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tfyoulookingatgiuxs · 23 days

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You're not the only one who asked me to do a part two of "Together Forever" so I'll oblige you right away. Sorry if I'm late... :(

You can't stop us

Billy Hargrove x Female!Reader

(PART 2 OF TOGETHER FOREVER. PART 1 -> HERE )

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: After you finally arrived in California your dreams begin to come true, for both you and Billy, but the threats still lurk but you both were ready for any eventuality.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Fluff, angst, fem!reader, stalking, bad language, daddy issues, comfort, attempted murder, weapons, mention of blood, too much drama.

𝐀/𝐍: So, I admit that I received requests for a part 2 on "Together Forever" but I thought "Nah, I'll never be able to do a second part, in short the one shot ends here" but thinking about it I wanted to try and then I felt like I'm guilty of not wanting to satisfy you. And here it is, I hope I have made my way into your hearts and satisfied you as always, obviously let me know what you think! Sorry for my english this is not my native language. Please support and reblog. Hope you enjoy! (DIVIDER NOT MINE)

In the middle of the road in the dark where the streetlights illuminated the path towards California, that evening even if you were happy you couldn't help but admit that you were nervous, both you and Billy were escaping from the city, from your home which in the end was never such, especially for your boyfriend. Billy was worried that when his father found out about his escape, would come looking for him, and when he came to get him he would face the wrath of a man who would have no qualms about beating his own son. But you reassured him, you told him that everything would be fine, you were prepared, you had it in your head that you would face and console any of his worries. Driving and looking at the road calmed him down and in fact during the journey you noticed his breathing becoming regular again. Before it was a mixture of many emotions that he didn't know how to handle, he still has to digest all this and you didn't expect it to happen right away.

During the journey Billy admired the rain beating on the glass and the street lights, while you fell into a deep sleep. Needless to say, Billy took the opportunity to admire your face those times he had to stop at a traffic light. You arrived at your destination after a couple of hours. You had suggested to Billy that you stop in front of a hotel where you would spend most of your time, at least until you found a house. The money you had set aside for this occasion was enough for your plans. You told Billy about a house by the sea and he went crazy at the idea. He would wait though, you wanted to take it slow and your boyfriend shared your thoughts.

"How do you feel?" You asked him as soon as the two of you entered your room. The lady at the counter didn't pay attention to the time and that's why she didn't say anything and left you the room keys. Billy looked impressed and still slightly agitated.

"Strange..." he admitted catching a glimpse of his smirk. Until two years ago, he didn't think he'd set foot in California again, but there he is. In a hotel room in California.

"I feel strange too. Change has an indescribable taste" as scary as change may seem you knew it was just a matter of habit.

"Yeah..." your boyfriend seemed really speechless, he watched you for a moment and you both burst into joyful laughter. You gave him a kiss and then took a good look at his emerald green eyes.

"Now let's go to sleep, it's late" Billy hugged you sighing.

"Do you think we'll make it?" You placed a candid kiss on his neck.

"Yes, we'll always do it, babe" you cheered him up. You both then went to sleep sleepy but happy to have taken the first step. The rain continued to fall and this was the soundtrack that resonated in that evening full of emotions.

You and Billy stayed at that hotel for a couple of weeks. Billy found a job as a lifeguard again at a busy pool nearby, while you easily found a job as a nurse in a hospital in San Francisco. In fact, after three months spent at the hotel, together you moved right there, to San Francisco, to the house that overlooked the sea. Billy was truly happier than ever, you had never seen him like this, you were proud and satisfied to have finally made Billy Hargrove happy, the boy who was as popular as he was unhappy in his own life. However, you decided not to be heard from again, especially with Billy's family. You were still in contact with your parents and every now and then you would inform each other about what was going on in Hawkins.

Needless to say, the Hargorve family went nuts, called the police and reported Billy missing. Your boyfriend didn't care about this, he was fine with it, he wanted to stay there with you and hope that everything went well.

“I won't let that bastard find us, I assure you” He said as soon as you put the phone down.

“I understand babe, but in case he does we should be careful” The thought of Billy's father finding you terrified you. You were happy and intent on building a future together, thinking that someone would destroy your dreams alarmed you, especially if the person who destroyed them was the man who had ruined Billy's childhood.

“You know if your father finds us all hell will break loose” you walked closer to him. The night succumbed to what was your new home. Still not well organised. All you had was a mattress with blankets in the bedroom and a newly built kitchen thanks to your father who came to visit you. Luckily, your parents have always been by your side and they came to visit you, they met Billy, welcoming him with open arms and offered to buy you some furniture for the new house. Your boyfriend loved them. They were kind and thoughtful, they wanted the best for you and they promised him that they would do everything to please you. The only fear these encounters could spark was whether someone would follow them or somehow bring the Hargrove family to you.

Billy, wearing his white tank top let out a sigh and looked into your eyes.

"I can only imagine it. It will definitely kill us" you took his hand to reassure him in some way.

"But we would make sure he didn't do it. If one day he were to find us we would be ready for anything, okay?" He nodded and rested his forehead on yours.

“I'll leave it to your clever nurse mind” you laughed, he had really been obsessed since you got the job.

"Do you like the fact that I'm a nurse, Hargrove?" You teased him lightly and he admired your lips.

"Pretty much," he replied with that bad boy grin that accompanied him throughout his school years. You pulled him into a kiss, forgetting the discomfort that your problems caused you, you needed to leave them aside and think about yourselves for a moment.

It had now been almost a year since you and Billy decided to escape from Hawkins and the situation seemed to be improving. The house was well structured, now you no longer slept in a narrow mattress but in a real double bed. They were all satisfactions that you didn't think would come true. You worked a lot on the house together with your parents. Your father bought you the sofa for the living room as a gift and your mother bought you the television. You were happy with these unexpected gifts, especially when you looked at Billy's smug look in amazement. Speaking of the rest, you bought everything yourself. Home was no longer a problem! It was as you expected. Convenient and comfortable and will fully satisfy your needs. The fear that someone might find out about your escape had passed and your mother no longer reported news of Billy's disappearance. You thought that the police had most likely realized that Billy Hargrove had run away from home and therefore dropped the matter, and this heartened you.

Every now and then you stopped to gaze out over the California sea, not mentioning the fact that Billy had started surfing again when you came to the beach. Like a child, he kept jumping the two meter high wave and this almost made you cry. You wanted to know if his mother was proud of him now, if she had deigned to see him like this at least one last time before abandoning him to his cruel fate.

Now it had become a fixed appointment to come there every Friday to savor the beauty of the sea, too bad for you that today Billy had to work in the afternoon, so you decided to take a walk alone along the beach while the sound of the seagulls dragged you to the one it seemed to be an eternal peace. It was getting late and you went home with your sandals still dirty with sand. Your house wasn't that far away so you made the journey on foot. It wasn't dark, the days had gotten longer but the feeling of being chased began to pervade your mind. You turned around and a hooded man was two meters away from you. You didn't want to give it any weight, maybe you were wrong. However, anxiety began to boil in your blood when the man continued to be behind you. You were alone on that sidewalk in a street where there wasn't a living soul.

Out of fear you started running and the man behind you shouted the worst things at you: insults of all kinds, insults against your family and more. You didn't know this person but you were hoping to somehow outshine him. You arrived home in a panic, quickly opened the front door and locked yourself in and started crying. While he chased you you didn't scream or cry for help and you didn't know why. You gave in as soon as you entered the house. Billy came down upon hearing the commotion and as soon as he saw you collapsed in front of the front door crying he immediately headed to you.

"What happened?" He asked worriedly still wearing his red lifeguard uniform, apparently he had just returned. You sobbed but tried to collect yourself. You immediately threw yourself into his arms still with the ongoing shock.

"He chased me. I-I don't know this man but he chased me and yelled at me" you explained trying not to stutter. Your boyfriend hugged you, replying that everything will be fine and to describe the man.

“I didn't get a good look at his face, he had a hood on and his head was bowed as he walked” You answered him and he nodded and that idea immediately crossed your mind “What if your father found us?” Your boyfriend turned pale at the thought and immediately checked out the windows. Meanwhile you calmed down and your tears stopped.

"There's no one outside" he began and in the meantime you wiped those dried tears on your face.

Billy approached you "Everything will be fine, if that dickhead dares to show up he will find us ready to welcome him" He smiled at you and for a moment you stopped to look at him.

In all this time you hadn't actually thought about what if his father would find you. You always wanted to believe that one day it would never happen and that you were most likely just putting on too much air, but instead he was there chasing you and spitting all his arrogant phrases at you. Billy, however, did not lose hope, he was determined and hid a grudge, the one he held back for years. You stood up and silence fell. The sunset was splendid but the tension didn't let you enjoy the view you would have liked to admire at the sea.

Suddenly two clear shots shattered the living room windows and you let out a scream.

"Billy!" A man yelled outside your house "I know you're there, you and that bitch of yours, come out!" Furious as if you had unleashed the wrath of a divine god, he continued to fire undaunted until he reloaded.

"Go away!" The son answered from the broken window, he couldn't go out, it would have been too dangerous, you immediately ran to the phone calling the police.

"Don't you dare to give me order!" Another shot, but this time towards the boy who luckily had dodged the shot.

“I said: go away!” He repeated as his eyes became teary. He wanted to give in but was refusing to. You stood there watching him fearing for his life which was currently more at risk than yours.

The police told you they would be there soon and you jumped down when you heard another shot.

"Babe be careful!" You warned him.

"Come on Billy! Be a sissy, be a limp dick, just like your mother" That was enough to trigger his anger. Your boyfriend walked out of the house and was confronted by his "beloved" father. You called him back scared but he just ignored you. In that instant you saw the worst version of Billy. You saw the pain that had ruined him, the violence he had suffered that made him aggressive and violent just by looking at him. You stood still in front of the front door staring at him, the gun of the man in front of him threatened him not to make another misstep. His gaze fixed on his father, as if he had no fear, but you knew all too well that Billy feared him more than anything.

The man started laughing "There he is! Billy Hargrove, the missing boy from Hawkins. Your mother was worried, you worried everyone, including your sister! For what? To have a fling with the first slut you found on the street" a punch she hit him "Don't you dare to call her that!" Billy said then punched him.

"You ruined my life!" He managed to say, but instead of wanting to vent with words he preferred to damage his face. You were mortified at the sight, but you skipped a beat as soon as you saw the man pointing the gun at the boy.

"Billy!" You screamed at the top of your lungs running towards him. A blow on his leg that made him scream out in pain. The man struggled to get up, but before letting him make one last move you thought of grabbing his sandaled sandals as you ran towards your bleeding boyfriend. You threw them at him and the sand hit him in the face, blinding him. He put his hands on his face, but pointed the gun forward and fired blindly. From behind you took the gun and threw him to the ground.

You turned to Billy who forcefully stood up with his leg hurting.

"Are you alright?" You said out of breath due to the adrenaline of the moment. He nodded. The sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance and the man on the ground opened one eye, taking in the sights.

"It's over, Father" Billy said the last word, marking it with seriousness, as if it were a threat.

“You are like me, and soon this girl will understand it too” He dared to say.

“He's not like you, he's the opposite and I won't let you ruin his life again” You allowed yourself to say.

The police arrived and with them also the ambulance after seeing an injured person. You had escaped a real danger, surely your mother would have pestered you with calls to find out about your health, but at the moment you didn't want to think about it. Billy sat in the back of the ambulance while they stopped his bleeding by covering it with a bandage. You approached and together you saw the man being arrested. You still didn't know how he managed to find you, but one thing was certain: he hadn't succeeded in his aim. Your boyfriend looked at you.

"See? We did it" he said, you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"I would say so" He smiled at you.

"You saved my life Nurse Williams" You sat next to him.

"It's not true, I didn't do anything, I just got lucky" You didn't feel like a heroine, at all. You hadn't worried about whether this moment would come one day, so you just felt like a ignorant for putting your problems aside.

"Lucky or not, this is proof that no one can stop us. Luck or not" You rested your head on his shoulder.

He was absolutely right.

#stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove angst #stranger things billy #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fluff

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 10 months

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Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia - Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 3: When The Lance Fells The Falcon

The day of the Heir Tournament has finally arrived, and what is a joust without some bloodshed?

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: TW! Depictions of violence, mentions of blood, Daemon being an asshole, angst, the continuation of my blood feud against HOTD’s costuming department

Word Count: 4.3k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: With all the explicit detailing I included about the character’s dresses, would you guys maybe be interested for me to post some of my fashion designs here, so you guys can get a clearer vision of what I envisioned the characters wearing? Because I find it extremely difficult to translate my designs into words lol, blame my lack of fashion background. And from this chapter on, things are going to start getting serious.

Also recommended that you listen to ‘There Are Worse Games To Play’ on the Hunger Games soundtrack while you read this chapter, particularly towards the end 💗

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics as always!

The fire crackled merrily in Lady Y/N’s chambers, although the room was filled with a ruminative silence. Night had once again descended on the Red Keep, and after tending to Aemma all day, who was in more discomfort than usual, Y/N was exhausted.

She was still simmering with displeasure at Daemon’s words from that afternoon. One could argue that Daemon was merely being careless with his words, but Y/N knew better. Just like many other people, he disregarded her based on her gender. She thought maybe Daemon would be different since he cared not for the restraints society has put on him, but it appears she was nothing but a fool to ever think positively of him.

I sighed, my fingers continuing to weave the bonnet for Aemma’s babe, even though I found no pleasure in the task. Daemon’s words this afternoon had sent me tumbling into an unpleasant spiral of emotions, and I directed my dark gaze towards the roaring fire, where the charred remains of my father’s letter still sat.

Lord Matthos and Lady Primrose, Lord and Lady of Highgarden, and my parents. With my lady mother dead now, and me being their unfortunate sole surviving child, my father had directed his focus on getting me married off as soon as possible. “You must wed and produce heirs that could inherit Highgarden,” my father had insisted, pleaded, even. “I know with your...reputation, it might be difficult to find a match, but you are no longer young anymore, and you must marry as soon as possible. It is the duty you owe to House Tyrell.”

“My duty,” I snorted, nearly pricking myself with the needle in the process. It was simply unfair, why must I be expected to marry and pump out babes for my husband while men like Daemon could prance about freely without a care in the world? I wanted to enjoy my youth, as was my right. Why should i care for duty? Even if my father required heirs, House Tyrell was not lacking in any cousins that could inherit if he should pass.

Indignation coursed through my blood as I began increasing the speed in which I was weaving the bonnet. Even Aemma had reminded me on more than one occasion of the importance of duty, and I was sick of it. There was just some part of me that couldn’t grasp why everyone was so fixated on it. The Seven had granted us one chance at life: one should revel in it by pursuing their own desires. And besides, after witnessing Aemma’s grief and pain over her many miscarriages and stillbirths, I shuddered to think what duty might have in store for me. I was determined that I would not succumb to the notion of the dutiful, heir producing daughter that my father so wished me to be, no matter how much my father pleaded with me. After all, if Daemon could evade it as long as he did, surely I could do the same.

I frowned as I eyed the finished bonnet. Not as pretty as I envisioned, but children grow fast anyway. I went over to the window, gazing at the Dragonpit, dark and imposing against the night sky. It only made me think of a certain princeling, and I huffed, drawing my curtains shut. Rubbing my temples and exhaling heavily. I decided not to waste any more of my thoughts on the Rogue Prince. Clambering into bed, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I had not expected to be in attendance at the tournament today. Aemma had been experiencing increasing bouts of pain for the past few days, and I wanted to keep her company should the babe be close to making its arrival in this world. Unexpectedly, I had been nearly dragged out of Aemma’s apartments by Rhaenyra and Alicent early in the morrow, with Aemma insisting I go spectate the tourney instead of staying with her like a watchful owl. I had argued, but Aemma specifically called upon Rhaenyra and Alicent as reinforcement, with some explicit threats that I would be quartered, hung and my head placed on a spike should I refuse to attend.

Thus here I was, in the royal box, my face etched with concern as my mind kept wandering over to Aemma. I prayed fervently to the Seven that she would not go into labour in my absence, and to the Mother that if she did, that her labour would be smooth and painless.

“What say you, Y/N?” I was pulled out of my reverie, eyes wide as I muttered an unintelligible “Huh?” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes good-naturedly while Alicent struggled to hide her giggles. “I was just discussing with Alicent why you seem to be favouring gowns of Tyrell green as of late. Usually, we noticed you would be in lighter shades.” My gaze shifted downward, surprised at her observation.

I was dressed in my best, another gown of Tyrell green silk, with fitted sleeves that trailed to a more sheer, but still dark green material that flared out below my elbows. Several gold roses adorned my shoulders, interspersed with tiny rubies. The neckline dipped slightly in the valley of my breasts, but anything that could cause scandal was covered by a layer of Myrish lace. The dress’ skirts clung to my figure, parting at the centre to reveal an underskirt of olive green and gold brocade. It had cost a fortune, and had once belonged to my mother. My signature gold earrings adorned my earlobes, and my hair was pinned into an elegant braided updo. I might dislike the idea of duty to my house, but regardless, I had to represent House Tyrell in the best light possible, especially at such an important event.

Rhaenyra and Alicent were decked out in their finest for the occasion as well. Rhaenyra was clad in Targaryen colours, and I admired the black corset that looked reminiscent of armour fitted across her upper half of her body. Dragon scales were painstakingly patterned on the corset, and they were held together by laces made of fine golden thread. Underneath the corset, she wore a dark red gown with an intricately pleated skirt. The sleeves were off the shoulder, going down to her wrists. Gold shoulder plates set in a dragonscale pattern with gold fringes protected her bare shoulders from the autumn chill. She wore a heavyset necklace cut with square shaped rubies, hammered into gold, and her hair was let loose in a wild cascade of curls. She looked every inch a Targaryen warrior princess. Alicent was dressed simpler, but still looked beautiful nonetheless. A light blue dress of brocade and silk with a square neckline hugged her soft curves, exposing a little bit of her collarbone, where two strands of pearls were draped across her neck. Her sleeves were puffed at the shoulders, stopping short just before her elbow, while the rest of her sleeves were fitted tightly to her wrists. Small delicate flowers were sewn at the hem of her sleeves. Her skirts parted at the centre to reveal an underlying layer of cream white brocade, and her bodice had crisscrossing geometric diamond patterns sewn on it, dipping at her waist with a point. Her hair was fashioned in a half up, half down hairdo, curls tumbling to the small of her back. Both of them had inquisitive looks in their eyes, though Rhaenyra’s harboured a glimpse of impatience.

I smiled a little awkwardly at the question. Truth be told, I had no idea why. My thoughts had been taking on a darker turn since my encounter with Daemon in the throne room and the raven sent by my lord father, and I supposed my choice of apparel reflected my mood. “Well, at such a celebration, it is only fitting of me to dress in the colours of my house.” I reasoned, tilting my head slightly. “Do the darker gowns not suit me?”

“All colours suit you well, my lady.” Alicent said gently. I smiled gratefully at her, as Rhaenyra turned to Alicent and asked teasingly if she suited any colour as well. My smile widened as I watched the two bicker playfully.

We were interrupted however, by the arrival of the King. We all stood up to greet him, bowing politely. He was beaming from ear to ear, as he began addressing the crowd, much to the raucous cheers of the crowd.

“The day has been made more auspicious, by the news I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labours!” My eyes widened upon hearing those words, and as soon as the King finished his address, I stood up, ready to excuse myself to go tend to Aemma, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, effectively halting my attempts of a hasty exit. “Viserys-”

“I know you want to be there for Aemma,” the corner of Viserys’ eyes crinkled as he spoke gently, trying to push me back down to my seat, “But she asked me to relay a message: trust that she will be alright, and enjoy the tourney instead. It will be your only time to relax before you are swept up in your duties to take care of the babe.”

I bit my lip, a sense of unease washing over me. “But-” “You must stay and enjoy the tourney. Your King commands it. As does your Queen.” I glanced at him, eyes filled with worry, but he only nodded encouragingly.

“If my king commands…I shall obey,” I said with some reluctance, although it dissipated somewhat when Viserys beamed at me, clapping my shoulder affectionately before sitting back down. I sat back down too, my eyes wandering over to Rhaenyra, who gave me a smile, which I returned. I said a silent prayer to the Seven as the first few contenders were being announced, that both Aemma and her babe would be safe and healthy.

The first of the tilts began, to the boisterous cheers of the crowd. I watched as a jouster carrying a shield with a sigil unknown to me quickly unhorsed a squire of House Tarly. My brows furrowed., I turned to Rhaenyra, “Do you recognise the sigil that the mystery knight was carrying?” She shook her head. Alicent leaned over, eyes fixed on the knight as he steered his horse before the royal box and bowed, “I think he’s from House Cole. Of the Stormlands, I believe.”

Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose, “I’ve never heard of House Cole. This should prove most interesting.” I pursed my lips as Lord Boremund Baratheon asked for Princess Rhaenys’ favour, addressing her as “The Queen Who Never Was”, causing the crowd to stir a little in dissent. “You could have Baratheon’s tongue for that.” “Tongues will not change the succession,” came Viserys’ assured response. “Let them wag.”

“Lord Stokeworth’s daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.” “Lord Massey’s son?” Alicent inquired, a little surprised. Rhaenyra nodded, “They’re to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.” I snorted, remembering some of the unsavoury rumours I had heard swirling around the court as of late. “Best get on with it,” my voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.” Rhaenyra's eyes widened in disbelief, and Alicent clapped a hand over her mouth as if reeling from the sheer impropriety of it, while I merely shrugged, a smirk tugging at my lips and turned my gaze back to the proceedings.

I leaned forward in my seat, intrigued when the mystery knight of House Cole unhorsed Lord Boremund in a single tilt, much to the crowd’s delight and mocking laughs. Rhaenyra let out a small “oof” sound, while Alicent looked dumbstruck. Mayhaps the tourney would be of some excitement after all.

“Prince Daemon, of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!” The smile that was forming at my lips dropped in an instant, and I pursed my lips as Daemon, clad in his black armour, raced past the audience astride his black steed, much to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd. I rolled my eyes: show off.

I was unsurprised and somewhat amused when Daemon chose Ser Gwayne Hightower as his first jousting opponent. Of course, Daemon chose today to be even more of a little shit than usual. Oftentimes, I wondered if he gained his life essence from pissing Otto Hightower off. I craned my neck backwards to catch a glimpse of the Hand’s expression, my lips curving upwards in a smirk when I took note of his irked expression.

Suddenly, I felt a heavy stare upon me, and I turned back to the spectacle to see Daemon’s violet eyes fixed on me. When he met my gaze, that little shit had the audacity to smirk and tilt his lance at me. I huffed and turned away, fixing my eyes on Ser Gwayne instead.

I had to bite my lip to stifle a laugh as Daemon’s lance was nearly knocked out of his hand by a well angled tilt by Ser Gwayne. Mayhaps that smug bastard will get some comeuppance today, I thought with glee.

That glee was short lived as Ser Gwayne was thrown from his horse in an unsightly scene, when Daemon aimed for his horse’s legs, causing the animal to neigh with agony as it slid forward and bucked Ser Gwayne off into the dirt. I heard Alicent gasp with fright next to me, and I reached out to pat her hand reassuringly. That cheating bastard really had no scruples when it came to dealing with Otto Hightower, even to his kin.

I frowned as I watched Daemon parade around on his horse, looking all too pleased with himself. I was caught off guard however, when Daemon came to a stop in front of the royal box, prompting Rhaenyra to get out of her seat, tugging me and Alicent with her. I was screaming internally for Rhaenyra not to drag me into this, but I begrudgingly followed Rhaenyra as she leaned over the railing, grinning at Daemon. “Nicely done, uncle,” Rhaenyra complimented him, causing Daemon to tilt his chin upwards arrogantly. “Thank you, Princess.”

He smirked as he zeroed in on me, lingering behind Alicent. “Lady Y/N,” he called, a certain mischief in his voice. Oh no.

“You look rather radiant today, dressed in your house colours.” I narrowed my eyes, aware of his attempts to bait me, by first paying me a compliment, so that if I rejected him, I would seem ill-mannered. But with so many eyes on us, I could only respond through gritted teeth, “Thank you, my prince.”

“With such a beautiful lady as the one before me, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask for her favour.” Murmurs echoed throughout the crowd, as I attempted to minimise the lethality of my death glare. This brazen little punk. To ask for my favour after what he had said yesterday-

I leaned forward, whispering harshly, “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?” Daemon merely raised an eyebrow. “You know I am certain I can win these little games. Having your favour would all but assure it. You won’t rebuff me with so many eyes watching us, won’t you, byka zaldrizes?”

Grinding my teeth, I did my best to keep my expression neutral. He was right, the crowd was getting restless. I could hear some murmuring from the lords behind me, and even Rhaenyra was nudging me subtly. The gods have chosen to curse me on this very day. I sighed, before moving to retrieve my favour, a small wreath of orange and purple flowers. Sliding it down the lance Daemon offered up, I forced a smile on my face. “I wish you good luck in the jousts, my prince.”

Daemon smirked, having gotten under her skin like he wanted. “With your favour, I’m sure I don’t need it.” Daemon rode away as I rolled my eyes and took my seat once more, Rhaenyra and Alicent following suit. “It appears the Prince Daemon is attempting to play nice today, Lady Y/N,” Alicent smiled at me. Rhaenyra nodded earnestly, “Mayhaps he is starting to be civil to you, Y/N.” I had to refrain from snorting and saying something very derogatory about the Prince, instead letting my surly expression do all the talking.

As Lady Y/N was distracted by the frenzy of the tourney, a maester sidled up to the Hand of the King to relay a message. The Hand’s eyes turned grim, and he turned towards Viserys, whose expression was still filled with mirth after witnessing his brother ask Y/N for her favour. Upon hearing the news, the King’s face visibly blanched, and he got out of his seat swiftly, followed closely by the Hand.

Y/N, Alicent and Rhaenyra were engaged in fervent conversation, completely absorbed in the proceedings. But soon enough, the tourney had given way to violence and bloodshed. Y/N winced and averted her gaze as one after the other, the jousters who chose to continue their battle in arms caved in each other’s heads, fighting each other like feral beasts. A wave of nausea rolled over her, and she did her best to block out the sound of agonised grunts and screams from the bludgeoned competitors. Looking over, she saw Alicent picking at her own fingernails till it was bloody. Frowning, she quickly nudged Alicent, who immediately stopped with a sheepish expression. Covering Alicent’s hand with hers to provide some reassurance, Y/N turned her head backward to take in Viserys’ expression, startled when she realised both the King and the Hand were missing. Cursing herself for her lack of awareness, she quickly moved to get up, but Alicent pulled her down to her seat. “Y/N, you must not leave now!” Alicent insisted, “Prince Daemon is about to tilt against Ser Criston!”

I tried to shake off Alicent’s hand, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “I couldn’t give two damns about Daemon, the Queen needs me-” “It would be rude to leave before you’ve seen the jouster whom you’ve bestowed your favour to compete,” Rhaenyra chimed in, her purple eyes alight with excitement. “Father is there with Mother, she will be alright. They commanded you to enjoy the tourney with us, and as your princess, I order you to stay.” My face fell as I chewed my lip while glancing at the exit of the royal box. Alicent tugged on my hand, and I found myself relenting at the determined looks both of them were levelling at me. After all, there was no harm in staying for just a while. And I might even see Daemon get bested for the first time in his life.

Reluctantly, I relayed my attention back to the tourney, just as both the competitors began charging at each other. Putting a hand over my mouth, I watched as Ser Criston and Daemon both failed to knock each other off their horses in the first tilt. With my heart in my mouth, my eyes nearly boggled out of my head when I watched Daemon being knocked off his saddle and into the dirt.

Daemon had lost.

Mouth agape, I stayed rooted in my seat, even as the crowd all stood to rain thunderous applause and cheers on Ser Criston. I felt a smug smile slowly spreading across my lips. Daemon had lost! At long last, someone had humbled that egotistical bastard, and I had been here to witness it. I sighed happily, savouring the prospect of being able to mock him for this for the rest of his life. “Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!”

I raised my eyebrows as Daemon approached Ser Criston, wielding Dark Sister with a dangerous expression on his face. He is nothing better than a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum, I thought to myself, snickering. My eyebrows shot to my forehead when I noticed Ser Criston carrying a morningstar. A most unusual weapon.

The crowd followed the ensuing sparring match with enthralled eyes, myself included. Rhaenyra was nearly falling out of her seat from the way she was leaning forward, and Alicent had a hand over her mouth. When Ser Criston splintered Daemon’s shield, it was like something feral had awoken in Daemon. He began doling out more impulsive blows as anger overtook him, slashing at Ser Criston like a madman and deftly manoeuvring out of the range of his blows.

I clasped Alicent’s hand tightly in mine as Daemon kicked Ser Criston to the ground, pouncing on him with brutal force. When Daemon blocked Ser Criston’s attack by lodging Dark Sister with the morningstar’s chains, Rhaenyra reached over to take Alicent’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Finally, Daemon delivered the final blow, hurling the remains of his shield at Ser Criston, striking him squarely in the face and causing him to flounder on the ground.

I shook my head in disbelief as Daemon raised both his arms up, hollering and revelling in his triumph. But that victory was soon short lived as Daemon felt a slash on his behind, knocking him to the dirt, face first. I felt Alicent reel back in surprise next to me. Daemon tried to lurch for his sword, but was forced to submission by a few well aimed kicks from Ser Criston, breathing heavily as he dangled the morningstar threateningly in Daemon’s face.

“Yield.” Daemon could scarce believe what was happening right now. He had lost. To some unknown commonborn knight. Him, the Rogue Prince. The finest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms. Tasting bile in his mouth, he gritted his teeth. “Yield.” Ser Criston’s voice made it clear that he would not ask again. Daemon chuckled humorlessly, refusing to say a word, but begrudgingly surrendered. He knocked away the arm that the knight offered, rising to his feet before stalking off. While leaving the jousting field, he took note of Y/N running off from the royal box. His ire now increased by tenfold, he swiftly made his way to the exit of the royal box, where he spotted his lady emerging from the shadows. Snarling, he grabbed her wrist, spinning her around to face him. “Daemon, let me go right now. I do not have time for your tantrums-”

“It was you,” he hissed, twisting her arm, causing her to grimace. His rage was blinding him, the heavy pounding of his heart in his ears making his blood boil. “Your favour cursed me. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have won. And instead, I was humiliated-” Y/N scoffed, trying to break away, but Daemon only tightened her grip. “You lost because you were a cocky, arrogant bastard. Do not attempt to blame your failings on me. Now let go!”

Daemon’s vision was nearly red by now, and he pulled her closer to him as he spat out, “You’re not going anywhere, byka zaldrizes.” “Let. Go.” her voice was laced with contempt. “I will not ask a second time. Go reflect and accept your loss, maybe this will teach you some humility.”

Daemon opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by the arrival of that cunt, Otto Hightower. He wanted to spit at him to fuck right off, but the look on his face made him think twice. Y/N’s hand went slack, causing Daemon to release her, worried that he had hurt her. He looked between the both of them, confused, but quickly caught on when he saw the Hand bow his head grimly.

Daemon had experienced a lot of things he would never forget that day, but nothing could compare to the pure look of devastation on Y/N’s face at that moment. The Hand inclined his head, lips pressed together, before he moved past them to the entrance to the royal box, no doubt to inform the other lords.

His anger dissipating, an unsure look appeared on his face as he scrutinised Y/N’s face. She nearly stumbled over, eyes mad with grief, and Daemon unconsciously caught her arm with his left hand, steadying her. She didn’t seem to register his touch however, mumbling in a daze, “Aemma…I need to find Viserys. Viserys…” Daemon followed her movements with his eyes silently, as she mounted a horse reserved for the nobility nearby, spurring it towards the Red Keep. He watched her disappear into the distance, mouth pressed into a thin line, and his purple eyes swimming with a dozen complicated emotions. He needed to get out of his armour, it suddenly felt all too stifling to be in it.

Y/N raced into the Red Keep, taking the steps two at a time as she rushed past startled servants. Barging into Aemma’s apartments, she stopped short when she reached Aemma’s bedchambers, her hand going to her mouth when she took in the gruesome sight before her, praying fervently that it was just some sick nightmare.

Queen Aemma, no, her friend, her dearly beloved friend, Aemma, was sprawled out on the bed, the coppery stench of blood permeating through the room. Trickles of blood still oozed out of the incisions the maesters had made around her abdomen, and Y/N felt bile creeping up her throat as she realised what had been done.

No.

Y/N bypassed Viserys - still hunched over in grief, staring at Baelon’s small, wiggling frame with a broken expression - and went straight to Aemma. Her footsteps felt leaden and unsteady, as she crouched down to hold Aemma’s lifeless hand. She squeezed it desperately, willing her to wake up, to be alive. But it was in vain.

Y/N went still, before she gently reached over and slid Aemma’s wide blue eyes shut. Trembling as tears began to cloud her vision, Y/N noticed the sun’s rays glinting off a small object tucked between Aemma’s sweat covered neck. It was Rhaenyra’s present to Aemma, that necklace with the ruby falcon pendant, its red shining brilliantly in the sun as Y/N and Viserys mourned for their good Aemma.

rip aemma :( and also f*ck viserys, he deserves to be burnt alive, roasted and fed to balerion.

Fic Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy

Those who are bolded are those who could not be tagged! Let me know in the comments or through this form if you want to be tagged for future updates on this fic :)

If you liked this fic, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Thank you for reading this far!

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walpywalpy · 1 year

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//WEISS SCHNEE APPRECIATION POST//

I know. It’s not that obvious by my profile picture and my endless need to praise my queen to tell you that Weiss Schnee is my favorite RWBY character and my favorite character in general. But why? You may not have asked that but that’s not my problem because I’m gonna praise my queen to no end here. So kick back, grab your bowl of Pumpkin Petes, and listen to why Weiss Schnee is my favorite character of all time.

1. Growth

I’m going to be honest and say she wasn’t my favorite at first. She was a bratty, entitled bitch. At the time, Blake and Ruby were my favorite. And it would stay like that until halfway of Volume 3. Specifically, the scene of her and Winter. Winter was cold, direct, and militant. Meanwhile, Weiss was goofing around with Ruby by calling her a friend and rooting against her when her uncle Qrow fought Winter. I noticed that Weiss was someone who barely had a chance to grow up normally because she had high expectations thrusted upon her. Beacon was her first time breaking that. She got to get into food fights, go sight seeing with her friends, joke around with her team in battles, etc. She was no longer that entitled bitch we saw in the emerald forest. Instead, we see a girl having her chance to be free from expectations and trying to be the best teammate and friend she could possible be.

After Beacon fell, she was back to those expectations, and we saw a girl trying to survive a cruel man who didn’t care about anything but his own financial gain. However, that’s not all we got to see. We saw a girl who was formerly afraid of confronting her father and telling him what she has always held against him. After losing her title of heiress, she knew the only thing she had left to lose was her family at Beacon, so she left the home many would beg for because it wasn’t home for her. It was a prison, and she was done paying for the time that her corrupt father put on her.

That’s where she became my favorite. I personally have had problems with my parents and what they want from me. I won’t get into the details, but Weiss made me realize that I’m not alone. That I had people who would connect on that experience. She also made me realize that I did have power and control over my future. I didn’t have to follow what my parents want from me because this life is mine.

2. Music

When it comes to RWBY’s stellar soundtrack, there are very few tracks that hit me as hard as the songs written for Weiss. It’s also helped because it is likely that Weiss has sung them in canon. I won’t go into too much in detail because this post will already be as long as Yang’s hair. Just know that the opera style mixed with a somber piano that eventually turned into opera transitioning into hard rock fits Weiss so well, and I love it!

3. Relationships with Her Teammates

In Volume 1, Weiss was presented with a dilemma. She viewed herself as the perfect candidate for a leader, but Ozpin thought otherwise. She thought it was outrageous for Ozpin to think Ruby was a better choice, but Port knew her thinking was preposterous. Weiss wasn’t fit for a leader, and her teachers told her she isn’t. Instead of keeping up the fight to become a leader, she made a choice: be the absolute teammate she could be. Before I get to what that means off the battlefield, which is the kind of support many connect her being the best teammate she could be with, let me talk about her on the battlefield because I feel like that had to be brought up before I get to that. Weiss is the support of the group. Yes, she can fight amazingly on her own, but when the team is fighting as a unit, Weiss is the support. Her dust and semblance, which I believe to potentially be the best in the show, allow her teammates to bring their semblances to another level. Whether by creating space between them and opponents to catch a breath, allowing for diverse movement through her summons and glyphs, or making their position advantageous, Weiss as a support could change the tide of a fight drastically. Before she made the commitment to being the best teammate, her fighting style was very aggressive, which ended up giving her that defining scar. After said commitment, she focused on supporting her teammates on the battlefield.

Later in the show, however, Weiss would become the empathetic one of the group. If you had a problem, Weiss will probably give you a therapy session. The best example is the conversation between her and Yang. Weiss walks into the room and sits on the bed opposite Yang, silent. She lets Yang talk herself out. Even when Yang said she wouldn’t understand, Weiss listened. It’s only when Yang asked Weiss to finally speak is where she says what she wanted to say. She told her the story of her tenth birthday and the rift that was created on her birthday. She expresses her version of loneliness and how Yang’s is different. She may not fully understand Yang’s version of loneliness, but she understands that it’s there and that Blake has her own. Yang snapped back and Weiss was silent again. She then poses a question to Yang and she answers it. She explains to Yang that Blake watched the one thing she expected to happen happen. Yang expresses that she never blamed Blake and that she wanted Blake here for her. Weiss understands and also wants Blake there. Yang doesn’t believe Blake would return, but Weiss reminds her that the team is a family. Blake feels the same. They’re gonna be there for each other when the occasion arises. Then the occasion arose, and Blake wanted to prove that she was there for Yang. Yang let Blake know that although she doesn’t depend entirely on her, they’re there for each other and happy to be back together.

There’s a reason why Weiss is called the beekeeper. That conversation in Volume 5 is what propelled Bumblebee forward. As a WhiteRose shipper, I hope the same eventually happens for Weiss and her partner. Even if it doesn’t, we know Weiss will be there for Ruby because she promised to be the best teammate.

4. Design

I’m not an artist or a character designer, so I can’t go into the intricacies of her design. But I am someone with a pair of eyes, and I can tell you Weiss is beautifully designed. Out of all the initial designs, Weiss was probably the riskiest to use. Each member of Team RWBY had a defining feature that stood out. Blake’s ribbon from her weapon, Yang’s golden hair, and Ruby’s red cape. Weiss, however, didn’t have much. If I remember correctly from Ein Lee’s notes in the Mirror Mirror anthology, this allowed him to add intricate designs to Weiss. Her sleeves, for example, have an intricate pattern. Her glyphs change depending on what she’s doing with them. Most importantly, however, she is asymmetrical. She ties her hair to the right instead of the dead center as an act of defiance from her father. Her scar, which is even asymmetrical in her eye, keeps her face symmetrical. You’d think that a character so prim and proper would emphasize being symmetrical, but she is proof that beauty isn’t reliant on symmetry. As the Yellow Trailer states, “Scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical, one sided, and easily processed. Yet every misshapen spark’s unseen beauty is greater than it would be judgement."

5. Me as a Person

I can praise a character until the end of time, but that won’t prove one thing: why is she my favorite? As stated before, I connect with her struggle, but that can’t be it. I mean, I connect with Mirabel’s struggle in Encanto, yet Rapunzel is my favorite Disney protagonist. Weiss’ struggle is only a fraction of why she is so near and dear to my heart. For that, I have to get into who I am. I am an aspiring writer and RWBY is the reason for that. It is the show that changed the directory of my life, and I don’t think that would be possible if the show didn’t have Weiss.

What Weiss means to me is a second chance. Her life is full of second chances. A second chance to be a better teammate. A second chance to be a better sister. A second chance to prove herself and uphold her family name. I mess up in life. A lot. I have been dealt some of the worst hands and I have to deal with it. My family isn’t kind to my aspirations, my sexuality, or my religious beliefs (or lack thereof). What can I say, some believe in fairy stories and the ghost that they can’t see. Weiss is in many ways who I want to be. She’s confident. She’s determined. She’s always in pursuit of improving herself. She isn’t perfect, but she doesn’t have to be. I’m not perfect, but I don’t have to be.

We’re not perfect, but we don’t have to be. Our lives aren’t over by one misstep. We can pick ourselves up and keep moving forward. We will fail over and over again, but it isn’t the end. We just have to get up and give it 110% the next time.

That’s what Weiss Schnee means to me: a second chance to prove myself and be the best version of myself.

Guys, thank you for reading. I hope you took something from this and that you have a wonderful day. Peace.

#rwby #rwby analysis #RWBY appreciation post #rwby weiss #weiss schnee #weiss appreciation post #web show #character appreciation #she means a lot to me

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wen-kexing-apologist · 8 months

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BL/QL Ask game : The Ugly, the Bad and the Worst

Alright, I was tagged in this game by @clara-maybe-ontheroad, so it's time to make some enemies.

Worst soundtrack / weirdest song choice in a BL

I don’t really pay the most attention to this, I can’t recall anything that sticks out to me as particularly egregious even if it may be a tad odd. Weirdest song choice though is Jojo and Ninew letting First sing in Only Friends. I love the boy but we all have our flaws and his is being horrifically out of tune.

Most cringe-inducing line (cute)

“Then I am gay too,” Bee from Between Us. A show that I did actually enjoy despite many people grumbling. I hold that it’s cause I didn’t wait three years for it, and didn’t know Until We Meet Again existed when I started watching it. But regardless, Bee and Prince had like 5 minutes of screen time, max and they won my motherfucking heart.

Most cringe-inducing line (actually bad)

Not a specific line, but literally any time that Nuea questions whether or not Hia Lian loves him in Cutie Pie 2 You. Bestie, you already agonized over that for far, far too long in Cutie Pie, by the time you ran out of the marriage proposal at your father in law’s birthday, I was already way past over the bullshit. And now you want to get back on the bullshit when you are planning your wedding? Come on…

Most stupid decision made by a character

I agree with @bengiyo, Teh giving up his spot in school for Oh. Honestly, you know what, looking even further back the stupidest decision was Oh and Teh’s friends coming up to Teh AT FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING THE DAY HE WAS GOING TO GO COMMIT TO COLLEGE TO TELL HIM OH WAS GIVING UP. Y’all couldn’t have fucking waited like…one day? You know Teh is stupid motherfucker prone to grand gestures.

Worst plot line

“I’m going to kill your mother from third hand cigarette smoke and spend the last hour and a half of a genuinely otherwise beautifully crafted show making the world’s longest anti-smoking campaign” by New Siwaj in My Only 12%. What a way to ruin a show at the very last minute.

The most problematic show you've watched

Fish Upon the Sky, what in the racism, support of stalking, invasion of privacy, manipulation was that show?

A show people love but you find bad

Enchante. I just hate Theo so goddamn much.

A show people find bad but you will defend

Also gonna agree with @bengiyo here and say Wedding Plan, I have seen so little conversation around that show since it aired and it was super adorable and very very outside of MAME’s typical taboos. Just fluff, lesbianism, and lavender marriages abound. But if you think La Pluie is bad, then I will fight you to an early grave.

A show that is just objectively bad but you enjoyed it

I wouldn’t say it is my favorite, but I didn’t mind Vice Versa, but maybe that’s cause I was paying attention to trying to predict the next episode’s colors and not to the plot?

A bad show that you kept watching because you were intrigued/fascinated

Mine is the same as @waitmyturtles. It’s currently still airing, so it’s entirely possible I drop it, but, Dangerous Romance, I am so mad at how quickly it is brushing past interesting topics, but I am still watching it because I am curious where they intend to go with it. I don’t think they can salvage it, but I need to know what it is they want to say that made them think handling this show the way they are is better than exploring literally any of the class questions presented in the first couple episodes.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were horny

I don’t really watch shows because I am horny, I watch shows because- Why R U? FighterTutor, only reason I watched that show, I skipped through most of the rest of it.

A bad show that you kept watching because of that one character

Why R U? Because Fighter was such a compelling character and I thought Zee did a phenomenal job in the way he handled Fighter’s internalized homophobia. I wish they were giving Zee more complicated roles than Hia Lian because he’s a strong actor and I think his talent is wasted on Cutie Pie.

A bad show that you would still recommend

I don’t really recommend shows that I think are bad to people, so it is a case by case basis. I did not end up liking A Boss and a Babe, but I did recommend @emotionallychargedtowel watch at least some of it so she could get a better idea of Book’s acting ability.

The character that ruined a show the most

Nadia, My Ride. She’s such a self-entitled, incredibly judgemental bitch and I hate her, runner up is Toy for destroying Boss’ bookshelf.

Most awful character that you hated

Tawan, KinnPorsche. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I was glad when he died, and I must commend Na for his performance because he did such a good job playing an asshole that I still hate his face when I see it.

Most awful character that you loved

Korn from KinnPorsche, I am obsessed with how casually evil he is, and how he keeps his loyalty through faked compassion rather than abusive fear the way Gun does. He’s consistently winning, even when his lies are revealed. I think he does a superb job of flying under the radar as a visibly awful character. But he’s a terrible person.

A character that wasn't awful but that you just don't like

Saifah, Why R U? It’s not his fault, but I just hate Jimmy’s face.

A hero that should have been a villain

Palm, Never Let Me Go, I had too many theories about the ways in which Palm could have betrayed Nuengdiao. Hell, I’d have settled for Chanon being a villain, but no, only loyalty :(

A morally bad character you're into

*ahem* *gestures to my username*

Wen Kexing, Word of Honor who has done nothing wrong in his entire life.

A morally bad character you're not into and you wish people would stop being into

Theo, Enchante, I hate that motherfucker with a burning passion. I know that I said I think Book should be able to play more assholes cause he’s doing a great job with Mew’s revenge era, but Theo was a goddamn fucking major asshole who was not really presented as such.

The show that disappointed you the most

Again, it’s not done yet, so there is still time to maybe climb out of this hole, but I am very disappointed by Dangerous Romance at the moment.

The Worst Show of Them All Because of Your Own Reasons

Enchante because how the fuck do you think it is okay to write a romance where one of the romantic interests both creates the most fucked up, convoluted lie to mess with your feelings, AND is so goddamn helpless that you GET FIRED FROM YOUR JOB FOR HELPING HIM, and not have either of those things be a wake up call or deal breaker?!

Tagging @ranchthoughts, @respectthepetty, @solitaryandwandering

#tag game #why r u #enchante #dangerous romance #only friends #my ride #word of honor #la pluie #wedding plan #kinnporsche #itsay #between us

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coco-bean-1218 · 2 months

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Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942

Detroit, Michigan

10 a.m. Eastern Time

———

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her.

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife.

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit.

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety.

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod.

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul.

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman."

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose.

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken."

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase.

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor.

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag.

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing.

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway.

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations.

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her.

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips.

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand.

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps.

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat.

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself.

---

#yes I did use Stephen Sanchez as a face claim #and what about it?#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #my first oc story #my oc #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

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groovesnjams · 5 months

Text

youtube

2 / 50

"Not Strong Enough" by boygenius

MG:

Writing about boygenius, at this point, feels impossible. I have an urge to defend them, to shout down some anonymous but not entirely imagined comment section* (it felt like everywhere I turned on the internet just fucking hated this group and it always always always boiled down to some projected misogyny) and a world that just couldn’t…quite…admit this was the greatest song of the year. Even in the places where boygenius unequivocally ruled there was this little whiff of embarrassment like they’re great but, ok, not that great. Well, they are that great! They don’t have to do something wholly original or reflect everyone’s personal identity back to them to be great!

But we don’t need more of that, it’s a stupid feedback loop, I have to be the change I want to see in the world and that change is to write about this song without defending it! To do that, however, would not be entirely honest because, to be entirely honest, I was very much that person I outlined above for most of the year. I put “A&W” at the top of my dopey playlist and felt very vibey about it and even had a period where I got into Father John Misty a little bit because that made sense. And then when it got closer to calling it, as I was listening through that playlist a whole bunch to make cuts and remember things I’d forgotten, I listened to “Not Strong Enough” for the first time on headphones and it fucking ripped. It ripped my brain right open! This song is gorgeously produced, full of rich instrumentation that colors neatly in-between the wavy lines of the storytelling. It’s the kind of thing I want to choreograph a dance to, I want it to soundtrack a movie about an aimless, broken person who surrenders to life’s enduring beauty and awakens to their own possibility, I want to watch a music video where boygenius play in a barn with vaulted ceilings. Every detail of this song feels so specific and fully realized that I can’t help but play along. It speaks to some half-remembered, half-imagined past but it’s also coming to, in the front seat, still happening, still going somewhere.

I get it, what I said about Chappell Roan, about being unlikable and thus lovable, applies here, too. I can’t make you like this song, it is unlikable and it got better every time I heard it (a lot, it was blessed and highly favored by Sirius XMU, who chose to make Mitski’s TikTok hit “My Love, Mine All Mine” their song of the year) and I love “Not Strong Enough.” It is my favorite song of the year.

*(To my complete and total amusement, shortly after I finished my first draft of this post, the comment section I was thinking of voted "Not Strong Enough" their song of the year. I'm not sure if there's a significant disconnect between commenting members and voting members or if I'm a woman of the people, charting the course of lukewarm acceptance to full on wholehearted embrace of this song. But, either way, good for all of us!)

DV:

Wow it's really tough to talk about "Not Strong Enough" without talking about boygenius and parasociality and fandom in 2023, huh? This may also be true of a lot of this year's list, but with the rest of the lot it's relatively easy to find other angles into the song. With boygenius the angles all lead back to the band, their dynamic, their process, their relationships. It's a little gauche isn't it? I don't feel like boygenius meant for the story of their 2023 to be about themselves but here they are at the end of the year where they went viral for Halloween costumes and they're winning gendered awards like Ron Swanson from Parks & Recreation, and we just have to hope things age better in reality than in fiction. But also, boygenius made "Not Strong Enough", which some days felt like it might actually be my favorite song of the year (a distinction shared by many others on this list, but one this song got more than most.) It's a song built out of climaxes, rolling and building, with hooks to spare and a secret weapon in the drummer, whose name is weirdly difficult to find but whose fills do more to make the song than even the jangliest guitar. So on one hand, I know more about this band's lore than I do about any other artist who I can't name a second song by. But on the other: "Not Strong Enough" is straightforwardly a gorgeous, propulsive power pop banger, delivered beautifully. When you have a Lucy Dacus and can hold her in reserve for a climax like this one, taking fully a minute and a half but never losing momentum, you're simply operating at a level that few other artists are capable of.

#gnjsoty2k23 #boygenius #not strong enough #music #phoebe bridgers #julien baker #lucy dacus

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faberown · 3 days

Text

These are the lyrics of the first song in the story, entitled "I'll bring my justice", sung by Adam. The music is a combination of the following songs:

-) Stayed Gone (Hazbin Hotel)

-) Where is the justice (Death Note: the musical)

-) Ready as I'll ever be (Tangled: the animated series)

-) Stayed Gone Lute and Lilith version (cover by MilkyyMelodies, Youtube)

-) Exorcists - Heaven's propaganda song (Neural Bard, Youtube)

Context: after the battle against Cain, Adam, now a man with nothing left to lose and obsessed with the desire for revenge towards Lucifer and Lilith, sees in the Extermination planned by the Heavenly Council an opportunity to make them suffer, and so decides to guide it and invite the angels of high rank to approve it, and he creates an army made by all the victims of the sinners in order to destroy them without remorse.

You can find the song at this chapter:

(ADAM)

Now is done,

you really thought I could just stay gone?

Well, not for long!

Lilith and Lucifer may have won

but now in this brand new dawn,

I'll come there and stop you filthy spawn!

I run the ship now so let me be clear,

you took Cain from me, I won't forgive,

your situation was never this severe!

I will tear your subjects down,

get you back in line,

broken all your hope,

so you will take it a sign

that there's nothing you can do,

you will never be divine,

I'll start this right now, you're out of time!

This place is supposed to be eternal praise,

so why should I let their fear increase?

Why should they spend their days,

hoping that never Roo awakes?

It's not fair, this is not what I want,

I'll create a new Heaven that respect my thought!

I'll bring my justice upon you all,

your cruelty will be your own downfall!

Do it: murder, kill, rape, steal! Be the worse!

I'll exterminate you all without remorse!

Your victims will celebrate with your blood,

and I, well, I'll make of it a flood!

What's the problem, after all?

Hell is forever, didn't you know?

What's the point to live in damnation,

isn't far better end up in Extermination?

My dear demons, watch your back!

And no, this isn't just a soundtrack!

It is the sound that announces the hunt,

so hurry up, hide, you cunt!

I'll reunite them all,

every victim will answer my call,

I'll guide them down there for you

and they will kill you screaming 'yahoo'!

Look, Lilith, while I destroy,

come on, laugh, don't be a killjoy!

Don't you love to see

all this despair run free?

What's the problem, it's because they are your toys?

You don't want to lose all these bad girls and boys?

Oh, poor woman, now are you crying?

I didn't even start trying!

I'll tear your entire army apart,

mine will be consider almost an art!

Lucifer, my friend, what's that face?

Your marriage is burning in a furnace?

Well, Lilith will give you the deadbet king award,

after all, you've always been a coward!

While you two will torture each other,

I'll continue, don't worry, I won't bother!

I'll enjoy every bit of your sadness,

it'll be a pleasure to see you two fall in madness!

I don't see why we should wait,

do you want the demons coming at our gate?

I personally cannot stop the desire

to stop those two assholes to build their empire!

This discussion is senseless and petty,

what stop us, those who fucked up already?

They lost their chance,

there is no reason to show reluctance!

Heaven is for winners,

Hell is for sinners,

the rules are clear like sunlight,

so why now you are continuing to fight?

There is no point to argue anymore,

you have my approvation furthermore,

and if the Father of Humanity is okay,

who still stand in your way?

(AZRAEL)

How dare you, Adam! No one has brought music to this hall since the fall of Lucifer! And how dare you fly up to the ceiling, as if you were superior to us all? Who do you think you are!?

(ADAM)

Who am I? I am the first man, bitch,

the one who will tear apart that witch!

I'll punish every sinner here or in the future,

until the universe we'll again be pure,

and I'll do so whether with your help or not!

Now those idiots are boiling in their pot,

and I should stay here looking from the spot,

waiting that Lilith find a new shot?

I won't let her do this,

neither her people, that's a guarantee,

I'll hunt them and bring my justice down!

She thinks she can use whoever as her pawn,

just because Lucifer is so weak,

but I won't let her try another jailbreak!

(MICHAEL)

Stop your words, Adam! Why are you so hateful?

Shouldn't you be more graceful?

Your descendants are down in Hell too,

there on the shell of Roo,

and yet you tell us that you don't care,

and let you become their nightmare?

If we think about it more, maybe we can find a way,

and we don't have to do as you say,

just leave Lucifer a little more time,

and he may avoid this crime...!

(ADAM)

Well, of a detail you have to be aware:

I really don't know and don't care!

Another way, is there or is there not?

I don't care a fuck, I just want them boil in their pot!

While you spend time talking,

down there the wretched are freely walking,

and they sin, they sin, they sin,

continuing to follow their cruel doctrin!

Believe me, I know,

this would mean sunk pretty low,

but you know what? That's fine!

It's not fault of mine,

some justice must be served,

and whatever I'll do they deserved!

(MICHAEL)

Who deserve to live is not written on a list with a divine pen,

the world is not black and white, there isn't such simple certain!

(ADAM)

Then perhaps it's time to drain the color out of its den

so we can see black and white, and wrong and right again!

(MICHAEL)

Overwrought pronouncements won't improve the paradigm...

(ADAM)

... only if we let our kindness become a crime!

What about the victims waiting for some justice?

Should we say them that there is no solution for all that malice?

What about their pain and their cry of desperation?

Should we welcome them here and say them that there is no actual compensation!?

Heaven is silent to all this evil,

and let every bad person on Earth be a lucky devil!

The powerful and the bullies dictate the rules,

they prepare wars, massacres and cruelty like they were job schedules,

and when everything they do goes wrong,

they remain unaccountable strong,

while the innocents are hit by the waves

and they are turned into sex toys, prisoner and slaves!

The noble and riches get away with murder and rape,

and they don't even feel ashamed and hid under a cape!

The poor people live like chicken in a humble hen,

waiting for their master to come and steal their precious children!

Kings and priests shout words of honor,

but pain and suffering is all what they are donor!

Every time a rich-dressed mouth starts to talk,

on Earth evil begins to walk!

How can we just say that this is just how it is?

Where is the justice in all of this?

I am now sick to death of all this stuff

and I have no qualms about saying ENOUGH!

(ZADKIEL)

Rulers and senators make their speeches all day long,

while judges pushing pencils mostly get it wrong!

(BARACHIEL)

Those people will never be punished in their world,

protected by their blood, status, creed and sinful gold!

(URIEL AND RAPHAEL)

Instead of loopholes for the laws to fall between,

why not let some good old fashioned payback grease the wheels of the machine?"

(ADAM)

Now Heaven has expressed itself,

so why should I stop myself?

I have no actual reason

to avoid going down into that dark prison!

No demon brings me fear,

no shade I'll let draw near,

this sacred axe of mine I'll wield,

and the gates of Heaven I'll shield!

In the Hell's landscape, where sinners wait,

and darkness marks the day,

with holy weapons drawn,

at the break of dawn

I'll purify the cursed way

putting all the evil at bay!

In the fight for souls astray,

I will lead the way!

At the edges of night, where demons incite,

with faith's bright light, and spirits white,

I'll guard that gate so pure

and make Heaven's victory sure!

Now it's time to decide,

should we do or not this genocide?

Well, the answer is easy to see:

we can't let them roam free!

And so I'll stand up and fight

because I know that I'm right,

and I said my opinion already:

I'M READY!

(AZRAEL)

Go, then. Choose your army, and then lead the troops against Hell!

(ADAM)

Now you all are in front of me,

are you ready as you'll ever be?

Because I am, more than ever,

ready to remember demons that Hell is forever!

It's time for them to face justice,

and we won't have to be nice,

let's cook them worse than a fucking fry,

let's turn the ground more red that their bloody sky!

They make you all suffer,

but now you are bully and they are duffer!

Becoming the villain isn't the answer,

is this what said some hustler?

What a joke, they were surely a prankster,

revenge can only give you laughter!

The path we're on is a path paved in black

but I'm taking this road and I'm not looking back!

Yes, this is dark, but I see where it ends,

my enemies will fall as my power ascends!

Will they despise me? That's fine!

I'm just taking what's mine,

and what's mine is my justice,

my justice, my justice, my justice!

My dear Lilith and Lucifer, if I can't win

I'm gonna make you wish you died with him

for your every sin!

And even if when I'm done,

I'll barely recognize what I've become,

well I don't care a damn,

now just let me have my... FUN!

#adam #adam hate the morningstars #hazbin adam #adam wants revenge #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin exterminators #revenge #song #adam sing

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girlsdressingrooms · 1 year

Photo

Francisco Rabaneda Cuervo (18 February 1934 – 3 February 2023),

More commonly known under the pseudonym of Paco Rabanne, the Spanish-born designer who was renowned for his iconic metallic dresses, has passed away today at the age of 88 in Portsall, Brittany.

The designer revolutionised fashion by twisting unconventional materials into new and previously unexplored forms. His brand – synonymous with the optimism of the 60s – was built on sculptural microminis, crafted from bolshy paillettes of aluminium, which mined medieval armour for its space-age potential.

His origins are equally as fateful and as intriguing as his designs, born in the Basque town of Pasajes, Gipuzkoa. His father was a Republican Colonel and was executed by Francoist troops during the Spanish Civil War.

Though Paco’s avant-garde sensibilities were perhaps a matter of inheritance, his Mother was the chief seamstress at Cristóbal Balenciaga's first couture house in Donostia, Basque Country, and subsequently Balenciaga moved Rabanne's entire family when he opened Balenciaga in Paris in 1937.

In the mid-1950s Paris, while he was studying architecture at l'École Nationale des Beaux-Arts, Rabanne earned money on the side by making fashion sketches for the likes of Dior and Givenchy, as well as shoe sketches for Charles Jourdan. Despite his early foray into the fashion industry, he stuck to his original plan getting a job at the company of esteemed French architect Auguste Perret. After 10 years at the company, he reinvented himself as a jewellery designer creating pieces for Givenchy, Dior, and Balenciaga. He then went on to found his own eponymous fashion house in 1966.

Dogged in his desire to break with convention, Paco was one of the first designers to cast models of colour and soundtrack his fashion shows to music. He debuted his first collection (Twelve Experimental Dresses) in 1964, followed by his breakout collection (Twelve Unwearable Dresses) in 1966 – both of which made full use of the postwar, industrial materials at his disposal, with pieces crafted from wire and glue.

He’d say that “sewing is a bondage” and sell DIY kits to his clients – among them Peggy Guggenheim, Brigitte Bardot, and Françoise Hardy – so they could fashion their own chainmail from discs, rings, and pliers. Those designs, worn by Jane Fonda in Barbarella, have proven a well of inspiration for Julien Dossena, who took over the Paco Rabanne label in 2013.

Though Paco treated fashion as a reaction against the polemics of his day – dressing women in armour needs no explanation – he was a futurist, untethered to the everyday. He retired from fashion in 1999 and while his fragrance imprint continued to be a commercial success, it wasn’t until 2011 that Paco Rabanne (the brand) staged a comeback. Since then, the house has cycled through creative directors Manish Arora, Lydia Maurer, and Dossena, who is compounding Paco’s experimental outlook and chain-link innovations – albeit with a less outré bent.

“Paco” was a daring, revolutionary and provocative vision, conveyed through a unique aesthetic. He will remain an important source of inspiration...

Rest in Power!

Jean Clemmer / Hélène Clemmer-Heidsieck, courtesy of Paco Rabanne,

“unwearable” show pieces from early Paco Rabanne collections, Photo: Courtesy of Paco Rabanne,

Paco Rabanne by Lucille Khornak

Jane Fonda in the 1968 cult-classic science-fiction film Barbarella,

Li Sellgren by Jean-Daniel Lorieux, fashion by Paco Rabanne, L'Officiel, 1970,

Asap Rocky wearing Paco Rabanne in GQ, May 20, 2021,

French singer Francoise Hardy wears Paco Rabanne in 1968,

Brigitte Bardot wearing Paco Rabanne dress, 1968,

Iconic 1969 Chain Shoulder Bag

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mischiefandmedicine · 3 months

Text

Very Full - Chapter 2: Hear Me

Summary: An enchanting voice, carrying across dimensions, beckons Loki to a karaoke bar of all places, where a captivating song leads him to meet Saoirse's mother. Her mysterious departure leaves him yearning for more, igniting a quest that promises to intertwine their destinies.

Word Count: 4,137 words.

Chapter Warnings: Minor violence (Loki gets slapped).

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Inspirational Music: Main character sings Hear Me by Kelly Clarkson, but imagine the other songs playing in the background afterwards.

Hear Me by Kelly Clarkson

Dark Horse by Katy Perry

Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

Into You by Ariana Grande

---

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

---

Loki settled into the deep green armchair, flitting his expansive cloak of interwoven timelines behind him, fixing his gaze on the expanse of space sprawling around them. With a measured breath, he began, his voice carrying the weight of ages past, each word meticulously chosen to weave a tapestry of truth and longing. “Once, in the epoch before the multiverse bloomed into its myriad of existences, there sat a realm of unparalleled splendor. A place where the convergence of cosmic energies birthed wonders beyond mortal comprehension. It was a world steeped in the ethereal embrace of magic, where the veils between the realms were thin, and destinies intertwined like the dancing tendrils of the great Yggdrasil itself.”

His gaze shifted, locking onto Saoirse’s eyes, her face displaying a mélange of skepticism and lingering pain. “In that realm, nestled amidst the splendor of Asgard, lived a being of immeasurable complexity. A god, known to many as Loki. A name ensconced in tales of trickery ambition, and the eternal dance between chaos and order.”

As Loki paused for effect in his story, Saoirse rolled her eyes with a sigh, crossing her arms angrily. “Just get on with it…”

Loki laughed, shaking his head knowingly, he let Saoirse’s words hang in the air before continuing, “As I was saying, within the intricate tapestries of my existence, lies a thread that transcends the bounds of divine whims and cosmic happenstance. It is a thread spun from the fiber of love, sacrifice, and enduring legacy…of Asgard…of Midgard…of her…”

Loki’s expression softened, memories flickering across his mind like the fragments of an unfinished mosaic. He was too eager to tell this story but wanted his daughter to revel in the beauty of it. It was his favorite story. One that had played in his mind repeatedly after he had returned to his throne.

“Your mother, a woman of unfathomable grace and strength, walked a path entwined with mine. Her presence in my life, Saoirse, altered the very fabric of my being,” a tinge of sorrow and remorse echoed in his voice as he continued.

“Our story begins with yours truly sitting on that throne there,” he turned to point to the gilded throne high up above the pair. “I had destroyed the loom that was responsible for keeping the strands of time from spiraling out of control since the dawn of…well…time,” he laughed nervously.

“I sat upon my throne, adrift on the sea of thoughts of friends lost – people who had helped shape me into the god I was meant to be – wondering if this was all I would ever be. Questioning if there would be a time when I could live for myself again. I had sacrificed everything to make sure all timelines would endure, ultimately saving countless lives in the process.”

Loki paused to wipe a tear from his eye, while Saoirse looked on in bewilderment. All she had understood about her father were his mischievous and trickster ways. She had not heard of him becoming emotional like this. Before she could say a word to fill the silence, Loki huffed out a single laugh before huskily resuming his story.

“Before I knew it, I had grown weary from my journey. It had, after all, taken centuries to overcome the threat of all existence nearly being destroyed. I closed my eyes, if only for a moment before my dreams were taken over by the sound of her sweet voice singing to me across the expanses,” Loki closed his eyes, feeling his powers pulling him back to the moment when he could hear her voice calling out to him.

*****

It was like a siren song calling out to him on the throne. He could hear the song calling out to him in his dreams. The words echoed through his ears, as they hypnotized the god on the throne at the end of time, weary from his travels to this moment.

You’ve gotta be out there, You’ve gotta be somewhere, Wherever you are, I’m waiting. ‘Cause there are these nights when I sing myself to sleep. And I’m hoping my dreams bring you close to me, Are you listening?

Loki found himself poised at the threshold between realities, the vast tapestry of timelines shimmering around him like iridescent threads. He concentrated on the faint, enchanting melody, a haunting voice that resonated across the cosmic expanse. With a calculated flicker of his cosmic powers, he projected himself out into the cosmos, navigating the intricate web of realities; timelines that seemingly called his name as he followed the tantalizing echo of the song that drew him in.

Hear me, I’m crying out, I’m ready now. Turn my world upside down, find me. I’m lost inside the crowd, it’s getting loud, I need you to see, I’m screaming for you to please, Hear me. Can you hear me?

In a kaleidoscope of lights and swirling energies, Loki phased through realities, guided solely by the captivating call of the woman’s voice. The ethereal echoes of the words reverberated through the countless timelines, seeming to overtake an entire branch of the makeshift Yggdrasil of intertwined realities. Her voice was a beacon that had summoned Loki across the universe. He had to find who had such power over him.

Finally, his projection emerged in a reality unlike that of his throne at the end of time, finding himself inside a vibrant, bustling tavern that seemed a universe away from his cosmic throne. The ambiance was alive with the spirited chatter of patrons, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the hum of conversations. Yet amidst the indistinct chatter, Loki’s focus honed in on the stage, where a lone figure stood, bathed in the glow of stage lights. She exuded grace and otherworldly charm as she sang, her voice carrying a poignant, yet powerful rendition of a song Loki had not heard before.

I used to be scared of letting someone in, But it gets so lonely being on my own. No one to talk to. No one to hold me. I’m not always strong, oh I need you here, Are you listening?

Loki found himself ensnared, not by the chaotic revelry of the bar, but by the mesmerizing woman’s voice. He stood at the periphery, his emerald eyes fixated on the singer, studying her every curve, captivated by her impassioned performance. He watched as she swayed in time with the music, bare feet, and bare legs leading up to a dark leather skirt, hugging her hips effortlessly. Her torso was adorned with a dark green short-sleeved shirt scrawled with the words “Beautiful Disaster” in gold lettering. Her mocha skin glistened in the stage light as her wavy black hair framed her face, kissing her shoulders, and swept down her frame.

The song itself carried a depth that struck Loki to the very core of his existence, stirring something ancient and profound within him. The lyrics seemed to echo sentiments he had long forgotten, evoking memories buried beneath layers of time and duty. He thought of Sylvie and how she had opened his heart to the possibility of love before spurning his advances. Ultimately it was she who had helped him to see that he could be more than just the god of mischief. Here and now, this woman had captured his very being…with a song.

I’m restless and wild, I fall but I try, I need someone to understand. Can you hear me? I’m lost in my thoughts, And baby, I’ve fought for all that I’ve got. Can you hear me?

As the song reached its crescendo, Loki felt an inexplicable resonance with the woman on the stage. Her voice had transcended the realm of mere sound, weaving a spell that seemed to echo through the dimensions, beckoning him closer. With an enigmatic smile playing on his lips, Loki stepped forward, making his way through the patrons toward the stage. His movement slow and deliberate, he was guided by an inexplicable pull toward the singer whose voice echoed a tale that continued to enchant him.

Staring up at the stage, Loki fixed his gaze upon this mysterious woman who had, by now, noticed his presence and locked eyes with him with a playful smirk as she sang. Intrigue and wonder danced in his eyes as he stood breathless, ensnared by her smile as she reached the climax of the song.

Hear me, hear me, Hear me, can you hear me? Hear me, Hear me, Hear me.

The performance of the song had reached its culmination, the last note lingering in the air as the audience erupted with applause. The woman’s gaze remains fixed on Loki, a glint in her eyes as she blushed and whispered a breathless and exasperated “thank you” into the microphone before taking a playful bow to cheers from the patrons surrounding the tavern.

The woman walked towards Loki, placing a hand on his shoulder as she alighted from the stage, moving lithely, her presence commanding yet graceful. Landing in front of Loki with a barely audible thud, she stood before him at a height that contrasted her powerful voice, her stature defying expectations. The top of her head barely reached his collarbone, causing her to look up at him as she steadied herself, bare feet contacting the tavern’s dark hardwood flooring.

Loki, momentarily taken aback, could not help but voice his surprise, “Where’s the rest of you?” he blurted out, his eyebrows arching in puzzlement. Though his question demonstrated his fascination, it too echoed a subtle admittance of his unexpected curiosity about this hypnotizing woman who, despite her petite frame, had possessed such a captivating aura and voice summoned him from across the dimensions.

The woman laughed heartily, grinning at the bizarre question, “What do you mean, ‘where’s the rest of you?’” she said, mocking Loki’s voice the best she could.

Loki’s eyes glint mischievously as he flashes a playful smirk. “Oh, my apologies. I just didn’t expect the voice of a Valkyrie to come from someone who needs a booster seat,” he quipped, his voice laden with both a teasing jest and a hint of seriousness as he eyed the woman before him.

“Watch it, buddy, I’ve been told I pack quite the punch, even in a small package,” she replied, her voice carrying both amusement and a touch of mystery. Her response was measured, revealing nothing of herself, yet inviting a still-stricken Loki to comment further.

Loki’s playful smirk lingered, his eyes glinting in the light of the tavern. “Ah, that explains it, you are a Valkyrie in compact form. Quite intriguing,” he remarked, his voice laden with playful sarcasm as he assessed her further. “You almost had me fooled there for a moment. I thought your kind had been all but extinct?” His words carried a teasing cadence, yet the underlying curiosity hinted at an interest in uncovering more about this mysterious woman.

The woman’s laughter rang again through the tavern, a sound that seemed to echo with both amusement and a touch of secrecy. “What is a Valkyrie?” she replied with a giggle, her gaze meeting Loki’s with a curious twinkle in her eye. “You have an odd sense of humor, stranger.” Her response was perplexing, leaving Loki momentarily taken aback by the seemingly feigned ignorance but intrigued by her banter.

Loki’s smirk grew wider, reveling in the teasing exchange. “A Valkyrie,” he began, assuming an air of grandiosity, “In the tales of old, Valkyries were fierce warriors, guardians of Asgard, chosen by the All-Father, Odin, himself to escort the fallen warriors to Valhalla. Strong, skilled, and cunning, they commanded respect, even among the gods.” His words were laced with a hint of theatricality, painting a vivid image of the mythical beings from Asgardian lore.

The woman tilted her head, eyes playing at an innocent expression with a smile, “Hmmm, that sounds impressive,” she responded with a pinch of sarcasm dancing in her voice. “But I hate to burst your bubble, I’m not a Valkyrie. I’m just a regular ol’ human being,” she added, her tone carrying a spirited yet assertive demeanor.

Loki chuckled, astonished by her response, “A human being, you say? Well, that would certainly explain the lack of winged steed and armor,” he quipped, a glint of amusement twinkling in his eyes, still in disbelief. “But forgive me, you do have a certain…otherworldly quality about you. A human with such a captivating voice is quite the rarity.”

With a blush taking over her face, the woman chuckled softly, the sound like music to Loki’s ears, “You’re quite the charmer, but alas,” she mocked his accent, “I’m just your average karaoke bar singer, nothing more, nothing less.”

Pulling her away from the stage so that she might hear him better, Loki leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “Oh, come now, don’t sell yourself short. I don’t know what a karaoke bar is, but you certainly have all its patrons under your spell,” he paused, voice growing deeper as he gestured to their surroundings. “It’s rather perplexing, and I’m fond of mysteries,” he teased.

The woman grinned, speechless, eyeing Loki carefully.

“A human with such an enticing voice and demeanor like yours might have a few tricks up her sleeve,” Loki continued.

The woman pivoted to walk past Loki with a smile, “You think you’ve figured me out?” she shrugged knowing that Loki was following close behind her as she pushed her way through the crowd, “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you again, but I’m just a girl who enjoys a good song, a good drink, and…,” she paused to look Loki up and down over her shoulder, “a good conversation.”

Intrigued by this woman, Loki matched her pace, reveling in the challenge that this human presented with her snarky demeanor and small stature. He leaned in close to her ear, “A good conversation, you say?” Loki echoed her words, allowing his voice to mimic her playful tone and accept the challenge she presented. “Well then, allow me to introduce myself properly.”

He halted her progress gently, grabbing her by the arm and turning her to face him, his gaze holding hers in a momentary pause as she shrugged his hand off her with a glare. “I am Loki,” he declared theatrically, a smirk playing upon his lips as he bowed slightly, his coat draping around him adding to the dramatic flair.

“I know who you are,” she said raising an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at her lips before smacking him square across the face.

The sting of her hand against his cheek took him by surprise, a sharp crack resounding through the bustling tavern. He recoiled slightly, more from the shock of her action than the actual impact. His hand rose to his cheek, rubbing the spot where her slap had landed, more amused than offended.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Loki remarked, his voice tinged with genuine surprise and an ounce of admiration in it. He glanced at her half in amusement and half something else. “The absolute audacity.”

The woman stood there, her expression a mix of amusement and defiance, indicating that she was, in fact, toying with the god who was now towering over her silently as they approached an empty table in the corner. “I do hope that gets your attention,” she said, the hint of a smirk curling at the corners of her lips. “Do not touch me again unless I ask you to,” she pointed a finger at him scolding.

Loki, recovering from the shock, despite the sting of her hand lingering, could not help but chuckle. “As you wish,” he took a step back, pulling a chair out for her. “A swift introduction, but I believe we might have skipped a fundamental step,” he said as he looked at her, taking a seat across from her. “I’ve presented myself, yet the mystery of your name still eludes me. Might I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the woman who wields both voice and palm with such finesse against me?”

The woman’s smirk softened to a faint smile as she perched her face in her hands, regarding him from across the table. “And what would a name do for you, Loki?” she quipped, playing along with their alluring exchange.

“Names hold power and significance. They are keys that unlock hidden doors and open realms of possibility,” Loki replied with a smile, his voice carrying a charm that seemed almost impossible to resist.

The woman chuckled lightly, eyes questioning the very nature of the conversation, the air between them seemingly heating up. “Melara,” she said, her voice floating with a playful, yet guarded tone, leaving Loki to wonder if it was truly her name or another layer to the enigma she seemed to be.

“Melara,” Loki echoed, savoring the name as if it held a secret within its syllables. “A pleasure, indeed,” he said with a bow of his head, acknowledging her with an exaggerated flourish of his hand.

Intrigued by her boldness and the hint of light-heartedness that underscored her actions, Loki leaned back in his chair, his expression changing to amusement and curiosity as he watched her closely, studying every feature of her face.

“And how exactly do you know of me, Melara?” Loki inquired, a quirk of his lips betraying his interest in her response.

Melara’s gaze met Loki’s with a hint of recognition and a trace of wariness, though she remained composed and unfazed in his presence. With a tone that conveyed acknowledgment rather than trepidation, she spoke, her words laced with curiosity of her own. “I’ve heard tales whispered in corners about a certain someone causing quite the stir in New York,” Melara remarked, her voice carrying a blend of intrigue and calculated neutrality. “I have even heard of someone like you visiting here in Wisconsin a few times, once when I was a little girl. Seems like mischief follows you wherever you go, doesn’t it?”

“Wisconsin? Is that what you call this realm?” Loki asked, puzzled.

Melara laughed emphatically at his question, pausing to gaze into his eyes before laughing again. “No, it’s a state. For someone who was supposed to take over everything here, you sure are clueless, aren’t you?” she giggled.

Loki’s expression shifted subtly, a faint shadow passing over his features, addressing her awareness of his past exploits. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes reflecting admiration for the joke at his expense. “Ah, yes, that version of me did indeed relish in causing such commotion,” he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment, indicating a change from that brash persona. “But I must confess, I’ve evolved since then. Times change, people change…even gods,” Loki added with a charming smirk, attempting to deflect from his former self, leaning into thoughts of his more recent deeds, particularly following his ascension to the gilded throne at the end of time.

As the dimly lit tavern hummed with the lively chatter and the faint scent of liquor lingered in the air, Melara and Loki had unknowingly found themselves entangled in a conversation that felt like a dance – one filled with intrigue, charm, and the enticing allure of the unexpected. Loki’s revelations about his transformation since the chaos of New York had woven a captivating narrative, his words carrying the weight of reflection and change. In the depths of his emerald-green eyes, she saw traces of a past laden with hurt and mischief, a tumultuous history teeming with complexities the god himself was attempting to unravel as they sat.

“Change is a curious thing,” Melara remarked, her voice threaded with understanding and an insatiable curiosity for the mysterious god seated across from her. “Many claim to embrace it, but few truly do.” Her words hung in the air, a contemplative pause in the midst of their vibrant exchange.

She observed the subtle changes in Loki’s demeanor – the nuances in his voice, the fraction of vulnerability peeking through his charismatic façade. There was a momentary glimpse of acknowledgment in his gaze, a silent understanding. It was as though they were sharing fragments of their past selves without explicitly uttering a word. Together they were navigating the labyrinth of change as they sat across from each other in the dimly lit tavern, conversation deeper than most strangers would ever share.

“Indeed,” Loki replied, his past experiences coloring his voice with wisdom forged through countless trials and the passage of years he had not even begun to fathom. “Our experiences can reshape us in unforeseen ways.”

Their conversation flowed like a river meandering through uncharted lands, each exchange adding layers of complexity to their connection as they sat, the indistinct background chatter melting away as they spoke. With each shared word and exchanged glance, the boundary between intrigue and caution blurred – a tantalizing edge teetering on the brink of unspoken truths and the allure of the unknown.

As the hours slipped away into the embrace of the night, Melara sensed the subtle shift in the atmosphere of their interaction. The magnetic pull of Loki’s charisma intertwined with the intoxicating atmosphere – or perhaps that of the drinks she had consumed lost in Loki’s stories – wove a spell that beckoned to the depths of her soul.

Yet, amidst the alluring mystique of the moment, a quiet unease nestled in the recesses of Melara’s thoughts – a reminder of vulnerability that lay beneath the surface of enchantment. It was the duality of fascination and caution that whispered the danger in her ear, urging her to tread lightly in the captivating presence of the god of mischief himself.

Sensing the subtle shift in the air, Melara made a decision wrapped in a smile tinged with finality. As Loki spoke, with a graceful excuse and a gaze reflecting the desire for one more moment hearing his voice, Melara stood, collected her belongings – which included the shoes she had removed earlier – and departed quickly. Loki watched her, astonished, as the woman ran out of the tavern, leaving the promise of an unfinished tale that lingered in the tavern’s hushed whispers.

Though he could have let the night end there, and he might even have used magic to follow her, Loki instead stood to run after Melara. He exited onto the street, and she was nowhere to be found. Just as quickly as this woman had entered his existence, so too had she vanished without a trace. For a human, she certainly had cast a spell on him so effortlessly and then just as easily eluded him, besting him before he had even known that a game was afoot.

Loki looked up at the night sky, letting out a silent plea to find this Melara again, if only for one moment. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, reopening them to find that he was back on the throne at the end of time. No longer seeing through the eyes of his makeshift avatar, he was already longing for the presence of someone he had just barely met. He knew this feeling and it ate at him.

Isolating the strand of time that he had just returned from, he glanced at the branches running through his fingers. He noted that the strand glowed much brighter than the others surrounding it. Playing with the strand as it danced through his fingers, Loki noted how it was stronger and thicker than the other timelines. Should anyone have the strength to find themselves here, fighting to destroy the realities he protected, this one would surely take much more strength than others to break off. That fact caused the curiosity within him to surge. There had to be a way to find her again.

But first, he had to rebuild his strength. It had taken so much power within him to cast a projection of himself that could interact with Melara’s timeline all while his corporeal body continued to wield the strands of time and keep them alive, the task he had taken on for which he had sacrificed so much. Now this human with the power to summon him with a song threatened to upend his very existence. She was even wearing his colors when they had met, quite the cosmic coincidence. She was just as her shirt said, a beautiful disaster.

----

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