genuinely, to think, “Oh goodness, this thing that I loved so much is not mine anymore.”

ANDERSON I had that experience after doing Blanche in Streetcar [Named Desire] here in the U.K. and then in New York.

OLSEN I saw your last performance in New York. You were fabulous.

PAULSON Fucking phenomenal.

ANDERSON I felt like I’d lost my best friend. I was grieving. Some friends of mine in New York had a brunch for me the weekend after [I finished my run], and I arrived like a complete wreck. It was so profound. I also knew it was unlikely I was going to do it again because I knew that I’d probably lose my mind. I got really close. Like, I’d survived by the skin of my teeth and if I did it again out of ego or attachment or not wanting to let her go, there would be consequences. So I knew it was the end, and it was so sad.

ERIVO Do you know what’s so crazy? I listen to you and I’m like, “Oh my God, that’s what was happening to me during The Color Purple.” It was the last show and I started grieving in the show, knowing that it was coming to an end. There’s one last song and I couldn’t get through it. And then the show ends and I buckled under the sadness of it. But there was no way I could have continued playing Celie on that stage. It [had been] 14 months and I had to let her go. The line between me and her had disappeared. But to answer your question, Anya, I’ve never had an issue with people seeing things. I usually have an issue seeing it after it’s done.

PAULSON This happened when I did Marcia Clark [for The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story]. I felt a profound connection to her and I felt protective of her, and the experience had been so tectonic plate-shifting for me, both as a performer and as a human, and I thought, “If I watch it, I’m going to pick apart everything.” She was left-handed, so every time I use my right hand, I’m going to think, “God damn it, why did they use that?” So, the only way to protect myself from that is to detach from what the world will experience with it. And I’ve maintained that for a long time now — I really don’t watch [things I’m in] because I don’t have the strength, first of all, to bear the sight of my face and, also, I find it really confronting. The preciousness of the thing you were creating with these other people is what I want to be the indelible thing for me and not how it was edited.

TAYLOR-JOY Mm-hmm.

PAULSON All that does is make me furious because I don’t have the power to go in and go, “Hi, um, could you choose take six? It’s infinitely better.” (Laughter.) And when you don’t have that ability and you’re at the mercy of someone else’s opinion of what is the finest work that you’ve done, which doesn’t always line up with what you feel, it’s really jarring and you feel so powerless to do anything about it. So, I have to just sage it all out and let my experience be the only thing that governs the way I feel about it.

RODRIGUEZ When the first two seasons of Pose came out, I didn’t watch them at first because I was just so nervous about how the world would receive it. It was a story that a lot of people haven’t gotten to see, and it was a whole bunch of trans women of color finally getting their shot. It’s a lot of responsibility. And on top of that, it’s a story that’s filled with trauma and things that a lot of us trans women have gone through, so it was hard for me to watch all of those things back.

Gillian, in your career you’ve also been a champion for pay equity. But even as you were promoting a book you co-authored on female empowerment a few years ago, you acknowledged that you were nervous speaking up about being paid less than your male co-star. What do you think you were scared of, and how have the conversations for you changed since?

ANDERSON I just need to point out that I first fought for pay equity way back when it was audacious by anybody’s standards, because I was a nobody when we started to do that series. But when I really spoke up about it was when it happened again, four or five years ago, after the career I’d already had post-X-Files. We were going back to do another season and Fox came to me to offer, I don’t know, a 10th of what my co-star [David Duchovny] was being offered. That was the point where I was like, “Fuck this. I’m actually going to talk about this [publicly].” And since then, it hasn’t really come up. I mean, I haven’t worked with a lot of men, so that hasn’t been an issue. (Laughs.) I’m certainly tuned to it, and were it something now, I’d address it. But I have so much admiration for anyone who stands up for their right either to be paid or to be hired, period. And look, they weren’t going to fire me on The X-Files. The stakes weren’t that high. I put my foot down, not because the stakes weren’t high, but if they were going to fire me, some people were going to have some things to say about that. It’s very different for a young woman going into a job situation with a boss who’s overbearing and asking for a pay raise.

Sure, you had leverage.

ANDERSON Yeah.

For the rest of you, when have you spoken up in your careers?

ERIVO I mean, the obvious is I’m a Black woman, and that has a lot to do with how you’re paid, how you’re hired, if you’re hired, the way you’re hired — it affects everything. I’m lucky enough to have a team behind me that is brave enough to ask the questions I’d like asked: What I’m being paid compared to the leading man in the show, or if I’m being paid a lot less, whether or not they are willing to come up so it becomes equal. And about little things in my contract that just make it easier to exist on a set. For me, it’s about having the guts to stick with it and to keep asking and keep fighting. And there are definitely times where you’re like, “I am so exhausted from asking the same thing.” Like, if we could please have this makeup artist with me because usually there are no Black makeup artists on a set and you’re the only one who needs one, and I’ve had to have that fight every single time I’ve gone onto a set: “I need to hire these two people because they are the only people that understand how to do my face or my hair.” It isn’t about vanity, it’s about making sure that whoever I’m playing is represented in the right way because they understand how to work with my skin tone and my hair. But you keep sticking with it because it’s not just me having my way, it’s me being able to employ two other people. And then maybe I’m asking, “Can we have a DP who understands lighting that works on my skin tone?” So it’s constantly being OK with asking the questions. And there is a bit of fear, like, “Am I going to be seen as difficult?” And yes, there are times where I’ve had someone say they’ve heard I was difficult, but usually, it’s because I’ve asked a question that will make for a better surrounding or a better show. And if I keep asking the questions and if other ladies like myself keep asking the questions, and we keep trying to better our spaces, it just becomes the norm — because at some point it has to just become the norm.

Elizabeth, I believe you had a saying in your house growing up, “No is a full sentence.” When do you find you use it?

OLSEN I use it a lot. (Laughs.) I use it when I’m on set. I mean, I want to be a part of every department when I’m on set. I want to understand the schedule. I want to understand everything. I produced a TV show [Sorry for Your Loss] that didn’t get too much light of day because it was on Facebook, which, whatever … but as a producer on it, it was really important for me to be a voice of everything you’re saying, Cynthia, and have heads of departments feel like and look like the freakin’ world. And just from having a taste of that for two seasons, I can’t [go back]. So when I go to do Dr. Strange 2 in England, I guess I use it when I just can’t shake it even though [the production is] so much bigger than me. I don’t know, my opinions are vast and everyone hears them, from the first AD to the EP. I think I’m like a representative of anyone having a hard time on set. … (Laughs.)

PAULSON You’re the Equity rep, I love it.

OLSEN Oh my God. (Laughter.)

When you think about your careers, is there someone else’s that you look at and go, “Ooh, yeah, I’d love that”?

OLSEN Gillian’s, Sarah’s …

ERIVO Yeah, Sarah, you’re that for me. You’re fucking incredible.

PAULSON You saying that to me makes me want to cry because sometimes you feel like you’re doing this in a bubble and you don’t even know if anything you’re doing ever has any meaning or impact to anyone.

ERIVO It does. From my heart, it does. And I hope I get to work with you one day.

PAULSON I’d give my eyeteeth. (Laughs.) For me, it’s Gillian — somebody being on a TV program for a long time that’s wildly successful and then retreats to another country to be onstage, to reconnect yourself to the very things that inspired you and made you want to be a part of this. It all gets very confusing in terms of how to navigate [this business]because you do want to make a living, but you also want to follow your heart. And there does come a time where you can become quite depleted from the constant output without any input. And if you’re a woman of a certain age, which I certainly am, I feel like I’ve got one foot on one window frame and I’ve got the other one over here and I’m just trying to insist that they stay open for as long as possible. And some of that is beyond my control, but when I look at Gillian’s career I just go, “Well, I want that.”

ANDERSON Thank you for saying that. On the one hand, I feel like there is some degree of design, but I’ve also never really gone after things. And when I finished with X-Files, I didn’t know if I wanted to be on a set again ever. So aside from having grown up in the U.K. and wanting to go back, I knew it would take time before I could, if I was going to. And in London, you could move between theater and TV, and that was always my dream. But every actor has the thing that they’d want more than the thing that they have, and I’m a cinephile, and so I [wonder], “Why do I keep doing TV? All I want to do is do film.” And I’m still doing TV. (Laughs.) But I’ve had such amazing opportunities that, coming from Scully, I even questioned people, like, “Why are you offering this to me? What makes you think that I can do this?” I’ll also say that as soon as you have kids, kids are the priority. So, I say to people, “I’m gonna be such a pain in the ass for you to hire. But if you think I’m this person, I’m gonna need to work during this period of time and then have time with my kids. And it’s going to be expensive for you. If you are willing to do that, then I’m your girl, and if you’re not, you need to find somebody else.”

Anya, Queen’s Gambit became a global juggernaut. How have your opportunities and choices changed? Is there pressure to strike while the iron is hot?

TAYLOR-JOY I think I’ve always followed character and only recently did I start following directors as well, but it’s always been about, “Do I feel like I’m the right person to tell this story? Do I think I can tell this story correctly?” And if you look at something like Queen’s Gambit, it was not supposed to be the white-hot show; it’s a show about a girl that plays chess for seven hours, but I felt so compelled to tell that story. So, it sounds cheesy, but I really just keep following my heart. OK, wait, I take that back. Something I’m also learning is that you give yourself to this person for three to six months, and I never used to think about this before, but now I start thinking, “Am I ready to give up my life for this person? Do I need to tell this story so badly that I’m going to do that?” I try not to think about what other people will think, because it’s your life at the end of the day. And as we all know, you’re that [character] every hour of the day, and when you go home it’s difficult to let go of them, so you have to really love them.

Mj, you’ve talked about how significant this show was for you and for the visibility of the trans community. How have the opportunities being presented to you post-Pose changed?

RODRIGUEZ In the middle of the third season, I started figuring out my worth, and it’s scary. I was nervous. I didn’t expect to actually book my next job after Pose.

ERIVO I did.

PAULSON We all did.

RODRIGUEZ And see, that’s my insecurity and that’s something I have to fix. I didn’t think it was possible. To get an opportunity like Pose and have myself centered in the story and to end it with hope, and then to get another opportunity with an iconic actress [an Apple TV+ comedy co-starring Maya Rudolph] was surreal. But if I’m still feeling the need for protection as far as my Blackness, my Latina-ness and my trans-ness go, that means there is more work to be done.

Are there doors still not open to the rest of you? Parts you’d love to play if only Hollywood would see you that way?

PAULSON No one has asked me to do a comedy, and I’m a little frustrated about that.

ERIVO And you’re funny as fuck.

PAULSON I spend a lot of time in these worlds where I’m either running or crying or screaming or playing a real person and trying to get their physicality, and I’d really like to do a nice road picture with me and a couple of chicks.

ANDERSON Ooh, I’ll go with you!

PAULSON How about all of us just in a road movie — like, get a Winnebago and let’s go?

ERIVO I’m down.

RODRIGUEZ Yeah, count me in.

ANDERSON I’m 53, Sarah, and I’ve really only been offered comedy in the last three years of my life, and I don’t think that’s because I’m any funnier than I used to be. I think a lot of it is that people just couldn’t fathom it, whether it was that Scully was still in their minds or it was someone else, because I’ve played a lot of dark characters, too. And so they just weren’t coming. And then came [Netflix comedy] Sex Education — and I passed when it first came to me because I didn’t think it was right. It was my partner who proverbially dug it out of the trash.

ERIVO I’ve yet to see a Call Me by Your Name for a Black woman, I have yet to see a piece that allows a woman of color to be sensual and soft and loving and be loved. I’ve just not seen it, and I desperately want to experience that, just because I want to be able to be in that space of vulnerability and lilt. I really want to do that. And that hasn’t come my way. A comedy hasn’t come my way either.

RODRIGUEZ Same. It’s been so hard when it comes to trans women being loved in a sensual way, and I’d love to do something like that.

Elizabeth and Anya, to Sarah’s point, Hollywood likes to keep actors in a lane. How have you avoided that kind of pigeonholing in your careers to date?

TAYLOR-JOY I’ve been saved from a lot of things in my life from pure innocence and naivete, genuinely. My first movie was called The Witch, I got a script immediately afterward that was about, you guessed it, a witch, and I figured, “Wow, why do they want to see me do this again?” So, I was immediately like, “Can I not do anymore witch movies, please?” And my agent was like, “OK. Sure, whatever you say.” I wonder how many people agree with me here because I certainly want to please, but in order to please, I don’t have to give up myself, and actually it’s more important to please myself than it is to please anybody else. I’m giving my heart, my body, my soul, everything to this character, I’m not going to do something because somebody wants me to do it. That doesn’t make any sense and, also, it makes me miserable and then I can’t do my best work. And so if I feel the opportunities that are being given to me aren’t the right ones, then I have to stick my neck out and go, “Hey, I think I could maybe do this, if you’ll give me the opportunity to try.”

How about you, Elizabeth?

OLSEN [In the beginning,] I was just trying so hard to not be put in a box that that’s what was guiding my choices. I knew that I didn’t want to be an actor who was thought of as “youthful and beautiful” and whatever that attachment people like to put onto young women, and so I did everything in my power not [to be seen as] that. But I didn’t have my own pillars of why I wanted to do things beyond just the character. That started to solidify only in the last five years. So I made a lot of odd decisions [after theater school at NYU] because I didn’t know enough about film and the machine of it. Right, Sarah? You were there for that time. We were in Martha Marcy May Marlene, and I remember someone asked me, “You had Sarah Paulson with you, didn’t you know it could be a film people saw?” And I was like …

PAULSON You were like, “Who the fuck is Sarah Paulson?” (Laughter.)

OLSEN No, but independent cinema to me was just, like, going to Quad Cinema in New York and seeing a movie. The theater world is all I understood. So I feel like a moron for going back to theater only once in 10 years. And this conversation with Gillian right now is inspiring.

In light of Elizabeth’s concern about the trap of being perceived as “youthful and beautiful,” how would you all complete this sentence: I wish our male counterparts also had to …

OLSEN Deal with lighting and hair and makeup before doing press. I don’t know what I’m doing.

ERIVO Deal with people believing that you’ve lost your sexuality after the age of 30.

TAYLOR-JOY Had an understanding of what it was like to walk into a room and sometimes have to enforce yourself for people to take you seriously. That ability to just walk into a room and go, “I am valid, I own my space and everybody respects me” — it would be good if they knew what it was like to not have that.

ERIVO And on the flip side, to not have to deal with walking into the room and trying to make sure people aren’t scared of you when you get there.

What do you all know now that you wish you could have told yourself at the beginning of your career?

PAULSON I would like to have told myself that I didn’t need to excise myself from the experience. I was very focused on looking at other actors who had careers that I admired when I was first starting out and wondering what it was about them that made it possible for them to be chosen or employed and I’d often try, in an audition or a social setting, to mimic what I imagined was the desired effect, taking me out of the scenario. And there’s this beautiful Martha Graham-to-Agnes de Mille letter that I used to keep in a dressing room any time I was doing a play, about how there is only one you in all of time and space and that what you see and how you experience things is unique to you. And if you block it, the world will not have it. And as a young person, I thought, “Mute me, mute my opinions, my thoughts, my assessments and try to fill it with other things,” and now I think it’s the exact opposite, so I wish I had known that earlier. But I’ll take knowing it now [over] never knowing it at all.

RODRIGUEZ I would have told my younger self that my existence is worth it. When I was younger, I tried to fit into this mold of what a woman should do — you know, keep your legs crossed, always bow down to a man. But we don’t have to live in that world anymore. It’s a new day.

It is, and that’s a good place to end. Thank you all for sharing your time and your stories.

ERIVO I know we’re supposed to finish, but do you know what’s occurred to me as I’ve listened to every one of you? I remember where I was when I watched every single one of you — and I remember what I was dealing with or going through. I was watching you, Sarah, when I was shooting Aretha. I was watching you, Elizabeth, when I was in London on my own, and you, Anya, when I was in Atlanta. Mj, I remember watching a season of Pose while I was shooting The Outsider. And Gillian, I watched you when I was in a hotel with my partner outside of London. And I remember what happened. And so your performances aren’t just brilliant, your performances get to be Post-its in all of our lives, and so I thank you for that.

PAULSON That’s a very beautiful way to put it …

ANDERSON It also brings us back full circle to what Anya said at the beginning, which is, “Oh my God, I have to keep reminding myself that people are going to watch this.” But actually, thank God that people are watching it, because we’ve touched each other’s lives and numerous other people’s lives just by focusing on the thing that we love most.

TAYLOR-JOY And the importance of these conversations is the honesty, because it’s very easy for us to get locked into our own heads of this as an individual experience — “There’s something wrong with me,” or “Everybody else is doing really great and nobody else grieves their characters,” or whatever your version of that is in whatever industry you’re in. But having honest conversations with people who are willing to be vulnerable just makes me feel so much less alone.

PAULSON The next time you feel that way, text me. I’ll remind you. I’d also like to say that there’s this [perception] of women being pitted against one another and not being there for one another, and this conversation is diametrically opposed, in that what we are actually saying is that each of us has been buoyed by and inspired by the work of everyone here. So, I may not watch anything I do, but I sure as hell am watching all of you.

Press: “It’s a New Day”: THR Drama Actress Roundtable was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla

[we-love-imagines]

Christmas Countdown, Christmas Day: Simple Traditions

Jotaro isn’t big on holidays, but you two share a few special moments every year.

(a/n): And we’re done! Thank you all for reading! The Jotaro simp in me couldn’t resist saving him for Christmas! It does get a tad angsty. Please enjoy, and Happy Holidays!

Ao3 Link

The first Christmas you spent with Jotaro was in the middle of the Egyptian desert. As the others slept, the two of you lit a cigarette under the stars, talking about anything and everything in the chilly desert air. Both just teenagers back then, time easily slipped away from you as you saw the sun rise over the horizon. 

After all the drama and heartbreak following your trip to Egypt, you two found yourselves living near each other in Tokyo. Despite this, you never saw him much; he liked to keep busy while you tried your best to live a normal life after everything. 

However, you always made a point to see him and share a cigarette on Christmas.

It was a simple tradition that evolved over the years, starting simply with you two smoking on your apartment’s balcony. Over the years as you two matured, you started smoking fancier cigars and taking a drive around the city to look at the Christmas lights. The cigars didn’t stay long, as you both quit smoking, and were swapped with sharing an aged scotch or bourbon. 

You both lived your own lives, rarely hearing from each other during the year proper. One year after another, he would come to you on December twenty-fifth, telling you about his escapades. One year, he came to you with his college adventures, another with a steady girlfriend, then with a wife and a baby on the way.  The Christmas after that, he brought you a polaroid of his infant daughter, Jolyne. 

You remember how your heart hurt at the photo, how a man you considered to be one of your best friends had a whole life outside of you. While he was married with a baby, you couldn’t keep relationships going for more than a few dates. What occurred in Egypt still haunted you, and it felt hard to try and be with someone who couldn’t understand your experience. 

Another few Christmas’ went by, your heart swelling every time you saw Jotaro’s little smile as you two greeted each other. You flew to America to see him one year, seeing as he had to be with his real family for Christmas, and you spent a great night drinking with him in his Florida home after meeting his wife and child. However, you could tell the married couple was on the rocks; only a few words were exchanged between them before she denied your invitation to join them. The next Christmas, you noticed how he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. The one after that, they were officially separated.

Now you were with him once again, rubbing your hands together to stave off the cold. While you would usually drive around to observe the holiday lights, his car wouldn’t start, so he insisted on walking you home himself. The evening air was crisp, no wind blowing through as the world was silent and still for the two of you. His neighbors were certainly festive, all of their houses lined with little twinkly lights and tacky blow-ups. The bright colors reflected off of his white coat nicely, you noticed, the gold accents shining at you as you two strolled down the sidewalk. Occasionally, one of you would comment on one of the houses, but this year, you two were oddly quiet. It was officially ten years since everything went down- perhaps you both weren’t in a very festive mood.

He looked over to find your sullen expression, trying to hide his own as he sighed. Wordlessly, he reached for your hand, taking you by surprise. You knew he wasn’t much for physical contact, let alone PDA- but it was nice. His warm hand tenderly squeezed yours as you turned to look up at him.

“Jotaro?” you asked him, squeezing his hand back. His eyes met yours, both of your brows knit in quiet sorrow. You had stopped crying over everything- everyone- a long time ago, but tears threatened to prick at your eyes as you knew he felt the same pain as you.

“I feel it too,” he speaks after a moment, confirming your thoughts, “I know this time of year is hard for both of us. Even the old man gets sentimental around now.”

Silently, your hands went from simply clasping one another to intertwining your fingers, rubbing your thumb along the back of his hand as you somberly nodded. Without another word, you continued down the road, your steps slowing as you tried to lock this moment in your memory forever. Secretly, you always hoped you and Jotaro would end up together. He shared your trauma and was the only person who truly understood it. Processing everything as a teenager was hard-especially knowing you had to keep it all a secret.

“Jotaro,” you halted, speaking before you could think, “I need to tell you something.” Stopping, he turned to face you as you spoke.

“I just need you to know this is my favorite day of the year.” you tell him, your face turning red despite the cold.

“It’s a lot of people’s favorite day of the year, (y/n),” he dryly replies, only deepening the blush on your face.

“It’s my favorite day because of you!” You admit, his eyes widening in surprise as you start to ramble, “I look forward to spending Christmas with you all year, all because I’m so excited to see you. Hell, I write down the most interesting things I do all year so I don’t forget to tell you! I just- I miss you so much when you’re gone. I wish I could talk to you everyday instead of just the one!”

Looking down, Jotaro’s eyes narrow as he thinks over your words. Watching him nervously, you mentally chastise yourself for being so forward with him. Despite being a very forward person, he was never good at dealing with other people. Especially when it came down to feelings. You fear that you may have overwhelmed him.

“...I didn’t know you felt the same way.”

Perking up at his response, you watch as his shoulders relax. You’re startled when he grips your hand a tad tighter, having nearly forgotten the intimate gesture shared between you two.

“I just-” you begin, as he hesitantly meets your eyes again, “I feel like you’re the only person I can really talk to. After everything that happened, we can’t lead normal lives.”

“-Trust me, I get it,” Jotaro surprisingly cuts you off, “I’ve tried having a normal life, and we both saw how that panned out.”

You both looked back at each other, the sorrowful expressions melting away as tiny smiles creeped onto your faces. Much to your surprise, a little snicker left his lips. You couldn’t remember the last time you heard his laughter, the light, low chuckle only growing as you laughed along with him. 

“We’re both hopeless, aren’t we?” you giggle out, the laughter dying down after a moment as you both caught your breath.

“Yeah,” he grinned, pausing a moment to gulp before he continued to speak, “But we can be hopeless together.”

Cautiously, you inch closer to him, releasing his hand as you go to wrap your arms around him. You watch him closely to see if he flinches, but oddly, he reciprocates. As you reach up around his neck, he pulls you closer, his large arms loosely gripping the small of your back. Melting into the embrace, you set your head against his warm chest, listening to his calm heartbeat as you heat each other from the frigid weather.

“Polnareff barely writes anymore, and the Old Man- well, he’s just getting older,” Jotaro comments, the massive man looking down over you, ”It’s so hard. Dealing with all of the grief alone.”

“We don’t have to anymore,” you nuzzle into him, smiling like a giddy schoolgirl, “I love you, Jojo. I want it to be Christmas everyday.”

You don’t see it, but he blushes at your words, raising one of his hands to pat at the back of your head. He doesn’t respond as you pull away from him, but his uncharacteristic smile and tender eyes as he takes your hand again says enough.

Little did you know, you’d be doing this in your shared home next Christmas.

#jjba x reader #jjba #Jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #part 4 jotaro #4taro #inbox is open! #Christmas Countdown #fluff #angst

[irritatedandroid]

The Fire Burns Bright

A Personal Essay From an Alolan Marowak -Jasper (@irritatedandroid, @irritatedDroid)

Summary: Below the cut, this is a personal essay written by Jasper on his experiences with being an Alolan Marowak fictherian and fictionkind. Personal experience, discussion of awakening, shifts, instincts, animality, culture and spirituality are elaborated on alongside a critical view on community narratives and boundaries.

CWs: In-depth look on death, personal experiences with death

   I find there isn’t enough discussion on the fact that nonhumanity can be approached from multiple different angles and axis, instead treated like a hard binary of animality vs humanity - or if you’re lucky, a two-way spectrum. I’m someone who is nonhuman through and through, but the way in which I can experience being “other” from humanity can shift wildly. A strong sense of animality is brought on when shifted towards my Alolan Marowak fictotype - enough that I tend to strongly identify with the word fictherian. Though that sense of animality is its own thing, and is a wholly separate scale from the nonhumanity I experience when shifted towards my android kintype. But the experiences drawn from being an android could fill an essay of their own. We’re here to discuss the Marowak.

   Both very not human, both very “other”, but a wholly different view upon what it means to be human and not human respectively. And I suspect the scale my Marowak self experiences may be different as well from the scale any given earthen animal may experience. Similar enough to where therianthrope discussion rings loud mental bells of familiarity and understanding, but still something else worth acknowledging. After all, how many earthen animal therianthropes feel the raw instinct of fire breath? Were-dragons however may understand that one well. And yet that animality is not something to be ignored or to set aside entirely even if the axis runs at a slightly off angle in comparison.

   My name is Jasper, and some of you might know me, I’ve been around the community for a couple of years. Some folks even remember the internal grapple with identity and understanding that I had when I started being unable to deny I am an Alolan Marowak. The moment when the Alolan Marowak design was teased, and I had pointed out the familiarity as well as the typing before it was actually shown. There was a moment then when experiences and vague, blurry memories I’d held onto quietly for years without the priority of digging in deeper - as I was already busy with questioning and understanding my android kintype - became an absolute priority of mine to understand further.

   I often half-joke about how my “awakening” as discussed in nonhuman communities was completely rocky, as it was. It was less a solid awakening, and more multiple years of slowly accepting and embracing aspects of my life that had always been present, which I had denied either to ease my own responsibility to myself or to appease others. Folks in the community may recall seeing me step into denial, and to substitute in any possible reptilian, fire-based creature I could in order to try and understand the experiences. Because how could I be a Pokemon? I’d been critical of fictionkin while diving into the community, something which when looking back was likely a compensation for already having been something odd and to be met with criticism - the android. I ran through a number of species when questioning: everything from earthen lizards, to draconic entities, to the elemental spirits of salamanders.

   There were multiple aspects absolutely vital to communicating what I was experiencing, those being a) instinct-driven and wild, reptilian, and b) inherently connected to the elements of fire and spirit. My thoughts could be as unflattering as a scavenger’s instinct, growing frustrated at any leftover food or uncleaned-up animal remains (which sure made living in a populated city interesting, with abandoned scraps of food everywhere and the leftovers of unfortunate urban creatures who tried their luck at crossing Yonge Street), or curious to try and make a meal for myself out of the live insects I keep to feed to my own little old leopard gecko, Saleen. Yes, she was named after a car. No, that is not important. Having her around does however provide an up close frame of reference to draw out my own lizard drives. In terms of food instincts, raw eggs are absolutely another tempter of mine, as my carnivorous scavenger self would have been ecstatic to see a nest of unattended eggs to make a meal of. As I’ve learned due to that raw eggs absolutely suck, please cook them. It’s much better that way. But embarrassing nonhumanity stories will always be embarrassing.

   Some of us Marowak - especially the males like myself - could become quite territorial. And that territorial feeling is something I’ve had to settle in my mind over life. Nowadays it’s decently well integrated, but it does now and then try my patience especially when it comes to setting out what is for me and what belongs strictly to me. Renting a small apartment in a populated city, once again, does definitely force you to keep the “this land is mine and it belongs to me, so screw off before you chase off my dinner” thoughts in check. A bit of human humbling for an animal’s self thought. I’ve of course needed to remind myself a number of times that the tourists in the train station on my way to work, while annoying, won’t manage to chase off the Tim Hortons I’ll be eating on my break.

   But in the wild frontier of the Pokemon world, predator and prey dynamics were absolutely important to know and understand - and those dynamics reach beyond game mechanics such as elemental types and abilities. Even as a carnivore, scavenger and troublesome predator that I was when I reached the age of a full-grown Marowak, I still was in a dangerous spot on the food chain. The worst predators I’ve had to deal with while working to survive in my ecosystems were other Fire types, intriguingly. Even as a small Ground type Cubone. The fact that Cubones wear the skull of their lost mothers was something I am familiar with, my own having been taken down by a Charizard. This natural order of predation is both a major part of my animalistic experiences as a Marowak, but also did tie into my more sophisticated or spiritually-focused aspects that stemmed from my Pokemon identity and lifetime.

   All of this lead to an animality-focused time in figuring out what I was, to the point where when I was in denial of the possibility of being a Pokemon, I identified myself as a theriomythic, fire-oriented reptile. And the animality definitely tends to lead the discussion upon how I live and experience being an Alolan Marowak. I sometimes joke that you could strip that side of my life down to the bare essentials and I’d be a lizard hanging out by a campfire. Though it certainly isn’t every aspect of me, as the Marowak.

   At times I think on the term theriomythic, and how it could be extremely valuable in describing more than just “animal but from myth”, but to also communicate experiencing the self on a spectrum of animality and mythicality. In my case this spectrum is very much there, and the aspects of experience that make up me as the Marowak are scattered along it. All aspects are important to me and how I live as myself, as well as how I understand my own fictional animality and nonhumanity.

   The Marowak, despite being a wild animal in how I recall and experience my species, do have a displayed aspect of culture and even spirituality. Setting aside the fictional wildness of being able to summon up fire at will to defend one’s turf, we’re shown to be able to interact comfortably with each other when it comes time for rituals, such as fire dancing at the sun rise and to mourn the lost. Mourning the lost is a large part of how one can experience being the Marowak as well, as it’s a pretty integral part of the species’ canon lore, starting from when we’re little baby Cubones. For those unfamiliar with Pokemon lore, a Cubone wears the skull of its dead mother Marowak. Adorning bones in a sort of ritual to mourn is something that I can’t say I’ve seen an earthen animal do. If you have then please do let me know, because it interests me a lot. But all I can say about it in my own drives and thoughts is that it’s just what we do, it’s cultural. To cite the Pokedex, “MAROWAK is the evolved form of a CUBONE that has overcome its sadness at the loss of its mother and grown tough. This POKéMON’s tempered and hardened spirit is not easily broken” (Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire, 2002).

   The donning and weaponizing of bones is both symbolic and an act of mourning, but also an example of tool using similar to some of our world’s apes. The Pokedex talks of this vaguely, stating “It has been seen pounding boulders with the bone it carries in order to tap out messages to others” (Pokemon Gold, 1999). The various Pokedex entries theorize on where the bone clubs come from, some entries mentioning a graveyard specifically for Marowak existing in the world, where Cubone and Marowak get their bones. Some entries state this like fact, such as Pokemon Crystal, meanwhile others bring up this as a rumour, such as Pokemon Silver. In my experience, it’s a rumour. I’ve not seen a Marowak graveyard, my bone club first came from my mother. But the main referenced use of the bone club is as a weapon, and also as a method of overcoming grief and turning to viciousness. “It is small and was originally very weak. Its temperament turned ferocious when it began using bones.” (Pokemon X, 2013). In my case, the symbolic use of them is as a tool of war, transforming grief into a vicious will to fight on and survive. Due to this, I hold bones and particularly skulls as a sacred object and have my small collection of skulls I keep as comfort objects. With time, having a large femur bone similar in shape is a life goal.

   Though it does then get taken a step further, when peering in through the eyes of an Alolan variant Marowak. A spirituality that incorporates the dead and lost is brought in and becomes an extra step of important, crediting the Ghost type aspect alongside the Fire. Newer Pokedex entries focused on specifically this variant states “The bones it possesses were once its mother’s. Its mother’s regrets have become like a vengeful spirit protecting this Pokémon” (Pokemon Sun, 2016) and “It has transformed the spirit of its dear departed mother into flames, and tonight it will once again dance in mourning of others of its kind” (Pokemon Let’s Go, 2018). Spiritual awareness is very much accepted to be something that the Alolan Marowak possess and engage with openly, even building monuments to the lost as stated in the Generation 7 Pokedex entry: “Its custom is to mourn its lost companions. Mounds of dirt by the side of the road mark the graves of the Marowak” (Pokemon Moon, 2016).

   Culturally there is a lot to the Marowak’s experience, comparing and including both Alolan and Kantonian variants of the species. The species as I remember are mostly solitary but I do recall clan dynamics and groups especially among the Alolan variant. These groups were less for survival and more for the purpose of those ritual gatherings, mentioned above. At times I was very foreign to these clans, being a Kanto-born Cubone evolved in Alola (a fact supported in canon and proven in Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon via the ability to evolve a Kanto Marowak in Ultra Space). Behaviorally and culturally there are differences between Kanto and Alolan Marowak, brought on by how each looks at their situation differently. While an Alolan Marowak processes mourning in a more spiritual way, a Kanto Marowak becomes hardened by anger. “A MAROWAK is the evolved form of a CUBONE that has grown tough by overcoming the grief of losing its mother. Its tempered and hardened spirit is not easily broken,” (Pokemon Emerald, 2004). Because of this there was a separation between myself and the local Marowak that reinforced my solitary nature, and also influenced my introverted and almost outright nomadic nature in my current life and self. The fire dance under the sunrise was one known in canon. These rituals and dances are a custom humans in canon have taken notice to, and can even speculate the reasoning for. “This Pokémon sets the bone it holds on fire and dances through the night as a way to mourn its fallen allies” (Pokemon Sword, 2019). The fact that that cultural dynamic prevailed even through the difficulty of communicating is something that may be surprising, but a number of nonhumans know well that body language and tone of animal vocalizations can go a long way in communicating

   Ignoring these experiences would be a step towards cutting down and denying important experiences that affect me as a fictherian and as a Marowak. There’s important parts of how I experience being this Pokemon that are heavily grounded in a context of a mystical world where visibly potent acts of fantasy are possible unlike the world we are living in here. Some of these aspects can be emulated in more subtle ways through exploration of spirituality, religion and the occult. To dive deeper into that, I used to identify as Pagan, however now I practice what is called chaos magic. Chaos magic is a magical practice that developed in England in the 1960’s, working off of Austin Osman Spare’s occult practice and ideas. Chaos magic gave me an approach and freedom to incorporate what I know and remember as an Alolan Marowak into my every-day spirituality. Tailoring my spiritual beliefs and practices to focus on working with the element of fire, with spirits and the energy of death, bones, and to the very fabric of fiction crossing over into reality was extremely important as an avenue for me to explore the way my fictotype affects me in the modern day, and in the human body. This practice also gave me a bit of freedom to accept working with an entity from my source - Giratina - as a patron deity in pagan circles, which ultimately proved to be extremely valuable in exploring my own Pokemon identity. Practices like energy work, meditation, spirit work and visualization hit close to satisfying that need to be delved into the magical world we see in animation. And yet, even in these more sophisticated and fantastical experiences lie links back to the animality and to an inherent disconnect to humanity.

   One thing I always enjoy in therianthrope and non-humanoid otherkin discussions is an openness to discuss the instincts that are ugly, disturbing or outside of what one’s human morals would ever agree with in this life and time. And in a lot of cases these instincts and memories can become a lot more “ugly” than a scavenger’s drive to eat carcasses or the awareness and cynical eye needed to survive in a completely wild world. At times, a wild creature can have defense mechanisms or behaviors that to our human minds would seem outright malicious. And Pokemon, even in the whimsical canon, are no exception to that. Once again I’ll drag up a few Pokedex entries - as honestly the Pokedex is a wonderful thing for exploring the deeper aspects of a wild Pokemon - to illustrate my point. “When it beats opponents with its bone, the cursed flames spread to them. No amount of water will stop those flames from burning,” (Pokemon Ultra Moon, 2017) and “The cursed flames that light up the bone carried by this Pokémon are said to cause both mental and physical pain that will never fade” (Pokemon Shield, 2019).

   Yes, even the fun and magical world of Pokemon is no stranger to wild animals who inflict effects upon others that seem absolutely awful, and in some cases cruel. But, that’s survival in the animal kingdom, or in this case the Pokemon kingdom. It can be surprising to some that a person who’s fictotype hails from the fun and upbeat franchise that defined a number of childhoods may be hardened to the need to survive in a natural world. The things I know I had done to creatures who my childhood Pokemon fan self would have only wanted to hug, at least at a baseline mental state. In a shift, that’s a different story after all.

   But ultimately, this blend of experiences causes an interesting time in exploring myself within the general nonhuman community as it can be quite split up. Certain narratives of individual communities I can’t find myself fitting into, or find myself sitting in between. I settle into spaces focused on everything from therianthropy, to mythical otherkinity, and to fictionkinity, though there’s narratives and cultural aspects in every separated community that either are foreign to me or that I might confront as they expect clear-cut boxes between them which individuals can fit into. In therianthrope communities I’ve been one to criticize the expectation of a solid line between human and animal experiences, or in general animal vs non-animal with regards to forcing a further divide from the otherkin community. I’ve also been involved in discussion criticizing therian community narratives such as a shifting focus and the model of integration. The model of integration is interesting to me, as I experienced it in a way that I was unaware of at the time, particularly with my android kintype. My android kintype is almost fully integrated into me - I barely shift at all at least mentally. However my Marowak fictotype provides less integration, and my mental shifting will be a lot more noticeable against my baseline self. At times it can be as stark as appearing like a different person, or more accurately like a wild animal. But ultimately the differences in the closeness of each kintype draws up issues for me with the integration model, as well as having found it normalized a severe mental health issue I had with my traumagenic plurality at the time of “least integration”.

   The therianthrope community is far from the only community with narratives that put a barrier between me and relating, especially as members of each community push for further separation between individual branches of nonhuman experience and identity. I have trouble relating to humanoids when heavily shifted towards my Marowak self, and that puts a bit of a barrier between myself and the otherkin community’s more humanoid side - such as elven, fae, divine, angelic, etc. - as well as the fictionkin community’s focus on humanoid or completely story-driven fictionkind. I have no use for prioritized experiences within the fictionkin community such as finding canon-mates and creating aesthetics. Even in some Pokemon fictionkin specific communities I find I cannot relate often. My experience with my “Pokemanity” is heavily wild and animal-based as I was never caught, socialized with a human, or trained. In no way shape or form is my Pokemanity adjusted to interaction with humans, nor is it something that is settled down or subdued for human consumption unlike what my source was created for.

   In both otherkin, therian and even fictionkin communities there is a push towards prioritizing the narrative of a solid awakening. That’s one more focus in the communities that I struggle with, as like I said before, mine was a process of accepting bits of myself which spanned multiple years. Every part of me that is nonhuman has always been present within my life, though for almost two decades muted heavily.

   To draw back into my spiritual practice here, consider a practice known as shadow work. Shadow work is a practice that hybridizes spirituality and psychology, and describes the process of becoming aware of one’s shadow (the id, shadow archetype, or shadow aspect drawn from Carl Jung’s psychology) and working to integrate it into oneself by accepting the repressed parts of oneself that are pushed back and merged into the shadow. The shadow can be known as the unknown dark side of the personality, and I theorize that more nonhumans have undesirable aspects of their nonhumanity pushed onto their shadow than they might think they do, like I had done to my own Pokemanity for a number of years. In my case, I was slightly forced to tear into and meet my shadow aspects of my nonhumanity due to the fact that even upon immediately breaking into nonhuman communities, the specifics of what I was were already viewed with hostility and disbelief. In a way, it strengthened me. But with my shadow opened wide and not much held back, I can be a bit of a fire-starter in spaces where I speak my mind whether others want to hear it or not. And part of that is directly confronting the forced separation of animal vs non-animal, or the arbitrary ideas of what is a human experience and what is not.

   I can only best put forward my experience as a Pokemon through in-depth discussion, which I find tends to come across better in spaces where the experience of being by-and-large a feral animal is allowed without restraint. Ultimately a space I will thrive in most and be most open about my experiences and life as someone who is spiritually and psychologically an Alolan Marowak is one where I can discuss both my animality, my experience with fiction, my spiritual practice and the combination of these things that seem to be pushed into separate boxes. The Marowak serves a lot to my sense of self and to my life, and has psychological affects on me as well. It’s been a part of me that has fought through and survived when my life hit a rocky start early on, witnessing the death of my brother in childhood, and having loss and grief be present all around as I grew. The Marowak is both an inherent part and vital context in my life, as well as a symbol of my own endurance.

   Through it all, the fire burns bright.

Citations

Marowak POKÉDEX: Stats, MOVES, evolution & locations. (n.d.). Retrieved April 23, 2021, from https://pokemondb.net/pokedex/marowak

Chryssides, George D. (2012). Historical Dictionary of New Religious Movements (2 ed.). Rowman & Littlefield. p. 78. ISBN 978-0-8108-6194-7.

Jung, C.G. 1938. "Psychology and Religion." In Psychology and Religion: West and East, Collected Works of C.G. Jung 11. p. 131

Roberts, Gwilym Wyn, and Andrew Machon. 2015. Appreciative Healthcare Practice: A guide to compassionate, person-centred care. M&K. ISBN 1907830936. p. 71.

#essays #personal essay #fictherian #fictionkin #fictionkind #otherkin #otherkind #personal log #alolan marowak #death tw

[robininthelabyrinth]

So if you want can you write a continuation of that AU where NHS dies and NMJ loses it? Anything concerning that AU Bc on one hand I’m curious af about what would happen when NHS is brought back and how everyone is so happy that he’s back bc know NMJ would maybe calm down a little but on the other I really want to know LXC thoughts about this whole disaster?

part 1 here

Lan Xichen waited outside the Cloud Recesses, Shuoyue placed on his lap.

His home was in an uproar: the stories of what had happened in Lanling had come first, chilling the bone, and while they were still trying to decide if they believed it, news came that the Nie army, now swollen with cultivators desperate to use martial valor to escape destruction, was headed in the direction of Gusu. Lan Xichen had asked his uncle and brother to arrange the evacuation of both people and books, as many as possible – they at least had some practice after what had happened with the Wen sect, and sadly, for all of Lan Wangji’s strenuous effort, there were also fewer books to think of.

As for himself, he went to the small clearing down the mountain where visitors always arrived, especially those from Qinghe, and there he sat and waited.

Lan Xichen’s cultivation was extremely high; he did not flatter himself in thinking that in the cultivation world, the number of people who could rival him could be counted on one hand.

Nie Mingjue was the same.

If Nie Mingjue came – no. Lan Xichen should not cloud his mind with illusions. The Nie sect’s army was on its way; the question was not if Nie Mingjue was coming, it was when – and what would happen once he arrived.

If they would fight, and if they did, who would win, and what would happen next.

Lan Xichen still found the entire thing hard to believe. That Nie Mingjue would do such a terrible thing, that he would kill so many people without warning or declaration, without giving them a fair chance to fight back…it went against everything he knew of the man.

Nie Mingjue was not only his sworn brother, but his friend of many years – for the entire time he had known him, Nie Mingjue had always been well-meaning and well-intentioned, upright and righteous, even sometimes too strict with it, unwilling to give allowances for weakness. He’d always wanted to do the right thing. Even when they’d met as children, brought along to observe the sect leaders’ talks during the Discussion Conferences and bonding over the boredom of it, he had always thought first of what he should do, of what was right. Both for himself, and for his younger brother.

They’d bonded over that, too: Lan Xichen had Wangji, and Nie Mingjue had Huaisang.

He didn’t have Huaisang any longer.

That didn’t seem real, either.

Little Huaisang, with his fans and his laziness, his curving eyes as he smiled and the coquettish way he whined about the burden of having to practice his saber – gone, now. Gone forever.

Lan Xichen might have understood it if he’d died during the war. But to have it happen now, now, when they were meant to be at peace…

He still had the first letter he’d received informing him of the tragedy. It was in Jin Guangyao’s handwriting, each line thick with devastation: an accident, he’d said. Nie Huaisang had gotten lost on a night-hunt, ended up somewhere dangerous, an area that unexpectedly contained fearsome creatures that no one had expected to be there, and with his low cultivation…Jin Guangyao had blamed himself for not keeping a closer watch on him, for having allowed him to come along, for all of it, even though it seemed quite clear from the letter that he could not truly be held accountable.

You must tell me how I can break this news to da-ge, Jin Guangyao had written. You do not know how it pains me to think of what this will do to him. He will blame me, as I blame myself – I would not mind it even if he beat me; it would help assuage the pain I feel at what has come to pass on my watch. But you know that da-ge has always been suspicious of me beyond all reason, and there are those who ascribe malice to all of my actions: how can I convince him that this result was not something I desired?

Lan Xichen’s first instinct had been to volunteer to break the news to Nie Mingjue himself. It would be painful, seeing his friend’s heart break – he’d seen so many hearts break during the war, his own not least of all at hearing of his father’s death; there were widows and widowers, children losing their parents before their time and white-haired parents burying their black-haired children, brothers and sisters all…this would have been the worst of the lot. But surely it would be better coming from him than any other?

Surely he would be able to calm Nie Mingjue and offer comfort to his grief; yes, better it be him than yet another pointless fight between his two sworn brothers.

There was a draft letter on his desk, half-written, that told Jin Guangyao to wait for him, that he would come, that he would stand by his side so that he wouldn’t have to explain it alone –

He’d never had a chance to finish it.

Who knew how he’d found out, but Nie Mingjue had come to Lanling to collect his brother’s body the very next day. He hadn’t said anything, ignoring greetings and condolences alike, disregarding all offers for him to rest or eat something to recover his strength; he merely picked up Nie Huaisang’s corpse from the coffin it had been tentatively laid to rest in and walked right back out again.

One report claimed that he hadn’t said a word the whole time.

Perhaps there had been another letter, half-written just like his own, on Jin Guangyao’s desk: laying out his worry at Nie Mingjue’s unusual silence, expressing concern for Nie Mingjue’s health – especially given his temperament, which had lately been worsening – and asking for advice…

Lan Xichen would never know, now. Jin Guangyao’s desk at Lanling was very likely ashes, along with any letter that it might have contained – Jin Guangyao himself, too, was likely…

There was a disturbance in the air, and Lan Xichen raised his head.

A single figure approached, the familiar shape unmistakable.

Alone.

Lan Xichen’s fingers tightened for a moment, and then released.

Lan Xichen waited until Nie Mingjue had jumped down from his saber, Baxia obediently returning to his back – his back, not his hand, which he supposed was a good sign, just as coming without his army was a good sign. It meant that there was still room to talk.

Nie Mingjue didn’t do anything after that, though: he did not greet Lan Xichen at all, a minor breach of etiquette that Lan Xichen would have been amused by if he hadn’t heard of far worse breaches by Nie Mingjue lately, not merely of etiquette but even of basic morality, of righteousness itself, of the laws of war that Nie Mingjue had once valued so highly…

Eventually, the silence became too much, and so Lan Xichen spoke first. “You took longer to come here than I expected.”

The stories said that anyone who could have had anything to do with Nie Huaisang’s death was being hunted – anyone who benefited, anyone who stood by and did nothing, anyone related in any way at all. Most certainly anyone who was involved in setting it up.

By that standard, Nie Mingjue should have come here much faster.

After all, it had been Lan Xichen who had urged Nie Huaisang to visit Lanling, knowing that Jin Guangyao wanted to see him, knowing, too, that his sworn brother hoped to use his kindness towards the little brother as a means of appeasing the elder; it was he who had convinced Nie Mingjue to allow the visit, he who paved the path that had led to Nie Huaisang’s dead end –

If Nie Huaisang had truly been murdered, and Jin Guangyao in fact the culprit, the way the stories said – the stories that must be wrong – then the very next one to blame would be Lan Xichen himself.

“We were friends,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen winced involuntarily at the inclusion of the word that meant that it was something that had been in the past, and was no longer.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t angry in the way Lan Xichen would have found familiar: rage that consumed him, yelling and harsh gestures, even breaking things around him. His voice was heavy as stone and just as indifferent, and looking into his eyes – if Lan Xichen couldn’t sense his friend’s overwhelming yang energy, same as it ever was, he might have thought that it was Nie Mingjue who had died instead of Nie Huaisang.

“How sure are you?” Lan Xichen asked, rather than deal with that – with what that meant. With the suggestion that Nie Mingjue would have preferred to spare him, for their past friendship, but that in the end he had decided that he couldn’t.

With the suggestion that it was, in fact, still Nie Mingjue underneath there: the old familiar one, who argued long and loud that principle should be the most important thing – more than friendship, more than mercy, more than anything, except maybe the overriding principles of filial duty and familial responsibility.

It wasn’t some demon who had grown out of a broken heart, some possession or afflicted temperament; it wasn’t even a qi deviation that twisted a good man’s character into something else.

It was Nie Mingjue, who had once been his friend.

“How sure are you that it was him that caused it?” he asked again. It was pointless to argue in Jin Guangyao’s defense one final time, futile, his friend was dead, as dead as Nie Huaisang was, but perhaps it could help him rescue this friend from his madness – or rescue Lan Xichen and his sect from the man’s blade. Nie Mingjue’s paranoia had been worsening recently, along with his temperament, but Lan Xichen had never dreamed it would end up like this. “That it was – that it was intentional, malicious? They say you never asked for an explanation, so how can you be certain that –”

“I am sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “There can be no doubt. Men lie. Sabers don’t.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Huaisang had his saber with him when died,” Nie Mingjue said - explaining, patient, the way he was in the best of times. He didn’t seem like the insane killer that had destroyed an entire sect, and it certainly didn’t seem as though he were about to try to stab him with Baxia.

Lan Xichen might have preferred that. He didn’t know what to do with a Nie Mingjue as indifferent as the dead.

“I told you long ago that the Nie sect buries sabers, not people, and I told you why,” Nie Mingjue continued. “I told you about the saber spirits, how they long to destroy evil…Huaisang was a terrible cultivator, but he’s still a Nie, he still has a golden core, and his saber has a spirit, however weak, that is capable of desiring vengeance. Why would I bother asking a nest of snakes to lie to me? His saber knew what his final moments were like.”

Lan Xichen shuddered, realizing what that meant. “You – saw them?”

“I did.”

“You saw Huaisang die,” Lan Xichen repeated, the horror of it afresh: bad enough that Nie Mingjue’s brother had died – the thought of losing Lan Wangji causing an automatic burst of empathetic pain – but to think that Nie Mingjue had watched, had seen it the way he’d seen his father’s final moments…no wonder the man had lost his mind and morals. “And…A-Yao…you saw him…?”

“We three swore an oath not to betray each other, or to give aid to anyone who did,” Nie Mingjue said. “All of us, the three of us – do you remember? Whoever did so would face a thousand accusing fingers, be torn from limb to limb…do you remember?”

“I remember,” Lan Xichen said.

“I am here,” Nie Mingjue said, and his tone was still indifferent, still like stone, “in fulfillment of that oath.”

Lan Xichen’s fingers tightened around Shuoyue. “You blame me.”

Nie Mingjue did not respond, but then, he didn’t need to. It was Lan Xichen who insisted, time and time again, that Jin Guangyao be trusted – it was he who had arranged the entire outing. It had been his idea…at Jin Guangyao’s suggestion, yes, but he had accepted the idea and presented it as his own.

He had done it because he’d known Nie Mingjue would have refused if it had come from Jin Guangyao directly.

Jin Guangyao had known that, too. Had he – on purpose –

No. Surely not. The A-Yao he’d known would never have done that.

But – this wasn’t merely paranoia or dislike, the way he thought it would be based on Jin Guangyao’s fears in his letter. No: Nie Mingjue claimed to have seen it. And whatever he had seen, it had given him the certainty he required to take his saber to the entire Jin sect, man and woman alike, in a night attack of the sort he’d refused to wage even against the Wens, who he hated. A vicious attack, like a dog that had lost all reason.

Lan Xichen didn’t know what to believe.

“I understand your grief,” Lan Xichen said, and he did. If it had been Wangji… “Did you have to kill them all?”

“Kill the chicken to warn the monkey,” Nie Mingjue said simply. “No sect will ever style themselves as the inheritor of the Wens, whether in power or in willingness to – to sacrifice those they see as unnecessary, as a matter of politics.”

“And my sect? Let us say that I would acknowledge my guilt, and set down my sword – must they share my fate?”

“If I had not trusted in the reputation of the Lan sect, would I have believed you and let my enemy through the gates? Would Huaisang be dead now, if not for the renowned truthfulness of the Lan sect?”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. “If you will not spare my sect, I cannot set down my sword.”

“I’m sorry, Xichen. You had to learn one day that there are things for which an apology is not enough.”

Nie Mingjue genuinely looked saddened by it all; that was the worst of it. It would hurt him to fight Lan Xichen, to kill him; it would stain his soul to kill his sect, who he’d loved almost like a second home.

Still, it was not a surprise. Lan Xichen knew his friend too well: from the moment Nie Mingjue had decided to cast off his righteousness, to lift his saber in revenge, he would never have spared himself the consequences of that decision – that one of the men he’d have to kill would be his own friend, that he would be the one who burned down the Cloud Recesses this time.

The massacre at the Jin sect was an atrocity, but one that could be understood. The rest of it…even Nie Mingjue would never forgive himself for what he was about to do here. He would do it regardless, because he believed it had to be done, and when the work was done, Nie Huaisang avenged in a world filled with blood, Baxia’s last victim would very likely be Nie Mingjue himself.

Lan Xichen didn’t want to see that.

He didn’t know how to stop it, either.

He exhaled, hard, and stood up, unsheathing Shuoyue. “Then we fight.”

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said, and Baxia came to his hand; the steel seemed to glow red as if anticipating the blood it would soon draw. Baxia only did that in the presence of evil – it seemed Nie Mingjue’s saber agreed with the man’s assessment of the situation; Lan Xichen had been judged guilty, and sentenced accordingly. “We fight.”

part 3 here

#mdzs #lan xichen #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #yes there will be more of this don't worry #Anonymous #blackened nmj

[keanan1501]

Notable swaps: Dream & Tubbo, Fundy & Ranboo, DreamXD & Micheal

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentioned child death, attempted child murder, intrusive thoughts

Short synopsis: Tubbo escapes prison and heads to Logsteadshire to deal with Dream once and for all, instead he finds something intresting in Logsteadshire... or should i say someone? Tubbo swings his sword in a lazy arch, a pleased grin on his face as the sword's enchantments hum under his hand "This is perfect" he breathes, turning to face his three companions with a bright smile "You three did wonderfully! Sam, consider your debt repayed" The creeper hybrid huffs, eyeing Tubbo as if the younger male was nothing but dirt beneath his shoes "Whatever, just don't expect me to come running when that cranky hog starts chasing" Tubbo giggles, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him down, allowing Tubbo to pet Sam like one would pet a dog, the ram hybrid is blissfully ignorant of the creeper hissing in protest "Awe, Sam~ It almost sounds like you care for me~" he coos, and his bright smile transforms into something more sinister "Let Techno come, i escaped his 'unescapeable' prison after all. There's nothing that stupid pig can do that i can't counter"

Sam nods, a short and tight one, before he turns around and takes a few steps away from the group "Also, Tubbo. Keep away from Fundy, or else" Tubbo blinks, tilting his head slightly as Sam walks off, he'd known Fundy had moved in with Sam and Ponk shortly after L'manburg exploded, but for someone like Sam, who had rumors surrounding him about his heartlessness, warming up to the cheeky fox hybrid? That was something he didn't expect, he could feel excitement bubbling inside of him, Fundy was his little spy, and Sam and Ponk were both very powerful people, if his motto wasn't "the higher the risk the better the reward" he would have felt fear, unfortunately for Sam and Ponk, he only sees this as a challenge.

"Tubbo, everything alright?" right, he isn't alone. "I'm fine, just scheming" Tubbo shrugs Purpled's concern off, and smiles at Tommy, who is looking at him like he hung the moon and stars just for the blond, maybe he had, the white streak in Tommy's hair certainly proved he had. A small chuckle escapes his lips as he thought back to his now dead ally, Quackity, the duck hybrid had given him the revive book, allowing him to bring his two favorite toys back to life after their deaths, both now sporting a white streak amongst their usual brown and blond hair, proudly showing off the fact that they belong to him, that they're his toys, and noone else could ever hope to claim them.

Sure, Wilbur would have protested with every inch of his being if he could hear Tubbo now, but Tommy had accepted it, embraced it even, all he has to do is give Wilbur a nudge in the right direction, and his favorite toy will fall back into place, just like he'd done during exile. And Tubbo knows exactly how to give said first nudge, who better to target than Wilbur's best friend, his emotional support, his other half, his Dream?

Tubbo digs inside of his pocket, taking out a slightly dented but otherwise beautiful and functioning compass, the words "your Wilbur" carved into it with so much care, Tubbo could insult Phantommy in a lot of different ways, but he can't help but compliment the late ghost's designing skills and steady hands. Phantommy had given the compass to Dream, giving a similar one to Wilbur, except Wilbur's was labled with "your Dream" during exile, Tubbo wanted to tear Phantommy a new one right then and there, but he knew better. Phantommy wasn't Tommy, of course the silly ghost would think Wilbur belonged to Dream, he simply made a mistake, Wilbur belonged to Tubbo, not to Dream! So when Dream, Schlatt and Ranboo were attacked by a horde of creepers Tubbo swooped in and stole the compass, giving it to its rightful owner.

"I'm going to give a short visit to everyone's least favorite president" Tubbo announces, clicking the compass shut and stuffing it back into his pocket "Tommy, i trust you can distract Wilbur and Fundy long enough for me to have a pleasant chat with Dream?" the blond nods quickly, and Tubbo affectionately rolls his eyes, Tommy knows his place as Tubbo's toy, but even Tubbo is sometimes suprised by how much Tommy wants to please his "hero". The poor boy hadn't learned a thing in Pogtopia, had he? As soon as someone more powerful comes along Tubbo would drop Tommy like a stone, but until then Tubbo could enjoy soaking in the pure wonder and awe Tommy has for him.

The blond scurries off, and Tubbo turns to Purpled, smirks and winks, which causes the purple-hoodied male to grumble in either disgust or adoration, Tubbo liked to believe it is the latter "Don't forget i left Ranboo at the alter for you!" Tubbo shouts teasingly as he runs off, laughing as he could hear Purpled make fake gagging noises, definitely disgust.

The trek from the prison to Dream's new village... what was it called again? Logsteadshire or something? wasn't long, and Tubbo cringed as the buildings came into view. Sure, the odd mish-mash of dirt, stone, wood and diamond were passable as houses, but Dream never did have the best eye for design. Tubbo was glad Dream let Schlatt, Ranboo, Fundy, Ponk and Techno do most of the rebuilding for L'manburg, Blood God knows what Tubbo would have done if that stupid country was filled with Dream's odd shacks.

He wasn't here to bash on Dream, he was here to get his armor and weapons back, most notablely his sword "Wasp's Stinger" otherwise known as one of, if not the, most powerful weapon in his land. The dry sand crunches under his feet as he walks confidently across the sand, he could see Eret's kid, Junior, peeking out of one of the holes in the second biggest dirt shack, which must mean that Dream lives in the biggest shack.

Tubbo throws the door open with reckless abandon, walking in to the space like one would walk into their own house, he knows Dream isn't home yet, a good predator waits for their prey after all. He plops down on the couch, his ram ears perking up as the couch lets out a creaking noise, he can't help but wonder if the couch is older than him.

Then he freezes as hurried footsteps thunder down the stairs. Had he been wrong? Is Dream home? Is someone else here to housesit?

"Daddy! Daddy! Look!" Tubbo relaxes as a young ocelot hybrid comes around the corner, the kid couldn't be older then three, which means there is no threat. The kid is beaming, eyes screwed shut and a large droopy smile on their face as the kid proudly holds up a drawing containing four stick figures.

"I'm not your dad, kid" Tubbo chuckles "Sorry to disappoint you" the kid gasps and their round big cat ears pin back, their green eyes wide with both curiosity and fear. Tubbo blinks, and suddenly the ocelot hybrid is gone, and in their place is a ziglin, looking at him like Tubbo was the savior of the world, back then it had felt nice to have someone depend on him, now? It fills his chest with a burning emotion he can't quite place, a mix between grief, anger, confusion and betrayal. Michael can't look at him anymore, so why is he still looking at Micheal?

"Come sit kid, i won't hurt you" Tubbo pats the seat next to him, kids tended to overshare, he was going to use the kid to get some info on Dream, that was all, he wasn't being nice because the kid reminds him of Micheal, he's just being tactical. The kid slowly shuffles over, clutching the drawing like a lifeline, once the kid decides they're close enough he stops, and Tubbo leans forewards to inspect the drawing.

For a three year old he had to give the kid props, the lines looked good and he could make out who was who. Dream and Fundy are standing close together, the kid inbetween them, Wilbur is off to the side, but just like the three in the foreground the kid had drawn him with the biggest smile.

"Who did you draw?" Tubbo asks, looking at the kid with a genuinely curious expression, the kid glows at the question, and points to each stick figure in turn "That's my papa Dre! That's my daddy Funwy! And un'le Wilby! And me!" Tubbo nods, a small smile on his face, so what if the kid reminds him of Michael, noone would get hurt if he entertains the kid for a bit, right?

"Owl?" the kid asks, poking Tubbo in the leg and Tubbo chuckles "I'm not a owl, i'm a ram" he helpfully informs the kid, who pouts in response "Owl?" the kid asks again "You want to go see Wilbur?" Tubbo asks back, knowing Wilbur's wings were often compared to those of a owl, but the kid shakes their head, grabs a book, and flips through the pages. The kid holds up the book and presses it against Tubbo's face "Owl?" Tubbo backs away a bit so he can read the words on the page, it's a classic toddlers book, going over different animal sounds, and a lightbulb turns on in Tubbo's head "Are you asking me who i am?"

The kid nods, gleeful that Tubbo finally understands "I'm Tubbo, can you try saying my name?" Tubbo crouches next to the kid, gently grabbing the kid's hand and writes each letter of his name on the kid's palm, as the kid reads them out loud "T-u-b-b-o" a second of silence "T'bbi!" the kid cries victoriously, and Tubbo just puts his arms up in celebration with the kid, not having the heart to correct them.

"T'bbi, out?" the kid asks, looking at him with the biggest puppy eyes Tubbo's ever seen, how does this kid know his one weakness? Tubbo signs but smiles, opening the door, the kid rushes out and throws themself into the sand, letting out a screech of excitement "Daddy and papa do not let me out!" the kid babbles, making sand hills with such vigor that Tubbo can't help but admire the kid.

Would Micheal be like that if he'd hadn't...? His hand twitches. It was Dream's fault. The handle of his sword felt cold against his hand. He could get revenge. He takes a step forewards, his sword hanging limply by his side, when did he take it out of the scabbard? He could make Dream feel the same pain, the same dark spiral that he went through. His eyes flicker across the kid's body, quickly finding every weak point that would ensure a quick and painless death. He wasn't heartless, he wouldn't let the kid suffer. He puts his hand on the kid's cheek, the kid leans in to the touch, leaving their neck vulnerable. He wasn't a monster like Dream, he wouldn't leave the kid to bleed out, scared and alone.

He snaps from his thoughts as he feels  something rumble beneath his hand, his ears face towards the kid, flicking whenever he could pick up on the faint sound of purring. Tubbo quickly sheaths his sword, noone deserves to go through the loss of a child, not even his greatest enemy. He lets out a sigh and pats the kid on the head, the kid purring even louder.

His ears flick backwards, and he realizes someone is approaching, probably either Fundy or Dream, and as much as he wanted to stick around and taunt the two, the ocelot kid was too young to get wrapped up in their silly game of chess. "Hey kid? I have to go" the kid whines as Tubbo pulls his hand back, short stubby arms reach out to his hand, trying to grab hold of it, but Tubbo is faster, he jumps up and silently runs to the other side of house that the approaching person is coming from. He could hear the kid yell "Daddy!" loudly, the kid's feet kick up sand as they run towards Fundy, the fox hybrid's orange hair standing out against the pale sand "XD?!" Fundy asks, worry coating his tone like Tubbo coats things he likes with honey "How did you get outside?! Is Dream here?!"

"T'bbi!" the kid answers simply, and Tubbo could almost see the fear rolling off of Fundy in waves "Y-you aren't try-ing to say Tubbo, are you?" the kid doesn't answer verbally, but from Fundy's sharp intake of breath he could tell the kid confirmed Fundy's words.

"Tubbo?! I know you're here! I'm calling Techno!" Fundy barks, and Tubbo peeks around the corner to see Fundy typing something on his communicator. With a ease that clearly shows he's done this many times before Tubbo pulls out a bow & arrow and shoots, the arrow goes straight through Fundy's communicator, breaking it, leaving Fundy with no way to call for help, and judging by Fundy's startled yip, the fox knows it. Tubbo steps out in the open, and the kid reaches towards him with a delighted cry "T'bbi!" Fundy grabs the kid's arm and pulls them close, baring his teeth at Tubbo. The ram hybrid just smiles and walks towards them, hand already on his most dangerous weapon of all, eyes unmoving from Fundy's stone-still form. Tubbo whips out his most dangerous weapon and fires, Fundy letting out a screech as he's assaulted by twin streams of thick honey. Tubbo knew repurposing those water guns into honey guns was  a genius idea, he can't believe Sam doubted him.

"What?! Why?!" Fundy groans, trying to brush the sticky liquid out of his coat, but only succeeding in smearing it out more "Because, you and me, we're friends Fundy, best friends even!" Tubbo replies, walking past Fundy like he didn't just doom the poor fox to being a bee attraction for the next week "We're not friends!" Fundy snaps back, and Tubbo turns to face him, blue-green eyes almost seeming to glow in the light of dusk

"If we weren't friends, why would you help me so much? Blowing up the community house, spying on important events, guarding Wilbur's music disc, setting off the TNT trapping Wilbur in prison. All of those things are things that you did, things i asked you to do"

#dream smp au #dream smp #dsmp au #tubbo #fundy #dreamxd #swap au

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Toum Perdit (d.s.) - 7

A/N Guilty or generous 

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

One thing my parents always taught us while we were growing up was, when traveling, to never stay at the cheapest hotel. By no means should we break the bank to stay at a five-star resort but there was usually nothing good that came out of the cheapest option. I could see what they meant as Jonah and I climbed the metal stairs of the Lincoln Motel, the white paint peeling from the handrails and the steps creaking with each footfall. Once having been on the cover of Forbes, I no longer really needed to follow that guidance that my parents engrained in us since I could afford all the five-star hotels and resorts I so desired to stay at.

I mean, to be brutally fair, dear reader, my parents also taught us not to murder our spouses; so who knew how many lessons of theirs I had ignored in my lifetime.

I triple checked that my car was locked as we reached the top of the flight of stairs and headed down the carpeted outdoor hallway. Anyone who uses carpet outside should honestly not be trusted. This place already left a bad feeling in my stomach. Would saying it gave me murder house Psycho vibes be in poor taste? Possibly? Then please disregard that statement.

Number nineteen was right in the middle of the hallway. The brass number nine was set slightly crooked on the door. I caught myself tilting my head with its direction as if I were trying to stall. I swear if the person on the other side of the door slept with my wife I…I didn’t know what I would do but the thought of it made me sick.

“Are you going to knock?” Jonah tore me from my thoughts.

I swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

I raised my fist to the orange painted door and rapped a quick knock before taking a little step back. I habitually glanced over the railing to make sure no one was getting too close to my car.

The sound of the door creaking open had me turning back quickly to see who was on the other side. I expected a man and that’s who I was met with, simply the first glance of him making my jaw clench protectively.

He was short. Brown hair. Brown eyes. His patterned button up was undone halfway. Arms and neck littered in random tattoos. I eyed him up for a moment.

“Can I help you?” he asked, an obvious confused edge to his voice.

“Yeah, do you know an Avalon Seavey?” I pushed back at him strongly. I couldn’t help but straighten up around him just to have those few inches above him.

“Avalon? Yeah, I know her enough. Why?” he looked between Jonah and me.

I took off my sunglasses and tucked them in the collar of my shirt to see him better in the shadow of the motel balcony.

“I’m her husband.”

“Daniel.” he breathed with realization, his eyebrows raising as he stared at me.

“Yeah. Daniel. Who are you?” I asked sharply.

Jonah didn’t intervene through my anger, in fact, he looked just as concerned as I felt. I appreciated his willingness to let me have my moment to interrogate this guy.

“I’m Jack. How did you find me here?”

“I found your address in her phone.” I added.

“Oh, what a nice non-toxic relationship you have.” Jack mumbled.

“Excuse me?” I took a quick step towards him but Jonah grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

“I was not sleeping with your wife if that’s what you’re here getting all macho protective douche-bag about.” Jack assured me coolly. “We had nothing more than a professional relationship.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, staring at Jack’s unimpressed flat expression. He didn’t seem to be one to be phased by anything.

“Professional over what?” I pressed.

“Does Avalon know you’re here?” he ignored my question while he peeked around me as if to see her down the hallway or in the parking lot below.

I didn’t flinch as he looked around me. Little did he know that she was in fact right there with us.

“She’s dead.” Jonah answered.

I hadn’t realized I hadn’t replied to him for a few too many seconds but Jonah’s blunt response certainly brought be back to reality. I snapped my head towards him. Since when did we agree we were going to be telling people that?

“Oh.” Jack said flatly. “That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah…well…I wanted to see who you were…so…” I stumbled out ungracefully, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously with one hand. I dropped it with a sigh to my side again, “We’ll be going.”

“Hang on. Come in for a second.” Jack offered, stepping to the side and pushed the door open wider to let us on. “I gotta show you something.”

Jonah and I glanced at each other briefly before silently deciding to follow him into the motel room. I peeked over my shoulder to my car down in the lot once more before stepping over the threshold.

Jack seemed to sense my hesitation as he closed the door behind us, “I won’t keep you long. A nice car like that won’t last long around here unsupervised.”

I swallowed thickly, watching him walk across the messy motel room to the closet. Jonah and I stood just inside the door and the first thing I noticed was the bright teal wallpaper that even covered the ceiling, so bright and neon it was nearly blinding and it did not match the dark red floral print carpet at all. The bed had red bedsheets and a dark mahogany headboard that was more 1960s mirror panel than wood and beside it sat a single small round table with a fold out chair and a rotary phone on top. The bathroom sink and light oak vanity was outside of the bathroom in the main room which right away was another turn off to this already run-down place. I was no decorator, dear reader, but the sight of this motel room was nearly nauseating. And that’s said by someone who had a dead body stashed in their car trunk.

As Jack shuffled through the bi-fold closet for whatever he was looking for, I took a moment to take in my surroundings for more than just the initial shock of colour and pattern vomit that filled the place. The neon 80s themed picture above the bed was of the New York skyline which was strange since we were in Los Angeles, and the fact that there were two more mahogany framed mirrors along the other walls was unsettling. I tried not to meet my own reflection.

Jack had a suitcase laid out beside the mahogany dresser and it was tossed open and clothes were haphazardly thrown about it but the suitcase wasn’t the only spot for fabrics as every other available surface – including the small table in the corner – housed various piles of fabric scraps and scissors and pins and needles. The worst of it was the few bare mannequins laying under the window adjacent to the door.

“So…” I started slowly, turning back to Jack whose back was still turned to us, “How did you know my wife?”

“My business.” Jack answered. He pulled a jacket on a hanger from the back of the closet and dropped it on the table right on top of all the scraps and pins and mess. He grabbed one of the many pairs of scissors that were scattered around and snipped a few things that I couldn’t see from where we stood.

His dry answers to our questions had Jonah and I more suspicious as the time went past but we waited to give the guy the benefit of the doubt.

Jack finally turned around with a small smile and picked up the hanger to turn and face the black denim jacket towards us, “I’m a bit of a fashion designer I guess you can say and Avalon found my page on Instagram a few months back and she got in touch with me about making you a custom jacket.”

I didn’t know what to say. In all the words I could use, perfect was the only one that came to my mind as I stared at the jacket in his hand. Someone might see it as a mess of things but it was just my taste; chaos enough to pass as designer even. It housed red x’s painted over the right shoulder and a single white stripe down the left side that matched my surname on the bottom right front panel. He made sure to show each of the denim sleeves, cuffed at the bottom in black and red plaid and the left wrist had ‘honey’ printed in small white font – the nickname I always called her. The other sleeve had matching vertical white font spelling out ‘Only the Beginning’ which was the name of Jonah and my very own record company; the company that always caused the most hostility between Avalon and me. Jack finally turned the jacket around to show the back, the shoulder section sewn over with a lace that looked a hell of a lot like Avalon’s wedding dress and I found myself stunned into shocked silence. It was incredible.

I walked into that motel with no hopes of any sort but what I seemed to find amidst those disgusting teal walls was better than I ever could have expected.

I took a step forward to take the jacket from him, grazing the sleeve ever so gently with my fingers as if it were going to break under my touch. Jack passed it over and helped me slide it on to make sure it fit. He brushed his hands over my shoulders and down my back to smooth it out and directed me to one of the many mirrors that were glued to the motel wall.

“That jacket is fresh.” Jonah said.

“It’s…gorgeous.” I agreed softly, turning slightly to see the back in the mirror.

Jack spoke next as he watched me admire his work, “She worked me into the ground for this one. I kept having to restart because she kept saying it wasn’t perfect enough…I lost a fuck ton of materials and money through that…ended up getting evicted from my place because I wasn’t earning money to pay rent which is why I’m living in this shithole now but…she was adamant. Said it had to be perfect for you. We were going to meet up one last time once you two got back from your trip but…” he faded out with a sigh.

I turned to him, “You were evicted?”

“Oh,” Jack shrugged as if it was no big deal and sat down on the end of the bed, “Yeah. She said she couldn’t pay me right away and I assured her it was no big deal but then when money got tight I felt badly to ask for an advance. She was my only client, ya know? She worked me hard enough anyway to pass as my only customer but…with no pay…landlord ended up kicking me out and this was the cheapest place in the whole county. It’s such an absolute fucking dump here that my daughter isn’t allowed to come visit me until I get back on my feet…court said something about unfit living situations or some bullshit. Not like my ex needs anymore reasons to talk shit.”

“Shit…bro…I’m sorry.” I breathed.

“What can ya do?” Jack shrugged, sucking his teeth with a shake of his head. He stood up from the end of the bed, offering a dry, “She’s dead now anyway so…”

I turned to Jonah who gave me a look as if to just get out of there but I looked back in the mirror at the jacket I wore.

Goddammit.

I spoke to Jack through the mirror, “Do you take PayPal?”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15

#🔪 #daniel seavey #why dont we #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #daniel seavey fanfic #why dont we fanfic

[ask-de-writer]

CORAM’S HOPE : Part 4 of 8 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to the World of Sea

CORAM’S HOPE

Part 4 of 8

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

11835 words

© 2021 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may   reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge   for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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New to CORAM’S HOPE?  Read from the beginning HERE

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“I had to break the main-brace.  Doing it let the broken mast fall and kept your ship afloat.  If the Carsis Rising had gone over, she would almost certainly have taken both you and your son Seph to Dark Iren along with Mathilda.”  Darkistry saw Coram recovering his grip on the tackle and relaxed a little.  Coram seemed to be responding well to her intellectual approach.  He had a lot of grief to deal with. Darkistry understood grief all too well.

“The other part of your question deals with the Grandalor’s unique command structure.  We have a special commander called the Battle Commanding.  When preparing for or fighting any battle, that person is in charge of the entire ship.  It requires talents that don’t show up in normal officer’s training.  We choose our Battle Commandings by careful testing with simulation attacks.”  Shrugging modestly, Darkistry stated, “I am the best one that we have found so far.  The next best is Barad, our Lady’s husband, and after him, Kurin.

“It was Kurin who ordered me to plan the battle against the Secret Fleet before the Konning Captain could launch his uprising.”  She eyed Coram sideways and added, “Even as a deck hand in the Secret Fleet, you knew about that part of the Konning Captain’s plan.  

“He meant to attack the Naral Fleet while the ships were out fishing singly in their home waters.  He figured that attacking them two on one would assure him victory.  By taking out the Crossover and the Carsis Rising at the same time we proved that he was wrong about that, too.” Turning on her heel, Darkistry settled back to her vantage point on the line tub.

Coram felt rebuked.  In the stiff silence that followed, he could hear a soft voice singing a lullaby through the deck beneath his feet.  It was something to do with Paddle Ducks and Wide Wing sea hawks as near as he could gather.  It was Captain Tanlin who was singing and the song was in Arrakan. Shortly the Captain emerged from below decks.

Darkistry rose from her line tub and asked in concern, “My Lady, how is Kurin doing?”

Shaking her head sadly, Tanlin told Darkisry, “<Oi’ve got her ‘t sleep.  Oi hope that she con rest tonight.>”

It took Coram a moment to unsnarl Captain Tanlin’s simple statement.  He wasn’t alone in the Naral Fleet in finding Captain Tanlin’s thick Arrakan accent difficult to follow, though none of those who lived on the Grandalor seemed to share that difficulty.  Many of them spoke that tongue twisting language.

He knew that the Secret Fleet’s plans for conquest were wrong.  Still, it rankled that those of low rank who had no part in making those plans had been Scattered among the balance of the Naral Fleet, as if they were some sort of criminals.

Everyone on twelve ships had lost their homes, dignity, and hope for advancement. The Naral Fleet had treated the officers and Masters responsible for the abortive revolt like pirates.  Many had been sent on the long, final swim to Dark Iren.

His anger at the injustice of his treatment and the loss of his equally innocent wife, found an outlet in a small thing.  He sneered at his new Captain, “Captain Tanlin, having special titles beyond the fleet’s ranks was a charge laid against the officers and Masters of the Secret Fleet!  How convenient that they ignored yours, My Lady!”

He heard a small rattling of things being laid out on the deck.  Lit by the glow of the long nebula known as the Wake, he saw the shadowy figure of Darkistry, laying aside her daggers.  In shock, Coram realized that the Senior Helmsman was more heavily armed than any person of his experience.  Few ships anywhere would allow one person to carry so many deadly weapons.

The two big Lesser Dragon fang combat daggers from her sash sheaths already lay at Tanlin’s feet.  They were followed by her workaday six-inch Strong Skin tooth knife.  While she was bent over, she pulled another pair of smaller, needle-like ones from her boots.  The fangs of a Grimm’s eel, possibly.  As she straightened, Darkistry pulled yet another fourteen inch Wing Ray fang dagger from a sheath down behind her neck, under her shirt.  She finished by pulling four more needle-like daggers from wrist sheaths and adding them to the heap of weapons on the deck at the Captain's feet.

In a voice that quivered with a barely suppressed rage that Coram could feel was directed at him, Darkistry said, “My Lady, I have sworn to you that this man will be as safe in my care as the Dragons allow. Please watch these for me.  He still needs to learn our ways and if I kill him first, he will not.”

With utter sureness, Tanlin stooped and gathered the weapons.  Instead of keeping them, she began to had them back, one at a time.  Calmly, she told her Senior Steersman, “<Darkistry, our lives have lain in yer hands aften.  Ye dinna trust yersel’ just now but Oi trust ye.  Yer word’s as good as my Barad’s.  Ye’l nae break. Ye alway steer the true course.  Let me ‘splain it to ‘im.>”

Turning to Coram the Captain came near and sat herself comfortably on the laminated Strong Skin of the rail, one hand lightly gripping the rigging for balance.  Curiously, she asked, “<Wot’s a title?>”

Coram realized that he was in dangerous shallows with a reef ahead, at least with Darkistry.  He thought for a moment and said carefully, “A title is an honorific given or taken by an authority.  It’s purpose is both to define position in an organization and to separate the holder from those below in station.”

Tanlin nodded agreeably, “<Oi couldnae put it better, m’sel.  Use o’ the title’s mandatory. As ye said, it separates one.  Nae person o’ this ship need say My Lady to me.  

“<I was a first officer on the Princamorn, over there.>”  She casually waved a hand at the shadowy bulk of the dhow rigged vessel to port.  “<This custom started after she wa’ wrecked on a reef during a Dragon Tide.  The Grandalor rescued nearly all o’ us and salvaged m’ ship.  A fallin’ yard knocked me out and swept me overboard.

“<After four Wohans unconscious, Oi wake op.  The blow took all m’ people from m’ and left all else.  Nae a single soul could Oi remember.  Nae even m’sel. Oi was an empty ship sailin’ with nae crew at all.”

“<It wa’ Darkistry, there, started callin’ me My Lady for a name to use while Oi tried to recall m’ own name to mind.  Oi cannae count the hours she spent at m’ bedside, teachin’ me to read yer words and figure with yer numbers an’ tryin’ to help me to call any person at all to mind.

“<When it wa’ obvious that m’ name wa’ nae commin’ back, she began usin’ My Lady Tanlin, to tie m’ name to all that I knew o’ m’sel.  She was nae alone either.  Many o’ the ship’s company all came to help me an’ took up her custom.  Even Ca’tin Barad.  He an’ Oi came to be in love an’ later married.

“<What’s important here is this.  I wa’ given My Lady by a steersman wot cared.  It wa’ a way to hold me close.  There’s nae o’ separation in it an’ nane required to say it.  Such is still the usage.  In fact, until there’s respect in it, t’would be safer for ye to say Cat’in Tanlin, Cat’in, or just Tanlin.>”

Still angry, Coram retorted, “I know the reputation of this ship!  Your threat only bears it out!”

Darkistry bluntly asked him, “Do you know the difference between a threat and a warning?  That was a warning.  Such behavior will get you unarmed combat challenges.  You cannot refuse them without a public apology before your entire watch at Mess.  That is in the Articles of the Grandalor, which you signed.”

TO BE CONTINUED

<==Previous ~ NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to the World of Sea

#CORAM’S HOPE #Part 4 of 8 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

[drlauralwalsh]

You and Your Grieving Parts

Do you ever think about your...parts?  No, not those parts, you mischievous little spark plug!  I mean inside your mind - the parts that get weird ideas, warn against danger, are mean to you, and tell you to engage in late-night food rituals.  That last part might just be me.  Seriously though, I’ve been doing some research into the parts of my mind. The idea that our minds have “parts” is not a new idea. Like right now, a part of me wants to keep writing to you and another part just wants to nap. Oh the drama inside! There is one theory that explains this and it has intrigued me since grad school: Internal Family Systems.

INTERNAL FAMILY SYSTEMS (IFS) THEORY

The IFS theory believes that the mind is made up of a number of sub-personalities or parts, each with their own set of beliefs, opinions, and responses, and that interact with each other.  At the core is the Self, which has the ability to lead the parts but isn’t always up to the task.  No single part is bad but like an orchestra, the parts can be in harmony or honk cacophonously like a flock of agitated geese.

Along with the core Self, IFS sorts the other parts into categories by function: Managers, Firefighters, and Exiles.  Managers and Firefighters protect you from feeling the pain of the Exile parts.  They have the same goals but use different strategies.  Managers constrict and hold you back while Firefighters automatically react and let it rip.

MANAGERS

Manager parts proactively run the day to day operations of the system and are considered the most “acceptable” parts because they say very adult things and sound most like the core Self.  They maintain balance within you through control.  Managers parts are perfectionist, judgmental, self critical or people pleasing.  They want to prevent humiliation and abandonment by keeping you busy, criticizing what you do, worrying, sabotaging connections, and generally being a control freak.  They strongly believe in self sufficiency and are generally relentless, exacting, chastising and sometimes, anxious and depressed.  They’re really good at giving you a false sense of security by telling you it’s doing it so you’ll look good to others.  A typical Manager thought is, “You really should stop bothering people with your sob story.”

FIREFIGHTERS

Firefighters are your first responders.  They automatically fly out the door to rescue you when something hits too close to home.  They extinguish the fire of pain by smothering or creating a diversion.  They attack “enemies” and get defensive in an effort to control or suffocate emotions.  These are the parts that have anger issues, spending too much money, drink too much or use drugs, get obsessive or suicidal, self harm, or dissociate.  They like to eat too much. binge watch TV and endlessly play video games for hours.  They don’t give a crap about the goody-goody manager parts.  Those weenies don’t know what it’s like to charge heroically into danger.  Firefighters are really good at distracting you from upsetting, painful or overwhelming feelings.  A typical Firefighter part thinks it’s better to rage than to show vulnerability - even in the privacy of your own head.

EXILES

As a psychologist, I get to see other people’s Exile parts more than the average person.  I’ve developed such a knack for it that the Managers and Firefighters appear almost transparent.  When I’m interacting with someone who’s leading with one of those parts, I can see through to the Exile it’s protecting.  Just wish I could more reliably turn that super power on myself!  Exiles are the younger parts that hold pain from the past.  You compartmentalize and isolate them from the rest of the system for their safety and stability in the system.  Because of their vulnerability, they also seem kind of dangerous.  They’re the parts of you that are scared of being abandoned, get intimidated, experienced trauma, and feel a lot of shame.  This is where the Big Four live - not good enough, too much, if you really knew me, and everyone leaves.

Exiles are desperate to tell their story but Managers pessimistically believe your pain is a burden to others. Firefighters flat out refuse to put you in danger of being hurt again.  If a sad, little kid part of you revealed a disgusting longing for an authority figure’s approval during a job interview, a Firefighter part might change the subject while a Manager sabotages the rest of the meeting.  Neo-exiles are the parts we hide within close relationships.  Imagine a romantic partner or friend that gives you attention when you’re doing something nice but ignores your bids for reassurance.  You’ll shut down the needy part of you to maintain the relationship. The message from that person you tell yourself is that only your good parts are acceptable.  

THE CORE SELF

So far, we’ve been describing the orchestra - or if you’d prefer, the various departments of your business or the governmental branches of your personal nation.  Let’s switch to the head of it all - the conductor, the CEO, the President, YOU.  In the center of all of this is your core Self.  It’s a beautiful place to be.  It doesn’t need work because it’s already perfect.  It spontaneously emerges when the air is clear and all is safe.  It is the natural essence of who you are and is sheltered from damage or destruction by function of your parts.  

You know you’re in your grounded center when you feel authentically chill.  Some theories describe the Self by the 8 C’s:

Confident

Courageous

Creative

Clarity

Compassion

Calm

Curious

Connected

I know I’m in that place when nothing said or done can move me off my square.  For instance, I am confident about my intelligence.  If some bozo tried to lecture me about how I’m really a dummy, I might get a little irritated but he’s not going to shake my confidence.  Now if the same bozo flicked some booger comment about something more vulnerable, that might temporarily knock me off-center.  Note: my own managers and firefighters have censored me from revealing said vulnerability for my own protection.

WORST CASE SCENARIO

Your personal configuration and manifestation of parts was constructed to deal with your worst case scenario to date.  Since we have different histories and experiences, each set of parts is like a fingerprint of the individual.  While I’m currently working hard to lead with my core Self, recent events (i.e. the death of my wife) have thrown the system into a reorg process.  All previous worst case scenarios were blown out of the water and my mind’s company is frantically looking for new hires in two main departments.  I thought I’d give you a peek into the frenetic remodeling of my inner Self as the parts run around with their pants on fire.

Exile: [Can’t speak and just cries endlessly into the void.]

Firefighter: “Oh shit!  Their wedding song started playing overhead at the grocery store!”

Manager: “It’s fine.  Everything is fine. Close your ears, stop being a baby and don’t think about it.”

Exile: “But I can’t stop thinking!” [Stops responding as snot clogs up nose.]

Firefighter: “Leave the store!  Leave your groceries where you are!”

Exile: [Blows nose, hides in deserted health food aisle.]

Manager: “Someone could have seen you out there.  Now go check out and remember to smile at the clerk.”

Firefighter: “I think it’s a great time to call it a day and watch more episodes of Designing Women.”

These parts are obviously clueless as to what to do with this newly emerged and devastatingly sad grief Exile.  She’s a little girl part of me that either pitifully weeps or gets hulk-smash rageful.  She isn’t a new part; she’s come out of semi-retirement to hold my overwhelming grief.  She believes that everyone will leave her and she’s left on her own to figure everything out.   She thinks things like, “Why don’t people notice how sad I am???” She doesn’t know a Firefighter distracts her from feeling with a stupid magic trick while a Manager runs around pulling the curtains around her so no one sees.  All the parts are trying to help but the animals are loose at the circus.  Though the Exile doesn’t know it, she’s waiting for my core Self to step in and corral the monkeys.  My Self knows what to do if I can only find and access it.  Stepping from the shadows, my centered Self brings a soothing presence that stops the commotion and quiets the protectors.  Here’s an example:

Manager: “You should shower and do a little cleaning.  This place is a mess!”

Firefighter: “Honestly, I think eating a little cookie butter will make things better.”

Exile: “[Sobbing] Things are never going to get better!  I don’t want them to get better!”

Firefighter: “I know!  Let’s listen to Rage Against the Machine really loud in the kitchen!”

Manager: “Fine, don’t shower even though you stink.  Don’t change clothes either.  It’s not like anyone sees you anyway.”

Firefighter: “Uhhh, isn’t that friend coming over tonight?”

Manager: “Oh yeah!  He’ll certainly notice those dishes that have been in the sink for 3 days.  Just sayin’...”

Exile: “Oh no!  [Hangs head in shame] People will find out how horribly disgusting I am because I haven’t run the dishwasher or broken down and recycled the Amazon boxes.”

Firefighter: “Just throw everything in the backyard!!!”

Manager: “Stack up all the piles neatly so it looks like you wanted them there on purpose.”

SELF: “Alright, let’s think about this.  What if you broke down the boxes right now, put them outside, rinse the dishes, and filled the dishwasher all while listening to Rage Against the Machine?”

Manager: “That’s not enough but okay, fine.”

Firefighter: “Great ideas as always.  I’m going to rest up for the next emergency.”

Exile: “Thank you for listening to me.  I feel a little better and I think we can do this.”

SELF: “Great. Afterwards, everyone can take a break and zone out in front of the TV.  Now put on that music and let’s get to work.”

WHO’S IN CHARGE?

As long as there’s no one in charge, your mind is a confusing and chaotic miasma of competing needs.  Ideally, the Self steps up and takes over negotiation between the parts and directs the next steps.  However, sometimes a part fills in the leadership role.  You know you’re leading with a Manager when you feel buttoned up, intellectually sharp and emotionally numbed out.  Leading with a Firefighter part feels like a continual state of irritability and agitation and keeps you ‘at the ready’ to react to danger.  Exiles are rarely in charge because they’re really bad at it.  They collapse the system and insist on activities like staying in bed all day.

WORKING WITH YOUR SYSTEM

As with most life problems, the first step is awareness. You’ve got to get to know your parts - their personalities, beliefs, and functions - before trying to intervene in their conflicts. Like I said before, there are no bad parts - just competing beliefs and strategies. A given part feels strongly that it’s right, sees it how it really is and knows the truth. Every thought or feeling originating from a part is trying to help you out, even if it doesn’t seem that way. The part of me that says no one wants to be around me is actually trying to protect me from rejection and abandonment. Unchallenged, that part will keep me from connecting to supportive people.

OBSERVING AND IDENTIFYING PARTS

It may be difficult to put your finger on and capture a particular part.  When you’re ready, there’s a few ways to access them.  Start by being curious and non-judgmental.  Think of your centered self as just a researcher interested in data collection.  Reassure yourself that nothing has to change as you’re presently in observation mode.  

Take your emotional temperature by asking yourself how you feel right now.  Ask to see what emotions are already present and how or where your body feels with that emotion.  Observe those messages that are on repeat in your mind.  Alternatively, you can access an upsetting memory from the past and examine it.  Ask yourself, what exactly was upsetting about what happened?  Did you feel afraid, sad, anxious, angry or something else?  How did you react and what did you do?  Did you rage, freeze, numb, avoid, or try to smooth it over?  These questions will reveal clues to what was exiled and what managers and/or firefighters protected you.  If at any time your brain says, “I don’t know,” consider that another protector part and explore accordingly.

STAYING CENTERED

Once you’ve got a handful of observations, pick out one voice and interview it.  More than likely, you’ll be talking to a protector - probably a manager.  Getting it talking by asking what it believes and it’s job in the system.  Ask how old it is and what it looks like.  A voice that says. “This isn’t fair,” may believe you get dumped on more than most and thinks the job is to  protest on your behalf.  It may show up as a finger wagging old man who suggests that something must be wrong with you because this keeps happening.  What’s protective about this voice?  What kind of Exile is it defending?  Be gentle with digging down to the Exiled little kid part underneath.  Kids are delicate and need protecting.  If you find yourself continuing to have strong emotions or becoming reactive, you’ve likely run into another manager or firefighter.  Interview and explore this part before moving deeper.  We can’t access, validate and utilize the burdened exiles without honoring how the system set itself up to protect us.

Once you’re working with a particular part, another angle is to check back in with your calm and centered Self.  What do you understand about the part?  What do you think is going on?  Can you find empathy and appreciation for the part?  Even our nastiest parts work really hard on our behalf.  A critical voice is mean but its heart is in the right place.  An obsessive or addictive part is trying to soothe the system in the best and only ways it knows so far.

TRUSTING RELATIONSHIPS

Getting to know your parts is the process of creating trusting relationships between them and the Self.  This is the next step in the process of converting your protectors and split-off exiles into your allies.  Think about how trust is built with other people: consistent interactions, listening to and honoring what’s said, believing their words are important - even when you don’t understand.  That’s exactly how we build rapport with the different parts of ourselves.  It may be scary or unpleasant to get close to your inner critic or the tightly-wound explosive rage but it’s a vital step.  Like a good CEO or President, once your core Self begins to get everyone on board, it’s easier to know what to do when life throws you the next curveball.

I’ve got a story for you from back when my wife was still alive.  I left to go grocery shopping but stopped in at the craft store to shop for just myself.   This nagging little voice kept popping up but I successfully shoved it back down at the craft store.   Entering the grocery store a short time later, I could no longer ignore a little girl voice on repeat: “She’s going to be mad at you!” Sighing, I got centered and engaged it.  Here’s how the conversation went:

Little Girl: “She’s going to be mad at you!”

SELF: “Okay, well, we can handle that.  Why will she be mad at me?”

Little Girl: “Because you took too much time at the craft store.”

SELF: “Why is that a big deal to you?  What are you feeling?”

Little Girl: “I’m worried she’ll be mad and call you selfish because you took time for yourself.”

SELF: “Okay, well if that happens, I’ll take care of it.  You don’t have to explain it to her.  I don’t think she’ll actually be mad but if she is, I’ll be in charge.  How does that sound?”

Little Girl: “I’m still worried but I’ll try it your way.”

SELF: “Great. Thank you for trusting me. No matter what, it will be okay.”

This is the actual transcription of me engaging with a worried part.  For the record, it’s not grounded in current reality.  Naturally, Patty would be concerned if I hadn’t returned from shopping if it had been a few hours but she wouldn’t be mad.  I already had a relationship with this part - the Little Girl.  She’s about 5 or 6 and feels too small and powerless to change things in the world.  She’s used to being  dismissed and pulls at my sleeve to warn me about all the monsters lurking in the shadows.  She’s protected by another part - my rebellious teenager.  If I’m not gentle with the Little Girl, the Rebel leaps to her defense and commandeer the entire system.  The Rebel says things like, “Oh no, you fucking didn’t just do that!  I’ll show you!” and promptly turns off all inhibition and motivation and steers us back to the craft store to buy $100 worth of crap.  I’ve learned my lesson - listen to and trust the Little Girl, or else it’ll cost me.

YOUR PARTS IN GRIEF

I’m still getting to know and lead the parts of me as they grieve.  As with outside life, my internal life was thrown into disarray after Patty died.  I had all the parts nicely organized, productive, and had good working relationships with all.  Death took my puny little shoebox diorama on the inside of my mind and… shook it up really hard.   I was so proud of my hand painted little figurines, all precisely glued in their rightful places.  A manager most assuredly came up with that idea.  Now, there’s a part of me that just wants to toss the whole thing and another part that’s picking up each piece, crying over its brokenness.  

All I can do is be patient with myself for now as I sort through the pieces in the shoebox.  I tried throwing it out but it just reappeared.  I’m working on getting the lay of the land.  I’m doing my best to accept and soothe the broken parts - even as they overreact, judge me for not keeping things cleaner, numb out with cookie butter, and cry at the grocery store.  We are trudging down the road right now but when I get to know everyone again, I’ll call a meeting and figure out what’s next.

#grief #parts #Internal Family Systems #mind

[viscountessevie]

To Lady Paige, With Love [Part 2]

Main Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton x FemOC! Paige Crane [Reference to Past! Marina Thompson x Paige Crane]

Series Summary: A WLW Rewrite of To Sir Phillip, With Love - featuring my OC Paige Crane, Phillip's twin sister. What happens when Eloise Bridgerton writes to Phillip after the death of his wife but her letter gets intercepted by his twin sister who loved more Marina than he ever did?

Chapter Summary: After corresponding with Eloise for over a year using her brother's name, Paige is mourning Marina's first death anniversary. All Paige wanted was some peace and quiet but little does she know, she's in for a rude awakening

Trigger Warnings: Grief, Brief Mentions of Previous Death/Suicide Attempt, Depression & Anxiety

Part 1 - Prologue: Take Me To The Lakes

Chapter 1: Right Where You Left Me [February 1823]

5:48pm. That time would haunt Paige for the rest of her life.

'Time of death: 5:48pm.' the doctor had said. The moment Marina was officially pronounced dead, Paige screamed. She could still hear the echoes of her own scream every night she spent in Marina's room, sobbing herself to sleep. It had been a month since she died. Paige truly understood what Marina felt and went through.

The grief, pain and sadness was all consuming. She was drowning in her own emotions. It made her want to throw herself into the lake and join Marina. At least drowning in the lake was tangible. It was a tangible way to match the melancholy she was feeling. Through the pain, Paige had learnt that when people take their lives, they don't get rid of the melancholy, they simply pass it on. Paige had become a victim of Marina's pain being passed onto her.

She knew that everyone was dealing with the loss on their own but she was just so angry with Phillip and the children and even the staff. Pretending like Marina was never there. The worst part is, she couldn't fault them for it. Marina wasn't there, at least not mentally present. The last month has eased off her anger. She nearly bit Phillip's head off when he came back from his business trip the day before she passed.

"You should have been here! I may love her but she's still your wife!"

"I had a very important specimen to pick up, you know that, Paige." He said gruffly. She was so sick and tired of him using his experiments as an excuse to neglect his family.

"I know that!" She snapped at him, "These trips are getting ridiculous. You can't keep using them to run away from your responsibilities. You made a commitment to her and your children. You completely abandoned them!" Her voice cracked with anger. Now Phillip was getting frustrated with her and snapped back at his twin.

"Do you think I wanted to carry those burdens? I had no choice in the matter! I had to be the one to clean up the mess George left behind!"

She stepped back at her brother's outburst. He never yelled. He refused to be their father. She knew she had crossed the line. She softened her expression.

"I shouldn't have yelled, I apologise. But so help me God, you will not repeat that to her or the children. They are our family, Phillip, 'not a mess George left behind." Her voice was low, laced with a cold fury.

"She's resting now but you should go see her. I'll give you two some privacy." Paige made her suggestion sound like a demand. There was absolutely no reason why he should neglect his duties as a husband now. She wasn't going to let him off the hook for it. She quickly slipped into the room to kiss Marina's forehead. She allowed Philip in and headed off to tend to the children.

Then there was that dreadful conversation where Amanda openly admitted that she was glad her mother was gone. Paige knew on an intellectual level that's not what Amanda had meant. She meant she was happy her mother was happy even if it meant she was gone. But emotionally, it destroyed Paige to hear that.

It was exhausting to feel like the only one who truly cared for Marina. She had all these emotions welled up inside her, screaming to be let out. Yet she felt like she couldn't talk to anyone. The children played and carried on as per normal. While Phillip had stopped taking his trips to avoid the children, he has hidden away in the Greenhouse more often. He refuses to talk about her. What else could she expect from her twin who represses the slightest hint of human emotion. God forbid he let himself feel sad.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that everyone processed grief in different ways. She needed something to get her mind off things. On cue, Miles came in to deliver the mail. She gestured for him to hand them over and he took his leave.

She flipped through the envelopes, none addressed to her. Of course no one would write to her and the only person who would, died. She was about to put down the pile when a name jumped out at her.

From: Eloise Bridgerton No. 5, Bruton Street London

She remembered Eloise like it was yesterday. They spent some time together during their first season. She came as a package deal with Penelope Featherington. So when Marina had struck up a friendship with Penelope, Paige found herself spending a lot of time with the two of them. The four of them were quite the formidable group during that first season. Paige remembered how many suitors Marina had received. Unable to deal with her jealousy in a healthy manner, she did what she did best, ran away from her emotions. She poured herself into a friendship with Eloise. Somewhere along the way, she had developed feelings for the clever Bridgerton. She recalled how she did her best to repress those feelings. Even though at the time, Marina and her were nowhere close to courtship, Paige still felt like she was being unfaithful to her.

There was just something about Eloise that had drawn Paige to her.

She shook her head rather violently, as if trying to shake those memories away. How could she be thinking of that when she's supposed to be grieving Marina? She set down the letter, leaving it for Phillip to read it later when he finally comes out of hiding.

She stood up to head to Marina's room to mope. It almost seemed like she had taken Marina's place as the Romney Hall's living ghost. What was the point in living your life when the person you wanted to spend it with was gone?

But rising questions about Eloise's letter stopped her. For one, why was it addressed to Phillip rather than her? She knew it had been well over a decade, but had Eloise forgotten her already?

Her plan to mope for the day had been abandoned and she picked up Eloise's letter once again. She picked up the letter opener and impulsively ripped it open.

Sir Phillip Crane —

I am writing to express my condolences on the loss of your wife, my dear friend Marina, I remember her fondly and was deeply saddened to hear of her passing .

Please do not hesitate to write if there is anything I can do to ease your pain at this difficult time .

Yrs,

Miss Eloise Bridgerton

***

Oh. She was just as lovely as Paige remembered her. This was too kind of a letter to delay it's response. Paige went to her room and sat at her desk. She pulled out her stationary kit and fetched herself some parchment and a quill. She quickly penned down a response.

Dear Eloise —

I hope you remember me from your first season. Marina was a dear friend to me as well and I thank you for your kind note on behalf of Marina. It was thoughtful of you to write asking after us.

I offer you this flower attached as thanks. It is called an Eden rose also known as the Pierre de Ronsard, named after the great French poet.

Did you know that it reaches an average diameter of 10 centimetres. The large flowers are very full with 55 to 60 petals. Due to their weight the cupped, globular flowers tend to bow their heads.

It was Marina's favourite flower. She loved the carmine-pink on the inside and ivory on the outside. I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.

Sincerely -

*

She stopped short before she signed it off with her name. She had finally stepped out of her moment of impulsivity. Insanity more like, she thought to herself. She felt awful for invading Eloise and - by extension - Phillip's privacy.

She couldn't send this! How was she going to explain it?

*

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

I am absolutely mad and stole my brother's mail because I used to fancy you when we first debuted together in our first season.

Yours Sincerely, Paige Crane

That would certainly go over well. She would be lucky not to be locked up. She stared at her original letter and ripped it up. She detested the thought of Phillip striking up a friendship with Eloise. Deep down she knew if he became as enamoured with her as she once was, he'd make her his wife. It might have only been a month but she knew her brother. He needed a mother and wife for the children. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he was already planning to look for one.

He had already taken Marina from her. As twins, they grew up sharing everything, starting from the womb. Everywhere Paige went, Phillip was there. They even had parallel careers. She just wanted this one person to herself. It was selfish she knew but she wanted to keep her London past for herself. Even if it meant never letting Phillip see the letter and responding on her own.

She rewrote another note without a second thought:

Dear Miss Bridgerton,

Thank you for your kind note on behalf of my wife. It was thoughtful of you to take the time to write to a gentleman you have never met. I offer you this full bloom flower as thanks.

It is called an Eden rose also known as the Pierre de Ronsard, named after the great French poet. Did you know that it reaches an average diameter of 10 centimetres. The large flowers are very full with 55 to 60 petals. Due to their weight the cupped, globular flowers tend to bow their heads.

It was Marina's favourite flower. She loved the carmine-pink on the inside and ivory on the outside. I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.

When it came to signing off, she hesitated for a moment at her dishonesty. Then the anger of having lost most of her life and identity to Phillip came up. That was motivation enough for her to scribble the last line of the letter:

Sincerely, Sir Phillip Crane.

***

Letter Correspondence From March 1823 to March 1824 Between Paige Crane & Eloise Bridgerton

Dear Sir Phillip -

Thank you so very much for the charming flower. It was such a lovely surprise when it came attached to the envelope. And such a precious memento of dear Marina, as well .

I could not help but notice your facility with the flower's scientific name and seemed to be knowledgeable about its properties. Are you a botanist?

Yours, Miss Eloise Bridgerton

*

Eloise’s response had come quite quickly in a week. It was no easy feat hiding the letters from Phillip. He was the Lord of the house after all. Paige was lucky enough to have a friend in Miles. She had been the one to stop Phillip from being let go. She had named him her personal assistant instead. She coyly asked Miles for a favour and requested that all of Eloise’s letters be directed to her. He looked at her with utter confusion when she asked.

“Whatever are you up to, Miss Crane?”

“Miles, you know you can call me Paige. We are friends, aren’t we?” She had a mischievous shine in her eye that told him she was up to something.

“I suppose… that doesn’t answer my question, Paige.” He said her name pointedly. She chuckled at him, he was hilarious. She knew she made the right choice keeping him employed.

“Friends trust each other. I promise I will tell you everything down the line.” She shot him a look of promise. That fixed the issue of being found out was solved easily. All she had to do now was enjoy the correspondence.

She still had not been able to break her habit of crying herself to sleep in Marina’s room every night, but these letters took her mind off the grief momentarily. She couldn’t thank Eloise Bridgerton enough for that. She read back Eloise’s response and grinned. Eloise was as charming and eloquent as always. She was clever enough to pick out Paige's interest in plants just by her rambles. Paige also noticed how Eloise was clever enough to end her letter with a question. What a sneaky lady, now Paige had to reply. Not that she was complaining. She was rather happy to have revived this old connection.

She pulled out her stationary and penned her reply. She stuck close to the truth while using Phillip's qualifications. Just because she wasn't allowed a formal education at Cambridge didn't make her any less knowledgeable than her twin. She devoured his textbooks during his University days. She most likely would have beat him to an honours degree in Botany had the fairer sex been allowed to study in Universities.

She followed Eloise's lead and ended her letter with a question as well. She vaguely remembered Eloise’s interest in humanities but she wanted it confirmed from the lady herself.

*

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

Indeed I am a botanist, trained at Cambridge, although I am not currently connected with any university or scientific board. I maintain my own garden at Romney Hall, in my greenhouse. Are you of a scientific bent as well?

Yours , Sir Phillip Crane

The reply came another week later. She smiled at being correct in her assumption. They started going back and forth every week, until a year had passed.

*

Dear Sir Phillip —

Heavens, no, I have not the scientific mind, I'm afraid, although I do have a fair head for sums. My interests lie more in the humanities; you may have noticed that I enjoy penning letters .

Yours in friendship,

Eloise Bridgerton

*

My dear Miss Bridgerton —

Ah, but it is a sort of friendship, isn't it? I confess to a certain measure of isolation here in the country, and if one cannot have a smiling face across one's breakfast table, then one might at least have an amiable letter, don't you agree?

I have enclosed another flower and a book for you. This flower is Centaurea cyanus, more commonly known as the cornflower. They are a personal favourite of mine, especially for its vibrance in colour. They are actually grown as a weed in cornfields, hence where it derives its common name from. Quite beautiful for a weed, wouldn’t you agree?

As for the book, I would like to share a piece of my literary heart with you. You will find a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in the package. I regard it as a brilliantly complex novel that tackles the existential questions of creating life in such an nuanced manner. I would love to hear your thoughts on it.

With great regard, Phillip Crane

*

Even though it was a friendly exchange of letters, Paige considered sharing her favourite flower and novel a way of elevating the friendship. They were a part of her identity. A part that she was willingly giving away to another to cherish and hold. It was a big step for her and that terrified her. She was scared of developing feelings for someone else. She could not bear to go through it again.

She knew no sane woman - despite being a child of Sappho - would give up the security of a husband and run off with another woman. Most of the sapphic women Paige knew were far too caught up in the social norms to ever step out of their comfort zone into a realm of possibilities of a free life with her. She knew she got lucky with Marina and that Phillip didn’t care enough for Marina to be bothered with their love affair. He also loved his sister enough to be happy with his wife, even if he didn’t understand how she could love a person who seemed to be made of sadness. Paige knew he never understood, but he didn’t have to. Marina and her understood each other and that’s all that truly mattered until the end.

While Eloise has never stated whether she felt that way about women, she did seem like a child of Sappho. The way she had interacted with potential suitors during that first season, or rather the way she didn’t. She hid away from every suitor that came her way. At times, she would pull Paige away to the lemonade table to avoid them, whenever Penelope was too busy dancing with Colin. The way she scoffed at marriage. She just seemed content in her independence. Paige had admired that about her.

*

As always her next letter did not disappoint:

Dear Sir Phillip —

Thank you for the book and flower, I truly appreciated them. I have always found sharing books recommendations with companions is like giving them a piece of yourself. So I thank you again, for gifting me a piece of yourself. I promise to cherish it.

And I have read Frankenstein before! It truly is one of its kind. I could go on for hours on end about how much I love this book and how brilliantly crafted it is. Perhaps, should we ever meet, we could discuss it over tea one day.

The cornflower was wonderful, thank you. I do love how it seems to shine a brighter blue in the sunlight. I think it might be my favourite flower as well.

Yours, Eloise Bridgerton.

A dreamy sigh escaped Paige’s lips as she drank in Eloise’s latest words. Paige had never felt more seen and understood. Eloise expressed the sentiment of Paige’s intent with the book and flower exactly. Paige might have used her brother’s name, but she knew in her heart Eloise knew her - even if it was not by her given name. She found the line about meeting and discussing the novel over tea, a rather bold choice. Was Eloise inviting her to tea?

She sighed when the sobering truth hit her. Eloise wasn’t inviting her. She was inviting her brother. She knew what she had to do - politely shut her down.

Dearest Miss Bridgerton —

You took the words right out of my quill. Those were my exact intentions when I thought of sending my favourite flower and book over to you. I am very much honoured that you cherish an important part of myself. I truly appreciate it. Truth be told, I appreciate you and our friendship.

Perhaps, one day. Tea does sound lovely.

What mischief have you been causing as of late? I am always excited to read your recounts of your daily adventures.

Yours as always, Phillip Crane. * Over the next few months simply flew by for Paige, the letters giving her a reprieve from her grief. They talked about anything and everything under the sun. She learned everything there is to know about Eloise Bridgerton. They exchanged childhood stories, more books between the two of them - Paige found out that Eloise’s guilty pleasure was Jane Austen’s romance novels - and held full conversations of various academic subjects. Her most prized possession was Eloise’s old copy of Persuasion filled with Eloise’s notes and thoughts on the book. Paige’s heart soared the moment she received it. It was Eloise’s version of giving Paige a piece of herself. She hadn’t read Persuasion before so she was glad for the recommendation. The botanist couldn’t help but laugh as she read the novel. Anne and Captain Wentworth’s story seemed to mirror hers. Their 7 year separation felt rather familiar to having not seen Eloise since their first season.

Before she knew it, a year had passed. She was startled when she saw the calendar on her desk when penning her latest letter to Eloise. 14th February 1824. It was the day Marina attempted to kill herself a year ago. Tomorrow would be a year since Marina’s last good day. And two days from now, on 17th February 1824, Paige would have to be met with the sobering reality of Marina’s death anniversary.

The holidays had been hard as it could be. The empty chair Marina had previously occupied was staring at Paige while her family carried on with their jovial Christmas dinner. She couldn’t understand how they could simply get on with their lives while she felt like a piece of her was missing. Yes, Marina was not much for festivities but sitting beside her and enjoying the food they cooked together was the highlight of Christmas. It was the only time Marina felt well enough to help Paige prepare the feast.

Marina’s birthday had been the hardest to deal with of course. She would have been twenty and eight then. Paige visits Marina's grave at least once a week. It calms and soothes her intense moments of grief. Sitting by the grave on Marina's birthday was a new kind of pain. Knowing that she was taken from the world far too early. Knowing that she should have been there right beside Paige. It was the hardest Paige had cried since Marina had died.

She had no idea how she was going to deal with her death anniversary.

She just knew she needed time to herself. She looked down at the letter she was going to write and found big splashes of tears all over the parchment.

"Blast it!" She cursed and crushed the paper, tossing it into a nearby bin. She was furious with herself for forgetting. For allowing herself to be happy when she didn’t deserve it. She wiped her tears angrily and quickly scribbled one last letter to Eloise.

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

These letters have brought me such comfort over a very difficult year. I cannot thank you enough for it, Eloise Bridgerton.

I do regret to inform you, I would like to pause these letters for the month. I require some time to process and mourn Marina's first death anniversary. I'm sure you can understand it will be a rather difficult time.

Thank you for understanding and do take care, Miss Bridgerton.

Yours, Phillip Crane

Paige could barely get through the letter without feeling guilty. Feeling guilty for abandoning Eloise so abruptly. Feeling guilty for using her as a distraction from her grief over Marina. Most of all, she hated how she can't seem to remember the smallest things about Marina. She was forgetting her love's memory and it was driving her mad. She tried her best to conjure up how she smelled, the sound of her voice, how she was. Paige found the little details escaping her. Memories slipping through her fingers. She detested this. She didn't know how she had gotten to this point.

She had allowed her corresponding flirtation with Eloise to soothe her pain. But her pain was the one thing she had left of Marina. Letting it go meant letting go of Marina. Paige absolutely refused to do that. If she forgot Marina, there was no one else to keep her memory alive. Phillip and the children certainly didn't care for it. Marina would be lost to history.

*

After delivering the letter to Miles to be mailed out, Paige found herself in Marina's room. She laid on her bed, aimlessly and feeling vacant. She was sure if someone walked in they might mistake her for Marina herself. Paige felt her melancholy creeping up her throat. It threatened to choke her, snuffing all the light out. She sat up and tried to breathe. She was feeling an unusual amount of panic rising within her.

She got out of bed and looked out the window. The lake was in perfect view. Of course, that’s where Marina had gotten the idea, She thought to herself bitterly. She looked up at the sky, imagining her lover was up there somewhere happier. Somewhere calmer, where she had found peace.

“I’m right where you left me, Rina.” She whispered softly. It had been a while since she spoke out loud to Marina but it had brought her so much comfort in the early days of dealing with the grief. For a moment, she could pretend Marina was still there. Then she didn’t have to deal with the all consuming guilt and loneliness that came with losing the love of her life.

Marina might have been the one who died but Paige felt like the ghost. Spending most of her days in Marina's room, sitting still in a corner, almost like she was the one haunting it. She heard what the staff said. Something along the lines of, "What a pitiful sight." And "She deserves better than to replace Lady Marina's disposition." They were valid in their concerns but Paige couldn't care less. This was the way she knew how to grieve and mourn and she'll be damned before she lets anyone dictate the way she feels.

Looking into the reflection of the lake from the window, she could still remember the day Marina walked into the lake. It was terrifying how crystal clear the memory was. It felt like she was frozen in time - forever cursed to be twenty and seven - forced to relive the last few days of Marina's days. The memory of her walking into the lake, Paige having to rescue her, staying by her side the next three days and the moment she died. They swirled around Paige's mind constantly. It was particularly worse since it had been a year.

She was paralysed, unable to find the will to do anything else. So she went back to bed. She sat there, silent and frozen in time. The servants walked past all day to ask her if she was alright. She barely managed a nod.

She swore she could hear a hair pin drop at how silent everything was. Deep down she knew her life stopped the moment Marina had died. Eloise's letters may have made her feel like she could move forward. However, the gaping hole in her heart today proved otherwise.

Everybody moved on. She couldn't. So she settled and stayed there, dust collecting on her pinned-up hair. She knew everyone expected her to find a new purpose or a fresh start. She could have tended to her own garden like Phillip was doing in his Greenhouse on this day.

Yet all she found the energy to do was sit and stare out at the lake. She stayed right there for the next two days. She just wanted the next worst few days of her life to pass her by so she would not have to deal with them. Just until the 17th had passed.

*

Of course as the saying goes, there is no rest for the wicked. All Paige wanted on the 17th of February was some peace but little did she know, a certain Bridgerton would be making their way to Romney Hall.

It started out like any other day. Except for the Crane household, there was a somber remembrance of Marina’s first death anniversary. Paige was relieved that she didn’t have to share the burden alone and that her brother had the decency to acknowledge it. He didn’t bother reminding the children but they were young so she let it slide.

Since the staff had honoured her request of being left alone, around noon Paige dragged herself out of bed to get herself some lunch. Marina would have wanted her to mourn respectfully, not join her up wherever she may be. Paige was on her way back to her room after picking up her meal of roasted mutton with rice and gravy - Marina’s favourite dish - when she overheard a curious conversation between Gunning and her brother.

"Sir Phillip," Gunning said, clearing his throat. "We have a caller." "A caller?" Phillip echoed. "Was that the source of the, ah..." "Noise?" Gunning supplied helpfully. "Yes." "No." The butler cleared his throat. "That would have been your children." "I see," Phillip murmured. "How silly of me to have hoped otherwise." "I don't believe they broke anything, sir." "That's a relief and a change." "Indeed, sir, but there is the caller to consider."

Phillip groaned and Paige immediately knew what he was thinking. Romney Hall hadn’t received callers in years. He was probably wondering who on earth would be calling on this day of all days. Paige didn’t think much of it until she passed the front door on her way up to her room when she spotted a familiar face on the other side of the door.

Eloise Bridgerton.

What in the devil was she doing here?! Paige mentally screamed to herself. Gunning and Phillip’s conversation had faded to the background, drowned out by the mental grind of Paige’s mind. She snapped out of her melancholy and had to come up with a way to cover up the consequences of her actions. Just when she needed it, Miles walked past her. She immediately grabbed him. He looked surprised and a little violated if you asked him.

“Miss Crane! What on earth?” “Miles, how many times must I repeat myself? Paige is perfectly fine. I apologise for grabbing you, I am in need of your service.” She said guiltily, looking over at the front door.

He gave her a curious look, “What did you do now, Paige?” He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

She shot him a glare, “I would snap at you for that but you are quite right to ask. I think one of my letters to Miss Bridgerton might have been misinterpreted as an invitation to come over to Romney Hall.” She gave him such a pitiful pleading look, he had to help her.

“How can I be of service, Miss - Paige?” He corrected himself the moment Paige shot him a murderous look. “I need a plan. If the truth comes out, neither of them will forgive me.”

Miles had never seen her so panicked and scared before. For someone who detests her brother, she really did love him. Her blooming feelings for Miss Bridgerton had become apparent over the last few months. He gave himself a moment to think of a plan.

"Yes, sir. She's here to see you, after all." They both heard Gunning say to Phillip.

Paige looked at Miles with wide eyes. They had officially run out of time. This was sealed by the sounds of Phillip’s footsteps making their way to the corridor Paige and Miles were hatching a plan in. Before Paige could push Miles to distract him, her dear brother had brushed past them and opened the door. She cursed to herself and watched helplessly as the two strangers who had technically never met interacted. She made her way to stand quietly behind her brother, listening to every word. Paige's heart nearly stopped when she heard Eloise's voice after all these years.

"Sir Phillip?"

#Bridgerton #TSPWL Rewrite #Bridgerton AU #Bridgerton fanfiction #OC: Paige Crane #Marina Thompson #Eloise Bridgerton #Paige Crane #Phillip Crane #TW Grief #TW Mention of Death #TW Mention of Suicide Attempt #TW Depression #TW Anxiety #Spotify

[thewayshedreamed]

This Time— Part 6

A Nessian Fan Fic

Fic Masterlist

This chapter offers some additional insight into Nesta’s thought process and sheds a little light on the ongoing process her emotional development has become. I hope it comes through!

This is somewhat of a “building” chapter so that we can get Nessian to the crest, so to speak. Part 7 is already written and only needs some editing, so it’s possible that I’ll be doing a double update today ☺️ They certainly have a lot to discuss, and once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. 😂 Anyway, enough of me. Enjoy!

Links to the previous parts:

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||

Warnings for grief related to the loss of a parent and some strong language.

——————————————————————————

Around 11:00 PM, Nesta decided she couldn’t be alone with her thoughts anymore. She was ruminating on similar memories and effectively raking herself over the coals. Although she knew any one of her friends would be there for her no matter the time of day, she picked up her phone to call the one she knew would most likely be awake at this hour.

“Hello?” Azriel’s raspy voice came through the phone.

“Were you asleep?! Since when do you go to bed early?” Her surprise was obvious by her tone. What the hell? He’s never in bed before midnight.

“Nes. Always a pleasure.” Azriel breathed a chuckle into the phone. “I usually wouldn’t be. I’m.. umm.. at a friend’s house tonight.”

Nesta gasped and dropped her voice. “Oh my gods. Az, were you on a date?! Am I interrupting?” She clapped her free hand over her forehead. “I’m the worst. I’m sorry.”

Another chuckle from Azriel. “You don’t have to whisper, you know. She can’t hear you. You’re not interrupting anything. I was asleep when you called, but I’m out on the couch now. What’s up?”

”If you were asleep, then that counts as interrupting! Are you sure?”

”Yes. Just, maybe the short version?” His tone was tentative, almost as if he felt guilty asking her to keep it concise at 11 PM. No one truly deserved Azriel as their friend.

“I can do that. So, here it is. I’ll save you the long, tedious trip through my brain.” She paused for half a second to take a breath. “I’m in love with Cassian.” She let out a quiet groan for effect.

”Mhmm...” The lilting of his voice implied that he was waiting for something like the punchline of a joke; the unknown part of her statement.

Her breath caught. “I kind of expected more of a reaction.”

”Did you? I thought there was more to it.” He seemed entirely neutral in that grating way of his.

”How did you know?!” She asked, incredulously.

”You told me.”

“Mm.. I don’t think so. When?” Now she was actually confused. Did she make some kind of drunken confession at Rita’s? She would remember having this revelation before now.

“At brunch. When we were driving home.”

”What are you talking about?!” Her voice was definitely higher pitched than it had been previously. She was anxious to hear his response, thinking he had surely dreamed this.

”Nesta. We were in my car, backing out of the parking lot. You asked me, ‘Why couldn’t we be the ones to fall in love?’ Or something along those lines. I thought that you were using some cryptic way of telling me because it implied two parties. Why do you think I hit the brakes so hard?” He seemed impatient, as if he was telling her the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought maybe the question weirded you out! I didn’t even realize what I said, to be honest. How the actual fuck do you notice tiny things like that?” She didn’t wait on his response. He would know it was rhetorical. “Now my problem is this: I think he’s dating someone, so I’ve lost my chance.” She briefly told him what she had overheard the night of Elain’s birthday, her voice starting to crack toward the end.

”Hm. He hasn’t said anything to me about that, but I could see why he would wait being that you and I are close. But honestly, I don’t know that you could ever lose your chance with Cassian, Nes.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. She simply sat there, playing with the corner of her throw blanket and hoping he would continue. He seemed to sense her discomfort and started talking again.

“I think you’ll regret it if you don’t talk to him. But, if I can offer my opinion, maybe wait a little while so that you know you’re absolutely sure this is what you want. I don’t know how he would handle it if you decided it’s not what you want.”

She felt herself prickle with defensiveness. “I wouldn’t do that to him, Az. Of course I’m sure. It only took me an eternity to figure this shit out.”

Azriel responded in a soothing tone he so often used with her. “I know. But remember, you’re not the one he talks to about you. I’m just looking out for my brother. Maybe let it marinate, yeah?”

She knew his intentions were pure, and she couldn’t really blame him for being protective. Before she could respond, she heard a feminine voice in the background ask: “Az, everything okay?”

She heard him pull the phone away from his face to answer. “Oh, yeah. All good. It’s Nesta.”

Delayed by her scattered brain and the copious amount of wine, the identity of the voice finally hit her full force.

”IS THAT ELAIN?!” She sat up straighter as if it would allow her to hear them more readily.

She heard Azriel laugh, followed by a shuffling on the other end.

“Hello? Nesta? Everything okay?” Nesta could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

“Hey, El. Everything’s fine! Sorry to crash your date. It seems we have quite a bit to talk about. Very soon.”

It took Elain a couple of seconds to respond, and Nesta could hear the smile in her voice. “Yeah. I think we do. Someone told me I should just talk to him. Turns out that they were right.” She paused, waiting for an “I told you so” from Nesta. She didn’t have the energy. “You know you can talk to me about Cassian, too, right?”

Nesta shut her eyes tightly and shook her head. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’ve been leaning on Az since our fight, and I honestly haven’t had the energy to bring it up beyond that. But I do want to talk to you. And Feyre. It’s just been...hard.”

“I can imagine. It’s hard to remember a time before you and Cass. It’s like the end of an era or something. Just know that we’re here.” Her voice was soft, laced with worry and a desire to help her older sister.

”Maybe for now,” Nesta teased, “but you may not have much time to chat these days.”

She knew she was blatantly deflecting, but El’s words had caused tears to prick her eyes yet again. It’s hard to remember a time before you and Cass. She realized how true it was, and what upset her the most was that she knew she didn’t want to know a time without Cassian.

The call wrapped up with more gentle teasing between the sisters, and eventually, embarrassing Azriel a bit over speakerphone. She told them she loved them and promised to keep them updated on how she was feeling. Her heart felt lighter once she finally ended the call, thanks to the laughter they managed to pull from her.

——————————————————————————

Christine Archeron’s death anniversary fell on a Tuesday that year, and Nesta awoke with a similar irritation as last year— death anniversaries should never fall on weekdays. She went through the familiar motions as any other morning, headed to work, and concentrated on her various tasks she was expected to juggle at any given time. As appearances went, it looked like any other ordinary day to those around her, so the extra heaviness remained hers alone to carry.

On her lunch break, she got a chance to pull her phone to check her messages and mindlessly scroll through social media. She had been focused on scrolling for so long that her phone took her by surprise when it vibrated in her hand. She tapped the notification by reflex and found herself studying the sender’s name as if it was some sort of mistake.

Cassian: Thinking about you today. I know it’s a rough one. Keep your head up. Christine would have it no other way ❤️

Nesta read the text several times in a row; just to make sure it was real. It had been so long since he’d contacted her intentionally, and it made her happy that he still thought to reach out today. It simultaneously made her a little sad; however, because it was yet another reminder of what she’d lost in him. That was an issue to deal with later.

Nesta: Of course you are, because you’re the perfect human, and I don’t deserve you. Thanks, Cass 💕 Means the world to me to hear from you. Mom really loved you, and I know she would appreciate you looking out for us.

She hesitated over the send button for several seconds before deciding to go through with it. It felt so weird to intentionally script any type of message to him being that they had spent most of their relationship entirely uncensored. Everything about it felt wrong— she couldn’t act natural with him because it wasn’t appropriate anymore, yet she didn’t feel right having to draft and redraft their communication. It was all so fucked, and she was tired of this odd limbo they stayed in.

She reflected on her conversation with Azriel and Elain on the night she had unintentionally crashed their date. She knew that they both held strong points about her situation and wouldn’t advise her to try to repair things if they knew it was a lost cause. She acknowledged that Azriel, specifically, knew more than he was at liberty to tell her. That being the case, she decided that was evidence in favor of hashing things out with Cassian. It wasn’t long before she was lost in her own thoughts, her food entirely forgotten.

I’ve spent my entire life trying to ensure I didn’t need anyone. I never wanted to depend heavily on another person in a way that I couldn’t manage on my own. But that’s not really the case anyway, right? I’ve managed fine these few weeks, but that’s the thing. I’ve managed. Why do I try to insist that’s enough for me?

But what if the door is closed? What if this was Cassian’s final push, and he’s gone? I don’t know Alis, and she could be wonderful. She probably appreciates the shit out of him and saw immediately that he’s not the average person. She probably knows how special he is. She probably beams anytime he enters a room and tries to take care of his heart in any way she can. She’s probably fucking delightful.

But does that really compete with history? I guess if that history is filled with turmoil, it could. She’ll never know the Cassian that was a freshman in high school— braces and curly hair, still a head taller than most of the other boys in class. She won’t remember how he hit his second growth spurt the summer after sophomore year, where he started to fill out and caught the attention of any girl with a pulse. She doesn’t know what it’s like when he’s truly angry with his dad and the world. She doesn’t know the full range of his eclectic music tastes or the guilty pleasures he sings depending on his mood. She didn’t do the leg work to reconcile the tough, intimidating exterior when he gets upset with the gentle soul beneath. There’s no way she knows when his humor and his laughter are distractions from his pain rather than when they’re genuine. She can’t love him like I do. Im-fucking-possible.

She was pulled abruptly out of her head, and incredible jealousy, by her alarm. It was time to go back to work and finish out the day, and she hoped it passed as quickly as possible. She silently chastised herself for piling this emotional time bomb on today of all days as she threw away her lunch and walked out of the break room.

So much for leaving this issue for later.

She resolved to put all of these thoughts back into their little box until she had the emotional energy to open the lid once again. Whenever the hell that would be.

——————————————————————————

The rest of the day zoomed by at a blissful pace, thank the gods. In fact, when Nesta glanced at the clock, she realized it was several minutes after 5:00 PM. She clocked out, grabbed her things, and climbed into her car. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to make the drive out to the cemetery. She wasn’t sure what time Elain had been able to go by, but Nesta had agreed to meet Feyre at 5:30 to pay their respects. It was becoming a standing tradition, where they would make their short visit whenever they could during the day and follow with dinner together as a family.

She made it with a few minutes to spare, so she took that time to sit with her mom one-on-one. She gave her a brief update on her life, told her how much she loved and missed her, and gently brushed any leaves or grass clippings off of her headstone. There were fresh flowers in her vase, something she noted each year on her death anniversary. Any other time of year, they kept seasonally appropriate faux flowers to make sure her site was properly decorated. She made a mental note to offer to contribute to the fresh arrangement in the years following when she saw her family at dinner. They were always taken care of before she made it out to the cemetery, and she didn’t want to risk forgetting for the next year. She leaned into the arrangement, taking in the various floral scents emanating from the blooms in the bouquet. There was a myriad of vivid colors, wildflowers throughout, and Nesta loved how true to her mother’s spirit they were.

She turned when she heard car doors and saw Feyre approaching with Rhysand. She stood, extending an arm out to her baby sister, who accepted it readily and rested her head on her shoulder. They wrapped their arms around each other, and Rhysand stood nearby, resting his hand on Feyre’s opposite shoulder. They stood together for several minutes until Nesta excused herself to allow Feyre some time alone with their mom as well.

She drove to her father’s house where she found Elain already setting the table for dinner. They worked together quietly, making sure they had plenty of place settings for everyone. Azriel offered his help to carry various dishes of food to the dining table and took his seat next to Elain once it was all settled. Almost as if on cue, Feyre and Rhysand walked into the house and took their seats as well. The dinner started off quiet considering the somber mood, but Feyre was the first to break the tension when she started to tell stories from their childhood. In a matter of moments, their home was filled with animated story telling and loud bouts of laughter, and Nesta couldn’t think of a better way to honor her mom’s love of life.

As everyone finished up, she suddenly remembered her mental note from earlier. She waited for a natural lull in conversation, then commented softly, “Mom’s flowers were beautiful, you guys. You did an amazing job.”

”They were really perfect. They couldn’t have been more ‘Christine’ if you tried,” Feyre remarked.

“Elain, Dad. I’m not sure which of you took care of them this year, but would you let me take care of next time? I haven’t contributed since she passed, and I’d really like to.”

Mr. Archeron softly shook his head back and forth, communicating to Nesta that it hadn’t been him. Nesta adjusted her gaze to Elain who looked just as confused.

“Oh. Nes, I assumed it was one of you. I didn’t... I didn’t order them. I wished I had.” She looked down at her hands, and Azriel placed a supportive arm across the back of her chair.

“Okay... so who did?” She glanced around the table from person to person, but no one took any credit. It was Rhys who spoke up first, clearing his throat to master his voice.

“You don’t know?”

”Obviously.” She looked to Feyre for support. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Feyre said nothing, watching Rhysand talk with rapt attention.

When he spoke again, it was cautious, as if his words may startle her. “Nesta. The flowers are from Cassian. He’s done them every year since Mrs. Christine died.”

She was suddenly short of breath. Everyone’s attention snapped to Rhys, including her father’s. Her sisters and Azriel were looking at Rhysand with stunned expressions, their eyes flicking to her face occasionally.

“What? How could you know— why would you know, when we don’t? What the fuck is going on?” She was falling over her own words, struggling to form any cohesive thought.

”I’m so sorry,” Rhysand glanced around the room for the first time, realizing he had everyone’s attention. “The only reason I knew was because he asked me to make sure they made it from the flower shop to her gravesite the year he had knee surgery. He asked me to keep it to myself then, but I figured by now he would have said something to at least one other person.” He looked down into his plate, various emotions playing over his handsome face. Feyre leaned over to comfort him, knowing he was likely embarrassed to be the reason the air had changed so dramatically.

Nesta’s head was swimming, emotions roiling from a million different directions. She knew anger was cheap and unfair, but she pulled on that tether as hard as she could to make sure she could navigate everything she was processing. She was on her feet suddenly, pushing her chair away from the table and walking toward her keys.

“I have to go.” She couldn’t be in here anymore. The room was too small, the walls were too close. Too many people. She picked up the pace, flinging the door open and shutting it hard behind her. She was down the porch steps when she heard the door open again. Azriel’s voice followed her.

”Nesta. Where are you going? Nesta, stop!” He had jogged lightly to catch up with her, and he tugged her gently by the wrist to stop her. She spun on him quickly, eyes flaring and brimming with tears.

“Anywhere but here! What the fuck was that, Az?”

He said nothing; looked down at his own feet as he shook his head.

“Cassian has some fucking nerve, you know that? Why is he insisting upon himself?” Her voice was lowered and had taken on an almost eerie quality; the calm before the proverbial storm.

“Nes, I don’t think he meant to upset you. It sounds like it’s something he’s made somewhat of a tradition. Maybe he just wanted to be sure and see it through.”

”He doesn’t get to do that anymore, Azriel. He doesn’t get to butt-dial me while he makes date plans with some girl, then turn around and send flowers to my dead mother. What am I supposed to think about that? And how would that make his girlfriend feel?” Azriel pulled her into a hug at that, resting his chin on top of her head. He didn’t answer her. There was nothing to say.

She pulled away from him, gripping her keys, and walked toward her car. “I’m out. Tell them I love them, and I’ll call tomorrow.” She nodded her chin toward the house, climbed into her car, and backed out of the driveway.

——————————————————————————

She wasn’t sure how long she’d driven before she found herself in his driveway. She knew it hadn’t been very long considering the sun was still clinging to the end of the day. She honestly didn’t remember making the conscious decision to come here, likely fueled by anger and muscle memory more than anything else. She was still so frustrated at her situation, her emotions spilling over and refusing to be put into that stupid fucking box anymore. The worst part was that, as mad as she was with him, she so badly wanted to see him. She wished the circumstances were less complicated so that she could knock, ask for a hug and some tea, and lay on his couch. They were a hell of a long way from those people now.

She loosed a breath, puffing her cheeks with air and exhaling slowly. Just before she peeled her head from the headrest to get out, his front door opened. He opened it most of the way, then leaned against the door jamb on his shoulder. He had his hands in the pockets of his sweats and one of his ankles crossed casually over the other. For a moment, she only looked at him, unable to move or offer any type of acknowledgement. She took in the charcoal henley he was wearing, unbuttoned save for the very last one. The small flap of the opening leaned to the side, revealing the base of his neck and the beginning of his tattoos. He looked so very Cassian, casual and laid-back, that she struggled to keep her emotions level at the mere sight of him. His hair was down, looking like he had just run his fingers through it with its deep part and how it fell haphazardly around his face. He was wearing his reading glasses, she noticed, the thick frames highlighting the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the wide set of his jaw. He gave her a soft smile, and cocked his head to the side and back in invitation. She could almost hear him gently telling her to “get in here”.

Too late to turn back now.

——————————————————————————

A/N: Alrighty, hope y’all enjoyed this chapter, even with minimal Nessian. The next chapter(s) will more than make up for it, though! I’m hoping to have max Nessian to y’all ASAP. A million thanks to all of you who continue to follow this au. Your comments/ feedback have meant the world to me!

If you’d like to be tagged, feel free to comment, reblog, or send a message! I’d be happy to add you to the list. If I’ve accidentally left you off or there are issues with your tag, let me know, and I’ll look into it! Comments and constructive criticism are welcome (even encouraged)!

Tags:

@polireader // @lord-douglas-the-third // @justgiu12 // @notyournymphetish // @sjm-things // @strangeenemy // @iammissstark // @keshavomit // @sjmships // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks // @dusty-lightbulb // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker // @julemmaes // @charincharge // @superspiritfestival // @awesomelena555 // @sleeping-and-books // @hizqueen4life // @maastrash // @bookstantrash // @rhyswhitethorn // @grace-k-sterling // @sayosdreams // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @ladywitchling // @b00kworm // @courtofjurdan

#nessian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nesta #cassian #acotar #nessian au #nessian fwb #nessian angst #nessian fanfic #acowar #acomaf #archeron sisters #acotar fanfic #sjm #sarah j maas

[geekkatsblog]

Grey's Anatomy season 17 episode 4

(Get these characters some Ragu sauce because they've been through enough.)

This episode has been the best for the season so far, I loved it.

_________________________________________

Jackson and Jo

(Never thought I'd have to put them in a title together.)

Jackson and Jo I was intrigued at first when they were being just friends but then they swapped it and slept together. At this point I'm not sure if I like the pairing it's kinda odd borderline cringe, but maybe it'll change. It might be because it came on so suddenly and different. They've pledged to be a friends with benefits thing which is for the best, because Jackson really does go through clothes like he does clothes, but we all know how that is going to end up, someone is going to catch feelings and I don't think it's going to be Jo.

Honestly I'm not sure what they're doing with Jackson. He hasn't had a plot in a really long time it seems like they're just using him as a general filler to put the ladies in relationships, and where did my baby Harriet go she carried the show for the few seconds she was in it last time.

Other than their new arrangement neither Jackson nor Jo have any pressing plots at the moment.

___________________________________________

Link and Amelia

(Currently carrying the Grey's relationship game.)

Before we get into it can I just express how adorable it was seeing Amelia gardening and mothering. She's really doing a great job.

And Link and his one man band serenading his son is adorable as well. He's an awesome father as everyone knew he would have been.

The pandemic and the possibility of Meredith dying is getting to them, as it would for anyone in their positions. I loved that he sat with Amelia and allowed her to feel all her feelings. Link has been the only partner Amelia has had who actually listened to her instead of talking over her concerns and dismissing them and in return she sat with him and allowed him to process his grief in the way he preferred to. Their levels of communication is on point right now and I am excited to see where it goes. Then there's also the scene where she's afraid for Meredith, her and Meredith had a rocky start and even now they don't have the best relationship but still it's great to see the moments where they let us know that they do care about each other.

___________________________________________

Nico and Levi

(At this point I'm sad to put these two names together up here.)

I shipped those two so strong at the beginning but now I just want Levi to stand up for himself and leave Nico hanging, give him some time to let him realise what a good thing he is messing up. I'm still seething at his hypocrisy calling Levi a baby gay and lowkey pressuring Levi to come out to and move out of his mother's basement only for him to find out that Nico hasn't come out to his parents either and worst of all basically left him homeless by putting him out.

I was sad to see that Levi was falling down the same rabbit hole again. Levi hunny you deserve better. At the beginning of the episode when they had that awkward hi moment I was like oh no here we go again. Jo's reaction to finding out about them was perfect their friendship really has grown on me. It was a little odd at first but I approve of them as each other's persons, and for Jo to let him know he's worth more until Nico gets his crap together.

___________________________________________

Owen

Oh Owen, no just no, he miss diagnosed a patient because he didn't look at the whole picture and just saw a piece, however he took the time to educate himself so I'm feeling a little better, I was expecting him to get mad or offended but he wasn't he took it in stride usually some of the doctors would tend to get snippy at the resident's when they pointed out that they made a mistake but he didn't. This is a common mistake made where doctors don't take into concept ethnicity when they're diagnosing patients and I'm glad they touched on this topic.

Owen has no other current plots at this point to touch on, at least until him and Teddy talk again.

___________________________________________

Richard Webber

Meredith better be alright and come out unscathed, because if she does that will destroy Webber. He was so stressed all episode trying to make the decision of whether to put Meredith in the trial or not and I could only imagine the panic that went through him when he heard her mention George. Finally he made the decision to put her in the trial. Her reason for putting her as her POA was because Richard tends to be calm in most situations but she underestimated how important she is to everyone in the hospital they were all literally only interested in her during the briefing, and seeing him in her room all the time was adorable she was alone yet not alone at the same time because he was always in the room watching over her. He is the father that Meredith never had.

__________________________________________Bailey

(Her plot is apparently coming next week)

She really didn't do much other than educate Owen, worry over Meredith and express her concern about her parent's recent move to an assisted living facility.

Seeing her and George together again warmed my heart and seeing her on the beach with Meredith was a surprise as well especially because the few conversations they had in season 16 were the most I'd seen them talk about things that didn't involve work, but they've been together from the beginning along with Richard and been with her through it all, they're all a family and even though her and Meredith have their ups and down they have a similar relationship to Amelia and Meredith they fight sometimes but when push comes to shove they are there for each other.

___________________________________________

Teddy

(A moment of silence for season 5 through 7 Teddy. May she rest in peace.)

Her plot wasn't so much as about her as it was about Meredith but I understand her concern about Meredith dying under her watch. The whole hospital was basically looking over her shoulder with pitchforks for incase she screwed up. It's a lot of pressure when Meredith Grey is your patient, and after the whole her being heard cheating on Owen with Tom by the whole OR the eyes were probably sharper than ever.

But then onto the worst part, her going to visit Tom. Now I know he said he was going to move on for his own sake, but out of all the times they broke up or separated he has never actually ignored her he would have answered even if it was to say go away and even so he has Covid and wasn't answering the door, why didn't she try to open the door or call 911 that's concerning. She could have even threatened to call the ambulance first just to make sure he wasn't really ignoring her. That would have gotten a response from him for sure. But I just can't fathom how she just left after getting no answer from him.

___________________________________________

Maggie

(Get it hun.)

Her and Winston are so cute and they haven't even met in person yet. Seeing the way how they handled the whole dinner with his father was a nice moment. The dinner was super awkward and he managed to make me hate his dad in one scene. This one seems to be the real deal for Maggie she isn't freaking out at the pace like she usually does and took the invitation to family dinner quite well. I'm glad to see she's no longer a cheerleader but now has a life of her own and probably soon maybe even a plot.

___________________________________________

Tom Koracick

(Take Owen instead.)

NOOOOOO not Tom, we haven't gotten to see his character development yet. And why has he been through as much as someone who has been on the show since season 6 give the dude a break man. The whole time I knew he was going to get worst being asymptomatic doesn't necessarily mean that you won't get them later plus the fact that they sent him home alone was enough to know that something was going to go bad.

First thing first the rest of the doctors are sickening the way they treat him, can he come on strong and be a douche yes but I remember Bailey telling George at one point when he was making fun of Karev that they still had to be on his side even if they didn't like him. They are not on Koracick's side they just sent him home to rot and now it may very well cost him his life. I know Meredith is the sun but they could have at least kept Tom in the hospital to just to monitor him or if that wasn't able to happen they could have kept better tabs on him to make sure he was ok.

Am I the only one who's seeing Helm as his intern later in the future? They clearly have the same taste in video games and they would get along better when he becomes more open to people. Plus idk Helm just reminds me of someone in Nuero or even cardio, she has that tough attitude and strong drive like Cristina and Stephanie etc.

I don't think he's going to die though or at least I hope he's not going to die. Bailey's mother is there for a reason I more see her as the one to die.

___________________________________________

Meredith

Last but certainly not least is Meredith am I the only one who suspected that George was next Ellen Pompeo and T.R Knight have a good relationship off set. If anyone was coming back it was going to be George. I can't see Eric Dane coming back. Chyler is filming Supergirl in Vancouver I think and the others are still alive which makes it more unlikely for them to show up on the beach unless if they heard about Meredith being sick and came back to help or something.

Either way I was ecstatic when I saw George, as I said at some point before he was one of those characters that I didn't like before but the more I watched the show the more I appreciated him until he became one of my favorite characters on the show. He's every bit as 'Georgelike' as I remember him. The only thing was I was a little peeved at the fact that she got to be close to George and talk about her kids with him and not Derek but as I realised later apparently Derek is death and when she reaches him it means she choose to live. Which I'm ok with I guess it was good just seeing them again, and it was even better when we got to see the 4 OG's sitting together again even if it was just in a dream.

She has to pick her kids, they need her and so does GreySloan, she needs to live.

I'm hoping she recovers soon, as much as I would like to see even more visitors at the beach. Has Meredith not been through enough? Although this is as peaceful as I've seen her to be completely honest.

___________________________________________

Next week is looking extremely dramatic already.

Meredith seems to be getting better although who knows how long that will last.

Koracick is worst like I said before I don't think he will actually die but something extremely dramatic is going to happen besides him being near death it might be another peice to the Teddy, Owen and Tom love triangle seeing that they're both working on him.

And the last part I saw was Bailey's mom I knew her talking about her parents all of the sudden meant that something was going to happen to one or both of them. Unfortunately I think she might be the one to die Grey's has a habit of bringing in secondary characters when too many primary characters are at risk. Plus it'll give Bailey her plot which I'm lowkey ok with because Chandra Wilson's Emotional scenes are always on point.

#grey s anatomy #greys anatomy #grey's anatomy #greys abc #grey's spoilers #greys spoilers #greys season 17 #meredith grey #miranda bailey #richard webber #levi schmitt #atticus link #amelia shepherd #maggie pierce #george omalley #owen hunt #teddy altman #tom koracick #jo wilson #jackson avery #grey's abc #grey's season 17 #grey's episodes #episode review #favorite tv shows #tv shows

[afoolforatook]

On fandom and tragic romance tropes, from someone who's lived it.

Okay, this is kind of…. Idk a very specific vent and tbh one I feel kinda bad about because I genuinely don’t want to make people feel bad for liking reading/writing romantic angst or tragedy and it’s really less of an individual issue than an overall attitude in fandom.

Like, it’s absolutely okay to like not happy endings, and angst doesn’t have to just be for cathartic relief. Angst isn’t only acceptable if it’s to process trauma, you’re allowed to like it just because that’s your taste.

But at the same time…. I can’t help but have very personal feelings about how a lot of fandom spaces treat tragic romance tropes…

(this got really long but... it's something I've wanted to address for a long time)

I'm far from secretive with the fact that when I was 20, my girlfriend Emma (19) was killed in a car crash, along with her younger brother, mother, and aunt, and that a lot of my art and writing is purposefully about processing and accepting that grief. Fandom has been a very important part of how I’ve gotten through the last five years, which I’ll get into a bit more in a minute, but tbh it’s also been a lot harder navigating fandom and especially anything ship-related since Emma died, because of how people tend to romanticize a character tragically losing a partner.

And honestly, it’s not just fandom, it’s media in general. And mainstream media focus on tragic sob stories, shock factor, and BYG tropes is definitely a big part of the problem.

But as much as fandom pushes against mainstream overuse of such tropes, there is a good portion of fandom that falls into the same type of issue. And not just ‘fandom’ in the usual sense, but literary communities, poetry, etc…

The amount of times I see stories or prompts about characters tragically losing their partner, and that being the climax of the story, and then next to nothing about that character actually navigating their grief or being able to eventually start a new relationship or just be happy is just…. It makes me feel physically ill.

Like, people saying how tragic love stories are more interesting than happy endings. Or seeing a post about tragic pairing prompts and people saying things like ‘or they think it's unrequited but then A dies and B finds a letter confessing and they really loved each other but now it's too late’ and more people being like ‘YES YOU GET IT THAT'S THE GOOD STUFF’

Just… really, honestly. It's okay to like angst, even really tragic angst. I’m not trying to guilt anyone out of that.

I just….. Most of the time people just talk about it like ‘oh yeah I love some of that good tragic love story shit’ and the stories focus on the build-up and the shock/trauma of the death as it happens and then the excruciating reaction of the survivor and then maybe a time jump to show them happy again.

But very rarely do people take the time to actually handle the grief. People like the good cry of a character mourning their partner, but the vast majority of creators and fans rush through or skip over everything after the initial drama and aftermath. The ‘tragedy’ is the only part they focus on, and then the story ends and they move on.

And like. Shit. I liked that stuff too, I wrote some of it, years ago. And I’m not saying you can’t ever just leave it there, or that if you want to write tragic romance you always have to explore all the long-term emotional consequences.

But try to have it in mind, to consider what message countless grief narratives that end after the funeral, or maybe a few weeks or months later, teach people about real-life grief. This goes for any kind of grief narrative, but the one I see most, the one I used to ‘enjoy’ most myself, is romantic.

But, after having actually lived it? And knowing I'll have to live the rest of my life as the part of the story that usually isn’t told? It turns my stomach the way it’s often handled.

Like seeing people gush about how angsty a fic/idea is, and ‘OH MY GOD SO SAD CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW TRAGIC HOW DARE YOU. I LOVE SEEING/PUTTING THEM THROUGH SO MUCH PAIN’ gets a bit uncomfortable.

Not because there’s something inherently wrong with ever reacting like that, but because most often I can turn around and have the same people not know how to react when I tell them about Emma, not know how to handle the same grief they were just gushing over in fiction, when it’s real.

Grief is isolating enough on its own, but then it just doesn’t feel great when the worst thing to ever happen to you is a huge trope that people gush over, while very rarely fleshing out the actual reality of what it feels like to go through that or how to respond to someone actually dealing with grief, and eventually having to deal with your own grief.

Tbh it’s why I really just kinda have an aversion to the word ‘angst’ in general, and don’t really like to refer to my own writing as angst, even though I know plenty of people might think of it as such. So much of fandom's handling of ‘angst’ has come to feel like voyeuristic tourism of the grief I deal with every day, and will for the rest of my life.

Just, I know people are always going to like tragic angsty romance, and that’s fine, and honestly, it's not even an issue of individuals, but of how fandom in general treats it.

And again, I really don’t want to make anyone feel bad for liking it, and it has its purposes. And even when it’s not for catharsis, it's okay to just like sad stories just because.

I just… I wish more people would keep in mind that it’s not just a tearjerker story trope. People really go through this. And they then often end up feeling very isolated because people around them don't know how to react to their grief, because their grief makes things awkward and a mood killer.

Like, if you love this kind of angst (and not because you personally relate to it or find it cathartic, but just because, just for fun) but then feel awkward around people talking about their real-life grief, maybe spend some time with that, and think about the topic as a real-world trauma and not just a dramatic story trope. (this doesn’t just go for grief. Any kind of trauma you don’t personally deal with, if you love reading/writing it but avoid actually listening to people talking about their real-life experiences with it, think about why that is.)

I just hate seeing loss and initial dramatic grief responses being this shock factor/tearjerker trope, without ever really seriously addressing long-term grief. Especially when it doesn't even do a time jump or anything, and just ends on the surviving character being forever destroyed; when it focuses on the idea of how sad it is for your favorite character to have to spend the rest of their life alone.

And that’s not even folding in any kind of BYG/queer tragedy tropes in canon or fandom spaces.

And like… on a much more individual, less practical point, I just… there’s nothing wrong with angst but honestly (and especially for characters whose canon is in no way tragic) every time I see it I just want to scream WHY…. Why do that to them!? I’m not saying you have to stop, or that you’re not allowed to write trauma you don’t deal with personally. But I will never not cringe a bit at the ‘painful enjoyment’ of a character going through the traumatic loss of a partner. And it’s a sentiment I don’t really see people being okay with in regards to any other kind of trauma.

I don’t have actual numbers, but it sure feels like fandom treats stories about romantic grief very differently than most other traumas. Other trauma, even other kinds of grief, like a close friend or a sibling or parent, etc. tend to at least try to touch on a theme of recovery, or that the emotional turmoil being covered isn’t just a fun angsty trope to spend a little time in and then move on. And of course, this isn’t universal and plenty of people don’t handle these other traumas respectfully or as anything more than dramatic fuel, but this is the trend I’ve personally seen in over 10 years of tumblr fandom. And to that point, even when traumas aren’t respectfully handled I’ve at least seen people try to bring attention to that, with posts about how to respectfully handle disability or addiction or mental health or abuse. I can’t remember off the top of my head a single post like that about grief, let alone specifically romantic grief. It seems to be commonly accepted that while most kinds of trauma can be explored, but still handled respectfully, the death of a partner can just be done for the Drama. People tend to try to learn about abuse or addiction experiences before attempting big angsty stories addressing that. But doomed romance and a grief-stricken lover (it feels like, in my experience) are much more likely to happen on a whim.

Generally, it feels like other kinds of trauma, while still part of ‘angst’ also keeps a sense of awareness of how that narrative reflects real people’s experiences. It’s not just heavy because it’s big dramatic fictional angst, but because it’s grounded in real-life trauma that everyday people who come across it might relate to. Like... I just feel like a lot of fandom spaces treat ‘major character death’ and tragic romantic trope tags as just filters, like they’re needed because ‘not everyone likes angst, it’s just not their thing’ without really acknowledging that it’s a real trauma that everyday people deal with, where (again, often, but of course far from always, and certainly not in mainstream) other tws and tags like assault or substance abuse, people understand that people they interact with might really deal with those issues and they try to not just use them as dramatic fodder and to portray them respectfully.

But grief, especially romantic grief, seems different. The number of people who will come across a fic or edit or piece of art about a tragic love story, and will have had that personal experience of losing a partner, is much lower than people with real experiences with abuse, or addiction, or mental illness. That’s not a bad thing. I wish none of you ever have to know what that feels like.

But because of that, tragic romance ends up seeming like this distant thing. Like it’s only in dramatic tv shows or movies or literature, or lives solely in angsty fandom spaces as a way to get out a good cry. It seems grand and Tragic, off in its own world of dramatic emotional story tropes.

It’s solely pretty dark edits put to song lyrics, or striking art, or beautifully written prose that rips your heart out. It’s Tragic Romance.

And there’s nothing wrong with that inherently. But for many people, it seems like that is what it becomes: fiction. An angsty trope.

I genuinely hope that’s all it ever is for all of you. I wish I could ensure that that good angsty hurt will only ever be a trope you visit when you need a good cry.

But it’s not just fiction.

It's not just angst for sake of drama or fun or poetic storytelling. It’s not grand or romantic or beautifully tragic.

It’s unbearable. It’s physical pain.

That’s not exaggeration or metaphor. It sneaks up on me out of nowhere and it literally feels like someone is crushing my chest. I’ve nearly broken my hand punching a wall because I needed to make something hurt more than this thing in my chest that isn’t even actually there but it hurts so much.

Tbf I think a lot of my attitude towards this really stems more from fandom trends from when I was younger, and I think a lot more people actually try to flesh out grief more these days. But I just remember so much tragic romantic fic and fandom love from when I was a teenager that didn’t go deeper than ‘look how heartbreaking this is it’s so sad, I wanna make everybody read it and cry and it’s just fun and a story, oh my god I couldn't live with that’

no, of course I don't have a few specific old fics or posts from like superwholock days in mind, that I used to gush over too, and now just the idea of makes me feel actually sick

Idk… like I said. I don't at all want to make anyone feel bad for liking that type of angst, and I feel kind of bad for criticizing it. It just…

It hurts seeing basically your exact situation on angsty prompt lists with people gushing about how good it hurts. Especially when the same people would be (and have been) deer in headlights when they find out you’ve lived the same thing. (Again, this goes for any kind of trauma trope, but most others I’ve seen at least some kind of discussion about before)

Just please, try to be mindful of not just how you write stories about grief, but how you talk about death angst in general. (again, certainly not everyone, but more and more) People know to not just romanticize abuse trauma or addictions or mental illness, and to research, and ask for advice to try to be respectful.

And it’s much more common for someone in fandom spaces, in their teens or 20s or 30s to deal with those sorts of trauma than having experienced losing a partner.

But we exist. And while there is plenty of media out there showing tragic young romance, there is very little (in my experience, after nearly five years of desperately looking) real-world acknowledgment and support, or proof that you’ll be able to survive that kind of loss and still be happy, and even less so if they’re queer.

In a couple of months, it will have been five years since Emma’s death. From day one I have not been private about my loss, whenever possible.

And in five years of saying “When I was 20 my girlfriend died.” to new friends, classmates, potential dates, fandom spaces, therapists, grief support forums, etc… do you know how many other people have told me that they also lost a partner as a young adult, whether queer or straight, by accident or suicide or illness?

Zero.

No one. I’ve had people say how they lost a best friend or a sibling or a parent. And those losses, those kinds of grief are certainly not any less traumatic than the loss of a partner. But even in real life, they’re different. Losing a partner, especially at a very young age when it’s likely your main romantic experience, has different emotional effects, and can be harder to find people who directly relate.

Five years. Zero people dealing with the specific facets of grief as me.

The ONLY times I have ever heard about stories like mine in real life are either the rare article or essay or celebrity story, of which I can probably easily count on two hands.

All the other representation I’ve found is in mainstream fiction and fandom.

And of those stories, those fics, that art, the vast majority have had the partner die in the last half, probably closer to the 75% mark, of the story or arc.

If I’m lucky, that last 25% will focus on the immediate aftermath and grief (especially in fic, while a lot of media might give you a few scenes, and then move on to other character arcs).

If I’m really lucky they’ll show some kind of time jump, to say ‘see, they’re still haunted by their lost love but they’ve tried to move on or can pretend to be happy’.

And so much fandom reception is centered around ‘it’s soooooo SADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD MY POOR HEART IT HURTS SO GOOD. LOVE ME SOME ANGST’, or romanticizing the idea of being unable to live without them, and if they can, it’s often never really putting focus on all the pain it took to process their grief.

Again, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this individually, or that you shouldn’t gush and scream over fic or art or prompts that hook you because of angst. But it adds up really quickly, especially when, even when getting good genuine support from people, you still see no one else actually living with that feeling like you. The only place you find it is stories, and then you see people mostly excited over just how beautifully sad it is.

And that just feels… I can’t explain it honestly.

Just, think about how you react to or talk about fic or prompts or art about a character crying over their partner’s body, or attending their funeral, and think about whether you’d feel appropriate doing the same if instead, they were dealing with abuse, or addiction, or self-harm.

Again, that’s not to say you can’t ever gush or key smash or such, but is it all you do?

You don’t have to stop enjoying angst and tragic romance. But think about how I just said that.

Enjoy.

Do you only ever act like you ‘Enjoy’ it (and yes, this includes the ‘I’m such a masochist I just love to cry over them, it’s emotional release that doesn’t trigger me’ reaction), and romanticize it?

It’s fine to, sometimes. But do you also appreciate it, and try to understand the real-world weight of it? Do you know what you’d say to a friend if they told you they’d lost a partner?

That ‘love me some good angst’, Dramatic grief, being the main fandom attitude doesn’t just hurt me or others who have lost people close to them, partners or not.

A big part of fandom, and of just society, has no idea how to deal with grief, their own or others. It’s not a light conversation topic, it makes people feel awkward, or walk on eggshells around you, or tell you how they can’t possibly imagine having to go through that (btw, y'all don’t say this to people. About grief, or trauma, or disability or anything like that, just don’t. I’m begging you. And a rant about that kind of thing is for another day but... )

And then, when people inevitably face some form of major grief themselves, they feel ashamed for not handling it ‘right’.

It hurts, to try to find some acknowledgment of your grief, and only ever see stories that show just the first few weeks or months; the feeling of it never possibly being anything but constantly excruciating. Stories that end on ‘they were alone and sad and that is what their story, their love, will live on as; Tragic’. Or, that skip all the work and the doubt and the backsliding, and just show years down the road, when they’ve got a whole new life, and that grief, that love, is just a sad memory that they have ‘moved on’ from. Just a tiny trinket call back.

It feels impossible to survive, to ever be happy again, when you never see grief being treated as more than a tragic story point. And then, as you try your hardest to keep going, to process and heal, and connect to new people, while not forgetting the person you love, not letting them just become your tragic backstory, you see people gush over tragic love stories, over how romantic it is, over how characters loved each other so much they couldn’t live without them. (Thankfully a good bit of fandom seems to be pulling away from this, but it’s still common)

And, if that’s what it is to lose a partner, your soulmate… then… then how am I able to keep living? Even as painful as it is? If true love means not being able to live without the other person, does that mean I didn’t, I don’t, actually love them enough? Am I selfish for still actually wanting to live the rest of my life, even with this pain of the person I love being gone?

Would people read my, our, story and ‘enjoy’ it? Would they find this romantic? Would they scream over a prompt based on the worst event in my life, and have a good cry, and then move on, thinking how sad and beautifully tragically romantic that story would be? Would this person I love and miss more than anything, become just a Tragedy? Just an angsty sob story to gush about how wonderfully painful it was? Would it become about only my pain and heartbreak, and not about the cruelty of this other complete, unique, independent person who was robbed of their entire future?

Maybe that seems melodramatic or putting too much weight on tropes, or fandom. But remember.

Five years.

Zero real people saying ‘I’ve been there too’.

The only places I have seen my grief reflected (beyond a rare celebrity interview, or article) is in fiction, and mostly in fandom.

For over a decade I’ve seen people key smash and gush over angsty ships in fic and art, and I was one of them for a long time.

And then, when it became real life for me, all too often (not always, of course) people wouldn’t know how to handle my real grief. Even when I didn’t want to grieve, but wanted to remember all the reasons I love Emma. My real-life moments of ‘fluff’ that I cling to, become uncomfortable when they know the ‘angst’ to come.

And I don’t blame them. I’m not angry at them for not knowing what to say, for walking on eggshells. They’re not cruel for that, they’re not unsympathetic, it’s not that they just don’t try.

Because, if I’ve found so few real-world stories about this kind of grief, after looking so hard for so long, how can I expect them to have had much more luck?

If the only places I find stories about grief never focus on the reality of life after the funeral, and the process of not moving past, but learning to handle grief, then how can I expect broader fandom to know how to be comfortable around the ugly, boring, repetitive, not at all romantic parts of that grief?

Just, yes. Write, read, love your angst. But please just remember that ‘tragic love story’ happens to people, and while plenty of people might not want to read it because it’s just not their thing, or too depressing, there are those who see those dramatic prompt scenarios, and personally relate to them (I quite often say the events around Emma’s death read like a heavy-handed soap opera, or Queer Tragedy movie, and had had plenty of people agree, even before hearing all the details. And I have literally seen multiple prompts of ‘best friends secretly have feelings for each other, and then finally confess, only to get a short bit of happiness before one dies tragically’)

Write, read, love your angst, your tragic love stories, just please, be as respectful of grief (in any form, but this is mostly a shipping issue in my experience) as you would be (or should be) of other major trigger warnings. Gush and scream about the big dramatic ‘romantic’ tragedies, but don’t then ignore the raw, uncomfortable, vulnerable, cathartic explorations, or the real people dealing with real loss.

Because damn y’all, I’ve seen ‘I just love a good romantic tragedy trope, yes please rip my heart out’ said so many times, with the same tone as saying ‘That fake dating trope, that’s the good stuff’.

I’ve seen people gush over how much more interesting and beautifully cruel it is for young love to end tragically.

And I promise you. It’s not. It just fucking sucks. It’s not romantic or tragically beautiful or poignant. It’s devastating. And it goes on for so much longer than that last quarter of the story.

My grief is more than an angsty prompt. Our relationship, my love for her, is more than a dramatic sob story, more than just awkward sadness that kills the mood. Emma’s life, her memory, is more than my tragic backstory.

I want to be able to find my story in more than just fiction, I want to be able to get support from people who live with similar grief.

But I also want to see grief in fiction, in fandom, become more than a final character arc or Tragic love story; used for dramatic effect; grand and huge for a moment and then never fully processed, or mentioned again; just tragically romantic and heartbreaking and soooo good and angsty.

Grief is one of the only things we will all have to face throughout our lives.

I’m not just asking you to respect my grief or the grief of those around you. But your own future grief. I don’t want you to get there and feel like your grief is wrong, or means that you didn’t love someone ‘enough’ because it doesn’t manifest in a certain way.

Learning to accept grief; to be comfortable around raw, unpoetic, grief; to not hold up certain expressions of grief as Romantic or Poetic, but just honest, will eventually be personally useful for all of us, as much as I wish it wouldn’t.

I want my grief, everyone’s grief, to be seen, and understood, not just romanticized and dramatized.

My love story, Emma’s love story, isn’t beautifully tragic. It isn’t more interesting or poetic than a happy ending. The pain that I will carry with me for the rest of my life is not romantic.

But it is important.

#mine #my writing #tw #grief #death #car crash #fandom analysis #romantic tragedy trope