#“Perhaps it’s true that this is meaningless in the grand scheme of things but that doesn’t make it any less valuable” <- ME

[bebx]

Thinking about Inho whump with disordered eating as his unfortunate coping mechanism.

Inho being used to the feeling of hunger from a young age, when money was tight, he would always make his prime focus on getting food onto Malsoon and Junho’s plates first, his own plate always coming second. Skipping meals so Junho could eat.

This isn’t to say that he would purposefully starve himself, not at this point, anyway. He would eat what was necessary to be fit and healthy enough for the academy and training. But I think this unhealthy mindset of his went unchecked, because he was always the provider, never had time to stop, never ‘needed’ to be checked on. He can’t be a burden.

When he becomes the Frontman, I think this behaviour just gets worse. Perhaps, the dull ache of hunger in his stomach feels like a physical translation of the hollowness he feels down to his very core- in his soul, so that feeling being physical makes him feel more in control, and makes his emotional emptiness easier to handle.

Or maybe the constant reminders from the VIPs of the *true* amount of control that he possesses, little to none in the grand scheme of things, him ultimately being just another cog in the well-oiled machine, simple one with a prettier design. Inho is desperate for control in any way, even the seemingly smallest and meaningless ways, through controlling the amount he intakes, it comforts him.

That ache in his stomach being the one constant throughout his life, it brings him a twisted sense of familiarity and a semblance of the life he used to live, one where he could take care of those around him.

Maybe bearing the responsibility of a death game kills the little appetite he did have.

I think going into the games as Youngil was where this caught up to him, it’s one thing managing the games from a chair, just sitting and drinking, and another thing having to fight two people and constantly on the move.

Gihun trying to help Youngil despite not being much better in that regard.

Obviously this would deviate from Inho’s canon physique, but I think it’s an interesting idea to explore.

Inho post-game, living with Gihun and Junho, his habits gone unchecked for so long, mostly unnoticed by the other two, missing the meals dumped in the trash, listening to Inho’s excuses for not eating, until at some point they get a glimpse of Inho’s physical state somehow, and only then they realise how badly Inho’s been suffering alone and for god knows how long.

Inho thinks they must be disgusted by his ‘sickly’ appearance, that must be it, it’s the natural conclusion to reach in Inho’s mind. A dog gone starved for so long it’s better to just kill it so it’s wretched legs don’t tremble trying to hold itself up, because why would anyone bother trying to nurse back to health a wounded, starved mutt like that?

Inho needs to learn that he is more that what he can do for others. Needs to be the one taken care of for a change.

What are your thoughts on this?

I have nothing more to add to this because I feel like everything I could’ve, would’ve said had already been said by you, and it’s on point, it fits perfectly well with how I see In-ho’s character. Him being so used to being the one who cares, the one who provides, that he’s struggling being the one who’s being taken care of. And I think the idea of displaying his own vulnerability, even to the one he knows will never hurt him (aka Jun-ho), terrified him; obviously it’s not because he thinks Jun-ho will take advantage of his weakness, but because he believes he has to always be the strong one. For Jun-ho. It’s been this way their entire lives. In-ho providing, In-ho taking care of Jun-ho and their mom.

So when it becomes the other way around, In-ho fears that this means another failure in his life, especially when, in his belief, he’s already failed his wife and their child by not being able to save them. And now he’s failing Jun-ho, too.

And when confronted (about his eating disorder) by Jun-ho and Gi-hun, In-ho resorts to the only things he learns from years of running the game and witnessing the worst in human’s nature, he resorts to defensiveness and aggression. Anything to “survive”. Because in In-ho’s belief, it’s still about survival even though he’s not in the game anymore, even though he’s now safe with Jun-ho and Gi-hun and is no longer the game’s dog. Even though he can be vulnerable around Jun-ho and Gi-hun and let himself be taken care of.

Looks like I did have a little something to say after all lol. But yes, I love everything you say so much. Thank you for the In-ho whump! I always love it when In-ho’s the one who’s being looked after and taken care of by Jun-ho and Gi-hun

[bleue-flora]

not sure what you mean by cdreams arguement and not your opinion I can't find anything in that vod stating his perspective on suicide but I do see now that it could have been about vikk. The reason I and many people assume its about his suicide specifically is because of how desensitized he is to death and how he know how painful death is. I know the ''I know how painful death is'' line could have been referring to c!tubbo taking his final life, but the way he phrases it to me sounds like he has experienced it countless times before and gone to limbo many times. And why wouldnt he test suicide revivals, it would make sense for his character to off himself for the sake of finding out knowledge that maybe killing lazar and vikk or others couldn't provide. And yeah the ''death by revival book'' i said was written at like 5 am i was not writing properly

[context]

That was more so me telling people to not misconstrued my words and take me talking about Dream’s argument where he uses the Revive Book to highlight how Tommy’s suicide would have been meaningless to mean that I personally think in any sense that suicide is meaningless (as there have been people who came for my head, taking these types of statements and using them to say that I’m unempathetic and such…) which is really besides the point.

I mean you can absolutely take his statement like that. That is entirely reasonable and I follow the logic, my designs for stages duo has them having white strands of hair for their many deaths after all [Dream & Punz]. But I will also say that that statement in particular is to highlight that Tommy isn’t unique in experiencing pain or death, since Tommy tends to have this delusion that he is the only one who can get hurt. And based on Dream’s words we know that he has died at least once before. So he really does know how painful death is, and is highlighting that Tommy knowingly causing his painful death just yesterday. But I also think Dream perhaps experienced things more painful than death so him being desensitized to it would make sense in that way as well…

Why wouldn’t he test suicide to learn more about death? Because it’s unnecessary and risky. And also though I think prison gives us the impression that Dream has little self preservation, I’m starting to wonder if that’s not entirely true either. Because the way I see it is if they only tested if the book works after prison [post], then that highlights that Dream was very naive going into staged finale and prison. That the book was really truly his very last card to be spared by the server. And that naiviness I think means then that perhaps it’s not that his self-preservation is poor, but he was too trusting. Which honestly more so aligns with what we see of his behavior anyways, isn’t it? Throwing bombs from the sky, always wearing armor, using other people like Wilbur to achieve his goals… etc like he doesn’t seem to just go out and risk dying and be uncaring about getting hurt. So perhaps he does actually want to avoid pain and suffering, that he didn’t knowingly or intentionally put himself in a torture box, and if that’s true then maybe killing himself over and over wouldn’t be very in character after all.

Not to mention, that based off Dream’s own definition of Limbo that it changes based on all of the circumstances surrounding their death, meaning that you could kill yourself with the same knife in the same spot and Limbo could change. In which case, it seems rather pointless to study in the way we have assumed because you’re never going to discover every Limbo. And why would studying Limbo help answer the questions of the world anyways. It just doesn’t seem important to me in the grand scheme of things when mind control and the End are apparently also somehow connected to the book…

But in general it’s not that I can’t see why you’d make this assumption, it’s a reasonable assumption to make. One whose strongest argument would actually probably be this line from Dream:

“But we haven't tested… is somebody being selfless and dying a hero. We don't know anything about that because… we—can't test that because we're evil, we're so bad and—murderers—bla bla bla, whatever—who cares. But… We can test that now.” [clip]

Implying that they are not heroic enough to test dying a hero themselves. And yet, that point is oddly not the one I’ve often seen people use. XD However, this is also part of his set up for the bs saw trap thing and staged duo lay on their villain roles here real thick, so can we really take his words at face value? I don’t know, you could make an argument both ways…

At the end of the day, my point isn’t to say you are wrong or that your assumption is a bad one. My point is only to highlight that there is just as fair and reasonable, maybe even more reasonable, of a case to be made that these experiments are not what we as a collective have assumed them to be this whole time, and what does that say about staged duo’s relationship? What would that look like? What are the other possible outcomes, circumstances, answers that could apply if we make a different assumption?…

[call-sign-foxtrot]

A Neo-liberalistic Nihilistic Manifesto

Economic Policy meets Existential Despair

In this grim guide, we'll delve into the depths of neoliberalistic nihilism and explore the realities of navigating the market-driven hellscape. In this journey through the corners of capitalism, where the only certainty is uncertainty, and the only currency is cold, hard cash. History? A meaningless series of market fluctuations. Morality? A subjective construct hindering your consumption choices. Truth? Fungible and for sale to the highest bidder.

Step 1: Embrace the Market Abyss

In this wild west of capitalism, the invisible hand of the market reigns supreme, guiding through the chaos of supply and demand like a blindfolded stumbling through a minefield. Forget about regulations or ethical dilemmas – profit is the only compass you need. The market will definitely reward your...gestures vaguely...audacity with untold riches (or bankruptcy, but hey, it's all meaningless anyway). But in this world, failure is but a temporary setback, a stepping stone on the path to greater success. After all, what does it matter if we lose it all, if the game is all that matters?

Step 2: Find Meaning in Materialism

In this world devoid of inherent meaning, material possessions become our gods. So go ahead, splurge on that designer handbag or the latest iPhone – they're the closest thing to existential fulfilment money can buy. With each purchase, we are not only filling the void within, but also contributing to the great capitalist machine that powers our world. And in doing so, we are becoming the ultimate consumers, the apex predators of the consumerist jungle. Just ignore the sense of emptiness that creeps in when you realize that no amount of consumerism can fill the void within. So why not treat yourself to that dopamine rush you get from scoring those limited-edition drops? It's basically the same feeling as finding true happiness, only slightly less sustainable and much more expensive.

Step 3: Exploit, Exploit, Exploit

In the pursuit of profit, nothing is off-limits. Exploit cheap labor in developing countries? Check. Dodge taxes like a like a ship vanishing into fog? Double check. Destroy the environment faster than you can say "climate change is real"? Triple check. In the grand scheme of things, morals are just roadblocks on the way to wealth. "This all sounds so...unethical." And you're right. It is. But in the world of business, morals are just a luxury that only the weak can afford. So, if you want to make it to the top, you'd better be prepared to leave your conscience at the door. Who needs a clear conscience when you have a yacht? Or a private jet? Or a mansion on a hill?

Step 4: Rinse and Repeat

Congratulations, you're now a card-carrying member of the neoliberalistic nihilist club! But remember, the journey is never truly over. As you navigate the waters of late-stage capitalism, always keep one eye on the bottom line and the other on the abyss. Who knows, maybe one day you'll achieve true enlightenment – or at least a slightly bigger offshore bank account. Perhaps we will find the freedom we so desperately crave – or perhaps, more likely, we will find nothing at all.

Step 5: Await the End

Now all that remains is to await the inevitable collapse – the final unraveling of civilization as we know it. Embrace the pain, the anguish, the existential despair – for in the depths of suffering lies the only semblance of truth we will ever know. Let it wash over you like a tidal wave, drowning out the hollow echoes of consumerism and capitalist excess. For in the end, it is our suffering that defines us – not our fleeting moments of happiness or success.

Disclaimer: This is Satire. Repeat: "There is only the market, and the market is good..." (except when it isn't, but hey, that's the thrill of the gamble, right?).

[bloodofthefates]

x. ❛ we've had this discussion. you mustn't show up unannounced. ❜ from @bcnedict

     The association between their two great houses had already been called into question, but not only by idle or meaningless gossip traded over punch bowls at social gatherings. It was by Emma’s own hand and her trial and error in matchmaking that had drawn the initial interest of Lady Whistledown to her schemes and not long before she found herself the rather popular subject matter of the column itself. The latest issue had been rife with speculation, cross-examining the robustness of her declaration for independence and ultimately judging the true nature of her character or whether the Miss Woodhouse presented to society was no better a façade than the rest of the Mamas trying to secure the best marriage offer for their daughters. With such power wielded behind the anonymity of the pen, a long dark shadow had been cast upon Emma and so too had her spirits been darkened by the idea that anyone might take her for a fraud; or worse, a foolish or unserious woman. It was out of sheer desperation she called at such an hour, not realizing before she’d made the journey across town how late it was and what prying eyes might be making note of her movements or engagements. Her arrival was unceremonious and improper and instead of rousing the footman to be announced through the grand entrance of Bridgerton House, Emma had stolen away to the entrance intended only for servants to address one of the last maids still awake and toiling at her mending into the early morning hours. Mr. Bridgerton had been called in secrecy and Emma felt a shameful shade of scarlet ebbing its way across her cheeks as he admonished her now in-person standing before her and both of them attempting to keep hushed whispers between them. “I couldn’t very well be announced at such an hour, I could never do such a thing to your dear mother…” Emma stumbled and stuttered over her words where usually she was so confident and self-assured of her own cleverness and wit. “But I could not very well stay away. I had to see you.” She admitted, perhaps more than she’d intended by the way her eyes darted immediately to meet him with a wideness that bespoke the shock of her own blunt confession. “To remedy such serious allegations made against me, of course.” She was quick to correct herself, not giving any credence to the utter nonsense Lady Whistledown had alluded to about any possible romantic or serious attachment between her and Benedict beyond friendly acquaintances. “I have not been able to rest or sleep at all, please you must have some idea of how to fix this? After all, you are always so creative and ingenious in your arts, are you not?”  

[smolalienbee]

And I Breathe

the very first scene of the 1st chapter of In the Earth of Me; full chapter available on AO3!

“We could head to the coast… get away for a while.”

Jaskier doesn’t dare to look at Geralt as he says it.

Those words - they’ve been on his mind a while, though he’s never thought there’d be a good time to ask. Now doesn’t quite feel like it, either, but truthfully, he’s too tired to care. He’s exhausted, really, and of so many things.

(Some of them feel meaningless and selfish, in the grand scheme of things. But they’re still his feelings, true as ever.)

He’s tired of all the fighting, of watching people die. Tired of experiencing Geralt’s guilt, first-hand, nearly every day of his life. Of watching him and Yennefer dancing around each other. Of constantly being left behind, an afterthought.

(The moment Yennefer had walked into that inn, the moment Geralt saw her - he knew he had lost. Perhaps that’s the true reason why he says it.)

He needs a break. They both do, he thinks.

The truth is, he doesn’t expect Geralt to react well to his suggestion. In fact, it doesn’t take long for him to realize that perhaps he’s fucked up - offering his own heart on a silver platter, as though explicitly asking Geralt to ruin it for him.

(Geralt isn’t a cruel man - Jaskier believes so with his whole being. But he also knows there are hearts that Geralt wants to care for more so than for Jaskier’s own.)

In a sudden hurry to bring some levity to the conversation, Jaskier opens his mouth - that sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? he could say, laugh it off, as though he hasn’t just shared one of his deepest wishes.

Except Geralt speaks before he can.

“Maybe you’re right.”

The sound of his voice startles Jaskier and he turns, wide-eyed, to stare at his companion.

(Why did that startle him so much?)

“What did you just say?” he utters softly.

“You’re right, Jaskier,” Geralt hums, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He turns and their eyes meet - Jaskier doesn’t even have the time to cover his shock. “Life's too short. We should do what pleases us.”

“...well, that sounds an awful lot like something I would say,” he mutters. What he doesn’t mention is the strange sense of deja vu that he gets from this entire conversation.

Geralt’s mouth quirks up, just barely, but Jaskier doesn’t miss it, far too attuned to all of the witcher’s microexpressions.

“We must have been spending too much time together, then,” he says amused.

(No. There is something more to it.)

Jaskier nibbles at his bottom lip, watching Geralt for a longer while. He feels like he’s in a dream, too good to be true, and if he says just one wrong thing, he’ll have to wake up.

“And yet you’ve just agreed to spend even more of it with me,” he says eventually. It’s as much a statement as a question - is this really what will please you, Geralt?

“Hm,” Geralt grunts thoughtfully. He turns to look out at the horizon in front of them. “I suppose I have.”

Doesn’t it make you happy?

“We will leave, then,” Jaskier says on an exhale. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Geralt nod. “Before sundown.”

He cares, Julian.

read the full chapter on AO3!

[dancingaliensfics]

♡My Prison Pen Pal♡

Helmut Zemo x reader

Word count: 1,802

Warnings: swearing, mentions of prison and crimes and slight angst to do with his family

A/N: its finally here! I havent writen a fic in a long time so hopefully you guys like this! I tried to avoid using idioms and things like that but message me if you need anything explained or reworded as I know most people aren't native English speakers

@sorcerersofnyc

♡♡♡

His first letter came during the series finale of your favourite show. A rather inconvenient moment, you thought, so it stayed on the welcome mat until you passed through the hall on your way to bed. Picking it up, you figured you'd skim the first few lines then finish it and write a reply before work. Instead, you found yourself writing and rewriting a reply through the night. Somehow this man had managed to enthrall you with only a letter. Maybe it was the way he wrote as if he was some elegant poet whose sonnets would one day be hailed as classics. How he managed to be open and expressive, exuding a welcoming aura, and yet still seeming mysterious. Or perhaps it was simply fated by the stars that Helmut Zemo would capture your heart.

You waited anxiously for his second letter to arrive. After sending the first, you hadn't cared whether you got a response, the whole thing seemed like a bad idea to you. But your mother was insistent that you needed to meet new people and this way you wouldn't need to worry about awkward face to face conversations. Sending the first letter felt like any other chore you do in the day, done with much effort and resignment but forgotten within minutes. But the second? It felt like the most important thing you'd done in a long time. You'd even bought a first class stamp (not that it makes a difference).

You wanted to know more about this intriguing man. No, supervillain. Charged with international terrorism. Jesus christ what the fuck was wrong with you? Were you really falling in love with a supervillain after one letter? But he didn't seem evil to you. He wrote eloquently, somehow his simple and brief description of his day (he'd started reading a new psychology book, you'd have to send him some recommendations) sounded fascinating in his words.

Over time, you started to notice small things about Helmut. The way he crossed his t's, how he signed his name, but mainly that there was a romanticism to his writing. From the way he described his home, his wife, his son to his recipes for Sokovian dishes with small notes and doodles (your favourite was his shepherd's pie recipe where he helpfully noted his mother's assertion that you should always add more than you think you need). It was becoming clear to you that he wasn't the stoic and vengeful baron you expected but rather a soft, lonely and endearingly weird man who you couldn't imagine plotting to destroy the Avengers. Whilst it was his mystery that first captivated you, it was his sweet and sometimes awkward personality that convinced you to keep writing.

It took a while for Helmut to tell you about his family. You had heard on the news back when he first arrested about his motive, so you were interested to hear his perspective on his crimes. But that wasn't what you got. Instead, he told you about when he and his father used to play football when he was young and how they would play a match every time he visited, with Helmut playing against his father and son, who always wanted to play with grandfather. He told you of the songs his wife used to sing, how her voice was always loud and shaky and after years of singing somewhere over the rainbow she would still forget the lyrics and invent her own. He told you how his son was the best pianist he had ever heard. How he could play the greatest rendition of amazing grace and that he had just learnt the theme from swan lake. That he had been excited to practice it on his grandfathers grand piano the day Ultron attacked.

There was something so human about this man. His love for his family, his loss and grief, his plan to avenge his family, it was all so tragic and yet here he was sending you drawings of the flowers from his garden growing up. You wanted to hug him and yet sometimes you felt he wouldn't need it, wouldn't want it. You were wrong.

Helmut Zemo missed his family. He told you so in one of his most recent letters. He missed holding his son, brushing his wife's hair, going for long drives, waking up at 2am to comfort his son, early morning trips to the shops, cleaning up after dinner, helping with homework. Everything he listed seemed so trivial, so meaningless in the grand scheme of life and yet the memories meant so much to him.

You realised then you had never pitied him before. Not that he wasn't deserving of it, just that he didn't seem to need it. But overtime you realised that what Helmut had really needed wasn't revenge or to make a world free from superhumans, it was someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Someone who would understand his pain and not judge it. Perhaps, you thought to yourself, you could be that person.

Fuck.

You couldn't think of how to cope with this. No one you knew had ever mentioned falling in love with a criminal through letters. And as hard as you tried you hadn't been able to find a single romcom with this plot line. You couldn't tell him. You imagined with his seemingly fragile state of mind receiving from basically a stranger professing their love would at best cause him to ghost you. Especially after he confided in you, shared his thoughts and memories.

So instead you continued as normal. You sent him pressed flowers and pictures of your favourite places. Eventually, he asked what looked like, and you spent an hour trying to decide whether you should send a picture of yourself or to just vaguely describe your features. After deciding to send a picture of yourself on holiday a few months before the blip, you found yourself wondering what he'd do with it. Would he throw it away as soon as he got the letter or would he keep it, tuck it away in some book to look at whilst thinking of you?

You also found yourself wondering what he looked like in the real world. You had found pictures of him online, but they didn't feel real. He was never rarely happy. The pictures pre Ultron were clearly taken by paparazzi, so you weren't surprised he rarely looked anything other than annoyed. There were a few though, ones with his wife and son, where he clearly hadn't noticed, and some from when he was much younger and seemed to enjoy the attention. Then were those taken after his arrest.

And so you continued to wonder he looked like. How he looked in the morning, with flowers in his hair or in summer with the sun lighting his face. You wondered what his hair looked like wet, if he ever scrunched his nose in disgust. You wondered what his smile was like.

Over time, you told him more about yourself. The stress of returning home after the blip to no job, no house and your friends 5 years older. Your ex was married with kids and your sister had moved abroad. It was as if you blinked and your whole life had changed. You mentioned how it was your mum who had suggested getting a pen pal, so you could talk to someone new, who was living a different life to you, although she had meant someone in a different country not jail. Since coming back you'd been isolated and stressed with starting a new job, recovering lost information and personal belongings and moving house, so you had thought it might be good to speak to someone who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you. You told Helmut how it had been good, how writing to him had helped you, how he had helped you more than he could ever know.

No, that sounded creepy. How you appreciated his letters.

Too formal. How you hadn't expected to become his friend, but you were glad to be able to say you were.

Helmut was comforting. You knew in your head that your meeting on Friday was nothing to worry about but seeing him say it felt so reassuring. Each one of his letters made you feel relaxed, feel safe. You wanted to make him feel the same. So, as a way to repay his kindness you had told him that no matter what happened, he could always trust you. And it was true. You couldn't imagine a world where you wouldn't do anything for Helmut and although you knew he would never need it, you still wanted him to know you would always care about him, even if no one else did.

Writing to him had become as easy as talking to someone you'd known all your life. You had fallen into an easy routine, you knew when to expect his letters and you knew when you'd send a reply. The routine felt so natural that you even knew what the envelope would look like, always the same off-white with a square edged flap. The address was always the same too. Except on his last letter. Which was strange.

At first, you thought Helmut had been moved to a different prison but after frantically typing the address into Google Maps you realised it was not a prison. Fuck you had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a prison. It also wasn't in Germany.

You sat still, staring at the unopened letter for a few minutes.

You looked up at the door. You thought you heard someone knock. The post had already come and you weren't expecting people. Hell, there wasn't anyone other than your parents who would visit anyway and they would have called first. Now you were sat still, staring at the front door.

"I know you're in there, the lights are on."

It was as if you were a marionette, being moved by some strange force that was slowly pulling you out of your seat and towards the door. You didn't even register that you moved until you felt the door handle on your fingertips. The cold metal caused you to stop, as if broken out of a trance. There was a sudden realisation that if you opened the door your life would never be the same. It was sickening, a mixture of dread and excitement; it reminded you of the moment before a roller coaster drops. You repeated that thought in your head. "Your life would never be the same". Your life hadn't been the same in almost a year. What would be the harm in one more big change. So you did it. You opened the door.

His smile was beautiful.

[moreidsdaughter]

broken (1)

spencer reid x reader

genre: angst!!

tw: depression, smoking, mentions of not eating, insomnia, suicidal ideation or thoughts.

word count: 1k

summary: in which the broken girl tells her story!

a/n: AHH! THIS IS MY FIRST SERIES AND IM SO EXCITED TO SHARE IT WITH YOU GUYS! also, thank you @geeky-son-dr-reid, @moss-honey-and-sage, and @haileyyturner for the fic beta

Sometimes I feel like a burden. As though I constantly nag people by being myself. It's sad, unfortunate; but it’s true. It’s something that weighs me down everyday, and I wish I didn’t feel this way. I wish I didn’t feel this way. I have attempted to talk about these things, in vain.  I have to  be this strong beam of light for many. I’m an FBI agent that works for the BAU. I go out and observe the psyche of criminals week after week. I know so much about the human brain, yet I can’t fix myself. I can’t fix my mess of a brain, it’s like a used machine; wiring in shambles, tangled, mangled, burnt out and used.

I hate times like these.

Depressive episodes not like TV episodes. A not-so-magical spell that could last days, weeks—months, even. I sit  on my bed all night, staring at the blank ceiling awaiting to feel something, anything at this point. My body feels heavy, like the weight of thousands of rocks pressing against the mattress. Then, after what feels like ages my alarm rings and then I know that it’s time to start my day. Work. The only thing that brings me anything near a spark of joy nowadays.

I get up and start my mindless, robotic routine. It doesn’t require much thought and I like that, but it feels so wrong. It feels wrong to feel nothing. It feels wrong to be numb. It feels wrong when your chest is light because of the lack of emotion. Wrong, but comforting. I get up, take a shower, brush my teeth, get dressed, and head out the door, with only a cigarette for breakfast. Over and over again, day after day. It's like clockwork.

I used to smoke in high school, only to burn stress and look cool. After knowing the side effects and what it could lead to, I stopped. But, I no longer care enough to stop. Perhaps it’s just me being reckless; my life doesn’t mean much anyways.

I walk into the BAU, trying my best to look lively and not sluggish. I try not to look like the shell of a human that I’ve become; I don’t eat much or take care of myself when I don’t need to. I tend to swallow all the negative emotions that I have to be dealt with later. I don’t want to cry nor talk about these issues in front of my coworkers, my friends. I don’t want to burden them with my problems and I don’t want their pity. I don’t want this pity because there are bigger problems to deal with, we have people to save. I know that my problems don't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Every “Are you okay?” is answered with a “Yes, I’m fine.” or a fake, but believable “I’m doing great!”

However, I’m not okay. I’m not fine or great and I haven’t been for a long time.

People ask that question everyday expecting a new response, but truly how is anyone going to have a different answer everyday? If they do, chances are they’re lying. Not that much changes day to day. Other people may not have the routine that I have, but what really changes day to day? The variables are the same. The people are the same, whether you have coworkers or children. Everything is the same, but with minimal changes. Minimal, meaningless changes. I rush to sit down at my desk, so the lightheadedness doesn’t take any further effect. Then, right when I think I have time to catch my breath, Hotch calls for us to meet in the conference room. I get up and walk, but stumble like an idiot. Way to make a fool of myself.‘Shit, they can’t think anything is wrong. I can’t ruin things like I normally do.’ I thought, rushing to the conference room, ready to hear about the new case.

-----

3rd POV now? Spencer looks across the room, seeing Y/n sitting down at her desk and staring at nothing. ‘It’s almost as if she had nothing going on inside, but at the same time it looked as if she were at war with herself.’ he ponders. Before he can  think any further, he hears Hotch’s call and leaves for the conference room. With his eyes still on Y/n, he gets up slowly but is startled when he sees Y/n stumble.

“What is going on with her?” he says quietly so she couldn’t hear him. The concern was evident in his soft whisper.

Y/n squabbles to stand up straight, it’s almost as if she is going to faint. His eyes are still on her, worrying about what’s to come next. He looks down, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Y/n had been like this for a while and it seemed like no one noticed but him. Maybe she hadn’t been eating enough or sleeping, and when she comes into work the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingers in the air. And he knows it’s not his business, but he can’t help but be concerned; she just seems out of it. Nobody else sees it, so maybe he’s just imagining it. But he can’t be, she’s been like this for months and it seems to be getting worse. And when he looks up, she’s walking into the conference room as if she hadn’t just stumbled.

“Pretty boy, get in here,” Morgan says with a cheeky smile on his face as per usual.

“Yeah, yeah I will.. But is it just me or is there something wrong with Y/n?” Spencer says hesitantly.

“What are you talking about, pretty boy?” Morgan chuckles.

‘So it’s just me who sees that there’s something wrong?’ Before he has the time to finish his thought, he’s interrupted by Derek.

“Maybe, you just have a crush on her,” he says with a mischievous smile. “Does pretty boy need help getting a girl?”.

“No, I don’t need your help Derek. It was just a question, so stop,” Spencer says blushing. “Come on, they’re waiting for us,” Spencer tries to change the subject. He walks quickly to the conference room, rushing to listen to Hotch’s presentation on their new case.

-----

taglist: @criminalbaby @criminalmindsvibez @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @temily @geeky-son-dr-reid

[fresh-prince-of-denmark]

Interpretation of V’s Mikoshi Poem Pt1: Life is Murder

Cyberpunk spoilers ahead: 

Let’s talk about Cyberpunk’s literary references and what they mean for the story, coming from a former English professor/teacher.

Alt will read you one of two poems you cross the bridge to the Mikoshi depending on who is in control. Johnny is read an excerpt from Sailing to Byzantium by Yeats, while V is given an excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot. For now, let’s focus on V’s poem:

“Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, 

The muttering retreats 

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels 

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: 

Streets that follow like a tedious argument 

Of insidious intent 

To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . . 

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" 

Let us go and make our visit.”

Cool. Some English majors (derogatory) work at project red. So why should I care?

Well I’ll tell you:

First, a summary: In this story, the narrator is on an evening stroll with a woman he most likely has a romantic relationship with although the vibes are far from a romantic love sonnet. Interestingly enough, the first few lines of this poem have been cut from Alt’s reading; including the epigraph from Dante’s inferno, which translates to the following:

 “If I but thought that my response were made

to one perhaps returning to the world,

this tongue of flame would cease to flicker.

But since, up from these depths, no one has yet

returned alive, if what I hear is true,

I answer without fear of being shamed.”

This missing piece from Alt’s poem can be read several ways; most of them drawing a parallel between the Blackwell and hell. In fact, Dante’s inferno has a lot of similarities to the story. One can make a comparison between Virgil and Alt, leaving a debate on who plays the roll of Beatrice (the one being saved) and Dante (the one doing the saving) between Johnny and V. I have to wonder at the writers choice to leave this portion out, as there’s a lot to be said here about who truly comes out alive: who’s flame will cease to flicker? V, for obvious reasons, does not return to the world of the living the same. She will not live much longer, and is dying despite being temporarily “saved.” However, if Johnny returns to the body, he is no longer the Johnny we know; arrogant, self-assured, and more than a little narcissistic. The will to fight seems to have died within him; he leaves Night City, presumably looking to start over. While V clearly changes him before Mikoshi, he is a broken and somber man after returning to life, a flickering flame of who he once was. There’s also a connection to be made about Johnny/V dying and returning to life, literally rising from hell. The next part of the missing introduction is as follows: 

“Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;” 

I can’t think of a better way to describe what is happening in Mikoshi aside from the line “Like a patient etherized upon a table.” Johnny and V, in this moment, are suspended in an almost dream-like state. In Eliot’s poem, the “treatment” this patient is awaiting is presumably an examination/reflection of the self, which will lead to the narrator making a major decision. In this scenario, V is being forced to make a very tough choice, one that will take a lot of reflection as they decide what (a few months) of their remaining life is worth. 

On to the actual portion of the poem that Alt reads:

“Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent.”

While Prufrock is taking his lover on a romantic stroll, they are hardly walking through rose gardens. They are traveling through the unpleasant parts of a city, and he is noticing all the unsavory parts of his world. Obvious references to night city include one-night hotels (such as the no-tell motel, the Pista Sofia, or the hotel that Johnny and V stay at after the parade, which Johnny gripes about and asks ‘what kind of losers stay in a place like this?), and ‘the sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells,’ which is possibly a reference to the fact that food in Night City is real sketchy (odd things like synth-milk, which Takemura complains about throughout the game). The streets like a tedious argument works on several levels here; both the crime of night city’s streets, which is relentless and quite literally never-ending (V can’t walk two blocks without an assault in progress task spawning), and the socio-economic ecosystem that threatens self-combust at any point. There will always be conflict between gangs, between corpos, between Arasaka and Militech, and between the nomads and the Raffins/Wraiths. In one mission with Padre, you find out that Arasaka and Militech are on the verge of waging another war. None of this conflict is positive, and always ends in bloodshed, often of the innocent. One can argue themselves in circles trying to find a solution to NC’s problems, there is no win-win situation. It’s a bit of a damnned if you do, damnned if you don’t situation. This comes up in conversation with Takemura on his career with Arasaka, as well as several other missions that involve those who choose to work for corporations to survive. This is also a point of conflict between V and Johnny a multiple times, one that never gets an answer. A literal tedious argument, tedious because there are no ‘happy endings for all involved’ in Night City. The final lines of Alt’s reading have more to do with V/Johnny’s final choice:

“To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.”

All the unsavory things V has to do to survive, all the people that have died to get to Mikoshi, lead up to one ‘overwhelming’ question: who will live on? There are so many other questions that should be answered: what is beyond the Blackwall? Are Johnny and Alt real, or is the soul truly dead, and are they just a copy of the people they once were? What happens to the idea of God and the afterlife when you introduce the idea of Soulkiller? But much like in the poem, we don’t get these answers. In fact, we are barely given time to contemplate the question as we fight for survival. A decision must be made, despite not knowing or even having time to dwell on these answers. Similarly Johnny, when presented with these questions in several side quests, refuses to even entertain the question, much like the poem’s narrator. 

The rest of the poem, which is not included in Alt’s reading, is full of allusions to the story. The “yellow fog,” which persists across the poem is full of cat-like imagery, conjuring the bakaneko, the spirit of misfortune that can bring people back to life that Takemura mentions (coincidence that V/Johnny can adopt a cat? Keeping death as a close companion? I think not). Prufrock spends the rest of the poem contemplating his question, talking himself in circles, and the only thing that changes is his age as time slips by. Just as he seems to be making progress, he talks himself back to square one and begins again. Much in the same way, Johnny and V go in the same circles. Their journey begins with their deaths, and to death they will both return no matter what. Nothing they did really mattered, the world remains the same, broken and unfair. As Prufrock later contemplates: “Do I dare/ Disturb the universe?…Would it have been worth while/ To have bitten off the matter with a smile,? To have squeezed the universe into a ball?” Johnny loses his life trying to strike against an unjust world, yet he is scarcely a memory to most residents of Night City, who do not have time to contemplate what is right and what is wrong; their focus must be on survival. 

Interestingly enough, both the poem and Cyberpunk reference similar secondary materials. Prufrock references Lazarus and Hamlet as he contemplates how he will never lead an exciting existence. Lazarus, much like V/Johnny, famously rose from the dead. Hamlet is a reoccurring theme in the storyline; Prufrock, V/Johnny, and Hamlet all are faced having to inevitably make a very difficult decision, the latter two involving tragedy for all no matter what. It’s also up for debate whether Hamlet is turning mad, similar to how we can’t be sure how much Johnny is driving V “mad” by taking over their mind. Despite this comparison, V/Johnny are no Hamlet/Lazarus. They are Prufrock; their lives, and their deaths, are meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Despite their efforts, they will simply fade away until they remain only in the memories of those they left behind. The play is further referenced as Jackie’s grave reads “Goodnight, sweet Prince,” and in a deleted audio file Johnny tells V “Sleep well prince/princess” before taking control if V chooses to attack Arasaka with Rogues help. What makes this more interesting is when you look at the line in which Hamlet is mentioned:

“No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.”

The Fool, which is mentioned several times by Misty, represents V and Johnny, in the journey that is told by the major arcane in tarot. The beginning of a journey — of a cycle — while the Death card symbolizes the ending of one phase and the beginning of another. An often painful transformation into something new. The main theme of Eliot’s poem is cycles; he  talks himself in circles, never making a choice, always ending up where he begins. Circles are mentioned once again by Kerry during his personal mission, when he talks about beginning a new cycle in his life. V/Johnny’s journey together begins with death, and so it must end that way for them; whether it is a physical death, or a death of the self. No matter what, V’s fate is inevitable; they will face death again head-on, just as they did at the beginning of their story. The chosen passages of this poem asserts this cycle — the first three words of Alt’s first and last sentence are the same: 

“Let us go.” 

[fairy25]

hi i dont have much to say but just wanted to thank u for writing the pinned post on ur blog. in the throes of my madness it helped me realise a lot of things namely the fragmentation of my sexuality as a result of male sexual violence. and i saw ur bio and how u talk about csa and being roman catholic and im like damn sis if that isnt me but eastern orthodoxy instead 😭 i am trying to heal but its so hard. i hope u can heal too ♥️

I’m glad you were able to connect with it! It’s excruciatingly hard but I guess you just have to keep trying. Just get through each day with the perhaps stupid hope that things will one day get better. I’m nearly 25 and my mother says I’ve never been happy once my entire life, I was always sad even as a little girl. One day I hope that that’s no longer true. I have to hope that, that all of these years of only pain and suffering weren’t completely meaningless in the grand scheme of things. I think a lot of it is about grieving. I think only when we’ve fully mourned who we could have been will we be able to find out who we really are and where we belong in this world. I hope that day comes swiftly.

[antihumanism]

Definitely my favorite Shakespeare monologue, and I’ve always liked how Stewart does it. The lack of eye contact through most of it, especially. The monologue isn’t delivered to you, it is Macbeth’s own thought process. He starts with the cliche of “it wasn’t her time :(” but then he starts to consider what that means, when is someone’s time? When would death be convenient to the living? Tomorrow? No, that’s no good. He has plans for tomorrow. Tomorrow’s tomorrow then? The day after that? No, no, none of it is any good, and it isn’t until the last lines that he turns to look up, when he comes to his revelation and embraces the death drive. This is also the moment when the protection of the prophecy falls away, because Macbeth no longer clings to life as a coward does, and it is the last time that Macbeth uses the words “tomorrow” or “yesterday” in the play. He no longer needs the false promises of a future nor is he beset by ghosts from the past, but lives freely in the present of glorious violence, and in embracing this status as an animal he becomes the true vessel of history that he was always destined to become, which is indicated as well by his reference to life as a “walking shadow, etc,” Macbeth, like all things including life itself, is just a bit player in the grand scheme of things--a machine for getting slime molds to the Martian surface or increasing total entropy in one section of the Milky Way perhaps--and once he has embraced that he can cast life and hope aside. Most of the end of the play is dedicated to discussing another bit character who received a soldier’s death at Macbeth’s hand, a discussion that ends with Siward’s father cheering for his son’s objectively meaningless death.

Anyway, it is great.

[darisu-chan]

whatever our souls are made of (his and mine are the same), pt. 24

Hi, guys!

Welcome back!

Here’s another one-shot for you.

Hope you like it.

You can also read it here.

the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

Prompt: I love you

 Summary: Some words are best left unspoken. Yes. But that doesn’t mean they don’t feel them.

More than words is all you have to do to make it real

Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me

'Cause I'd already know

There are words that have been said so much, they have become redundant.

 Almost meaningless.

 What is the point of expressing them if you don’t show them?

 But that is how culture has evolved.

 Empty words coming from empty hearts.

 Trying to feel a void.

 Words spoken to feed one’s ego and not because you truly feel them.

 Which is why Ichigo seldom says them.

 When he was a child, sure, he had said such things to his parents and even to his sisters when they were babies.

 But he had stopped saying them as he had grown older.

 As a teenager, he would have never said them out of embarrassment.

 They would have ruined his reputation, after all.

 And now that he’s older, Ichigo doesn’t understand the value of saying them just for saying them.

 Yet that is how the youth of today act.

 They treat affection as a triviality.

 As if it were a given.

 And then, they just say the words, without measuring the weight they ought to have.

 Becoming as inconsequential as saying, “The weather is nice today.”

 So Ichigo doesn’t say them.

 He has decided not to taint their bond with them.

 Least they lose what makes them, well, them.

 Then there is Rukia.

 She doesn’t say them either.

 In the feudal society she had grown up in, there are just some things you can never say.

 It is outside of the norm.

 If nobody says them out loud, why would you?

 No one is brave enough to break social standards.

 And, furthermore, the Kuchikis believe that most feelings can never be said or shown.

 That it is best to suppress them.

 A true Kuchiki doesn’t wear their heart on their sleeve.

 A true Kuchiki is impassive no matter what.

 Emotions should be treated as levity.

 They are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

 Appearances and status are what matter.

 The rest is moot.

 That is what they had taught her.

 And for decades, Rukia had hidden her true thoughts and feelings for the sake of propriety under a mask of hardness.

 But living in the human world has given her a different perspective.

 Humans nowadays are far more expressive than all the souls in the Soul Society combined.

 Even in Japan, the youth laugh and cry and feel so openly it is disconcerting for her at first.

 They are not scared of living.

 Of expressing.

 And though she agrees there are some words that shouldn’t be taken lightly, Rukia can’t help but feel jealous of their broad-mindedness.

 But there is one thing she observes.

 Whenever they say those words, it seems like a chore.

 Something they have to do and have to hear.

 An obligation.

 They lack depth.

 They are not vulnerable at the moment of saying them.

 It is almost paradoxical.

 To be able to express yourself in any way you want, and yet not express anything at all.

 So Rukia isn’t surprised when Ichigo doesn’t say them.

 It is just like him.

 Because Ichigo is all emotions, a fiery sun waiting to engulf it all.

 He doesn’t have it in him to be banal.

 He would never do something he didn’t agree on.

 And Rukia respects it.

 She stands on a similar vein.

 She would never desecrate love.

 It is hers to feel and it is hers to share in whatever form she wants.

 They come to this mutual understanding as the seasons pass, and as they grow stronger together it cements.

 Some words, after all, are best left unspoken.

 However, this decision is not something others meet with understanding.

 They are baffled by the ambiguity with which they carry themselves.

 In their minds they simply cannot comprehend how anyone could live like this.

 Without openly saying anything out loud.

 As if the feelings weren’t there.

 They got it all wrong, though.

 Some words are best left unspoken.

 Yes.

 But that doesn’t mean they don’t feel them.

 Because they do.

 Perhaps more than words can express.

 And their feelings come in waves.

 Sometimes they come with the force of a raging tornado.

 With the potency of a hurricane.

 (When they fight side by side

 When they have saved each other

 When they have bled for the other)

 Other times is calmer.

 Like the soft touch of hot chocolate on a rainy day.

 Like the feel of your favorite blanket over your skin.

 (When they sit side by side

 When they train together

 When the tips of their fingers brush)

 But it is there.

 Always present.

 Forever engrained in their souls.

 And when they want to say those three words out loud, they find other ways.

 They are very creative after all.

 “Tsuki ga kirei desu ne.”

[shadowlink06]

Heart of the King / Body and Soul Deleted Scenes

I've mentioned before that the script for WiR has changed significantly as I published each chapter. I just want to highlight some events that did happen at this point in the story that were in original script to give you an idea how far the story has flown out of my hands to the point where it is hardly recognizable. 

Noctis wasn't supposed to make any type of appearance until the 10 year mark and he had absorbed the crystal's power. Originally he was supposed to be seen in God's Blight only.

Gladio and Prompto were supposed to visit Ignis more within the three month span however they still were not aware of Emus/Ardyn

Ignis and Ardyn were supposed to spend about a year or two together before anyone realized anything was wrong. Talcott was supposed to be the original person that noticed the changes and reported it to Cid.

Gladio and Prompto were supposed to travel to Hammerhead after Ignis's initial visit with them.

Prompto was supposed to pick up on Ardyn's presence in Ignis's hotel room by seeing the restraints and bloodstains on the sheets.

Prompto and Gladio were supposed to both confront Ardyn after the horde had attacked Galdin Quay after Ignis became infected. Gladio was supposed to be the one severely injured by Ardyn.

Gladio was supposed to find Ignis after Ardyn kidnapped him.

Ignis was not supposed to be "broken" by Ardyn until he was kidnapped nor was Ardyn supposed to fall in love with Ignis until this point.

Leviathan was supposed to be the only Astral that would have been attached to Ignis.

Cor, Aranea, Ifrit, Shiva, Titan, and Ramuh weren't supposed to have appearances in Body and Soul - only mentions.  

And just for fun, here is some dialogue/scenes that I had to delete/omit/rewrite:

Chapter 12:

“You… were never going to kill him.” Ignis whispered. 

“So… you figured that out.” He had never really thought of the idea of transferring his own memories to someone else. But there was no other way to explain why Ignis would suddenly come to that realization on his own. 

“I am… I was the true King of Insomnia before my brother took that title from me. The King you try so desperately to protect, the empire that he built upon should have been mine.” There was a pause as he watched Ignis take in his words. “So now that you know that truth… is your allegiance with the King of Insomnia or towards Noctis?” 

The Usurper… his vision had called Ardyn. The one that wanted the throne… the way that it was framed, Ardyn indeed was the one looking to spill the royal blood. Yet he had no way of knowing the truth of why the rage was there. The twisted history of Somnus and Ardyn… The one that had been in the wrong and the one that had been wronged was reversed. Even with his extensive knowledge never had he heard such a tale before. 

“You know I don’t lie… is that why you can’t answer me?” 

All this time…. Ignis had thought that he had been protecting Noctis. Every time Ardyn had taken him was all in the service of his king but now he realized why Ardyn had spent time with the Kingsglaive and why he had left the crystal alone. He had been protecting Noctis all this time. . 

“I told you a long time ago, your sacrifice to protect Noctis was meaningless.” 

“...Yet you toyed with me. Used me.” 

“Indeed I did.” And Ardyn didn’t seem to be apologetic when it was framed that way. “Is that not what monsters do?”

Ignis’s heart sank hearing those words.The man was going to keep him here. Unconsciously he should have known that Ardyn would have taken an extreme measure. He knew the man’s secret now and he was sure that the Usurper wanted him to admit his feelings towards him. “...Ardyn, don’t do this.”

“You leave me no choice.” 

Yet you gave me no choice either, Ignis thought. His clothing was torn away from him dreading what was going to happen to him. Even when his legs were lifted on the man’s shoulders, he felt numb. Unconsciously he was already relaxing his muscles for the intrusion. No matter how many times this had been done, it always felt as though he was losing a part of himself. The retainer felt something warm sliding down his cheeks as his body was worked up to a rhythm.

 his body kept recoiling with each thrust into him. He was crying, he supposed. It was impossible to know when he started. He couldn’t tell if it had come from him or Ardyn and he was afraid to ask or even touch his face to prevent them from falling. He felt like he was going to drown and perhaps that was the best thing for him as the tempest of emotions was tearing him apart. He thought that he heard someone sobbing but It didn’t sound like his own voice. It must have been a dream...

Chapter 2:

By now, Ardyn had found his own pleasure with visiting Ignis. He was sure that the man would still happily slit his throat during his sleep if he could get away with it. The retainer hadn’t tried though. Maybe he thought it better to let Ardyn take what he wanted to go about his day. The Usurper never made a habit of visiting at a certain time, and even forced himself to spend days away to at least give the illusion that Ignis was simply a secondary source of entertainment. 

The only ones that saw “Emus” regular were the staff that were in charge of the hotel but considering that Ardyn rarely spent more than a few hours there, he hoped that it was more in the realm of delivering official messages on behalf of the Kingsglaives. When Prompto or Gladio dropped by, he left Ignis alone with them. Given that nothing had ever happened after their visits Ignis also seemed to not say anything to either of his friends about what was really going on. And through this balancing act Ardyn ate daemons all to keep Noctis safe as the world crumbled to pieces around them. 

But he had gotten to know Ignis on a far deeper level than he had meant. First it was exploring every inch of his body to incite his lust. There was a certain delight the chancellor felt when he could make the boy hard with even the faintest touches or draw out a moan that obviously was meant to be stifled. Ardyn found all Ignis’s weaknesses. Despite the protests, he had noticed the man started to have fewer outbursts and fits of rage. Every so often they would emerge, likely due to his own guilt with what was going on. After Ignis was wrestled out of his clothing and he was able to make the retainer moan that defiant streak dampened, lost in the haze of desire. He hadn’t tortured the retainer in the literal sense, but Ardyn had trained his body and it catered to only his touch.

Eventually Ardyn had stopped trying to get a rise out of Ignis without bringing up his useless loyalty to Noctis, the fact he kept his mouth shut about their sordid affair from his own friends, and even the issues plaguing Eos. They were all so insignificant since these humans were bound to die in one fashion or another. The only thing that was a ritual even from the beginning was just a string of words he always asked before he took Ignis. 

“Do you surrender?” 

And he was always meant with either a firm no or no response at all. Before, he had done it purely as a means to force Ignis to admit that he was weak, seeing him break. It was the last test knowing that there would be no excuse for his complicity if anyone ever discovered what they were doing together. So he always asked, just to see. 

Yet Ignis had not crossed that line. He had gotten the retainer to give him handjobs, blowjobs, tied him up, put a leash on him, any act of sexual depravity that he could do to drag the man deeper in his despair yet that singular issue had never changed. 

Chapter 13:

“There is no reason to believe she would lie about something like this.” 

“If she isn’t… that means that Ardyn has been with Ignis for [insert time lapse here]. He had to have known right?” 

“Ardyn can cast pretty convincing illusion spells though… you’ve experienced them yourself with Noct right?” 

“Yeah… but if they fought… Ignis had to have known the ruse right?” 

That did bother Gladio. If Ignis was under duress, surely the retainer could have said something to either of them, yet he had not. “It’s hard to say.” 

“We have to find him… I don’t like this.” 

“I’m going to alert the Hunters and the Kingsglaive.” Hell, maybe the Crownsguard needed to come in on this as well. Ignis may have been only one person in the grand scheme of the world, but given what Ardyn was capable of doing he’d never be able to sleep at night if he didn’t do everything in his power to get him back. 

Chapter 14:

Ignis had tried running away just once. He had gotten far enough to attract the attention of a horde of daemons before Ardyn found him on the verge of collapse. The retainer had spent so much time trying to keep from being killed it was easy for Ardyn to overpower him and drag him back to the makeshift room. That night, the Usurper had been exceptionally rough, though he never chastised Ignis’s behavior or asked for an explanation. Instead, he opted for the safer option of binding the man. Every time Ardyn went out to feed or had to leave him, he was tied to the posts of the bed and gagged. When Ardyn returned, only then was Ignis free to move around, forced into sex, fed and cleaned up and the cycle repeated until the retainer passed out. 

Ignis couldn’t bring himself to fight back. Several times he had pleaded for Ardyn to release him but every time he was only greeted with the phrase to say those three words to him. Something that was of course refused which only spurred the cycle of abuse to continue. He had dimly hoped that someone would have come for him by now but realistically no one could take the Usurper… no one but Noctis. Besides, they probably thought that he died from the starscourge. Without Luna there was no cure and his body had been declining rapidly. And no one knew what Ardyn was capable of, no one except him now. 

He had only hoped the more that he refused to give the demon what he wanted Arydn would grow bored with him. That was far from the case. Although their conversations were always short, there was always something new that he had learned about the Usurper which only added to the complexity. Each bit of information made him see Ardyn differently and as much as he wanted to continue to condemn him, he was having trouble keeping the rage he had harbored for so long towards the man.

 “...You will never break will you?”

Ignis paused as he heard that. “You want me to?” 

“I suppose I was hoping that.” 

“Even if it was a lie?” 

“Especially if it was a lie.” 

That admission had the retainer look in his general direction. “I can’t… you know I can’t.” 

“Because you are afraid of the truth?” 

“I’ve spoken the truth to you.” 

“You have, but it is a partial one.” 

“Why make me utter those words?” 

There was a long silence as he thought about it. “In the end… for the sake of my pride.” 

“And I won’t abandon him for my own.” 

“Such a masochist you are Ignis.” Ardyn’s armiger appeared before him pulling out the dagger among the ring of weapons. With one fluid motion he straddled the retainer’s legs looming over him. “You know I could kill you without a second thought…” And yet, Ardyn didn’t want to. This damned human had to have been the most perplexing yet frustrating man he’d ever spent so much time with. Killing him now would have been meaningless. He felt the man relax under him even with the knife to his throat. All of his threats now fell on deaf ears, he couldn’t do it. 

“I know you can. But even so… threatening me is meaningless.” 

Ardyn couldn’t believe he had fallen into his own trap. In the quest to break this man, he had committed himself to having an attachment outside the realm of mere whimsical desire. He knew he had experienced it before with someone else but he couldn’t recall that moment in time. She had blonde hair though, perhaps a touch lighter than Ignis’s, more wavy and certainly longer. The tip of the blade roamed up and traced it over to the man’s chin which he forced up. “And why is that?”

“I cannot love you.”

“I will not let you erase me so easily.”

“I am not trying to.”

“Yet you will not acknowledge me.”

“I do… I am.” Ignis whispered. He was far too exhausted to lie to Ardyn. As much as he was able to move around, he was suffocating under the weight of his prison and the painful truths that he had come to know. “You are always in my thoughts.” 

“Do you swear it?”

“...Yes.”

There are way more instances of scenes/settings being changed around post-script but I have either forgotten or they were already deleted off the document before I thought to save it. So if you are wondering why my brain needs a break well... this is part of the reason. As far as scene deletions, I’m sure well over 10k words has been dropped from the skeleton outline I had so that is part of the reason I’m going to just gut Gods Blight and start from scratch to avoid mass chunks of deletions like this.

[amillioninprizes]

Some thoughts on Veronica Mars, fan service, and noir

I’ve been on winter break and at home with a nasty combo cold-ear infection-stomach virus the past couple of weeks, and as so often happens when I don’t have much going on, my thoughts have turned to ruminating over the steaming pile of excrement that was season 4 of Veronica Mars. Why yes, almost six months and one cancellation notice later and I’m still complaining about it--as I told someone on Twitter, it was so stupid that it’s going to take years to unpack.

This particular rant is brought to you by a common refrain seen in both professional critics’ and S4 supporters’ reviews of S4: the movie was schlocky fan service, while S4 is TRUE NOIR. I’m here to argue that neither of those things are true, and that in the grand scheme of things trying to definitively call Veronica Mars noir or not isn’t the best qualitative judgement of the series.

A note on “fanservice”

Something that’s been very strange to me in the critical discussion around S4 is that the fan-funded movie has been retconned as a fanservicey failure. This is weird because it did get a positive Rotten Tomatoes score, actually turned a profit despite the unorthodox distribution model, and was overall well-received by fans except for maybe the 5 Piz lovers out there (he absolutely did not deserve better you guys; he works at This American Life and lives in Brooklyn, he’ll be fine).

A lot of the things pointed to in the movie as fan service actually weren’t. In every interview about the movie and S4, RT and KB always talk about how they started with the image of Veronica punching Madison at the high school reunion and worked from there. The problem is that almost no one had been asking for that. If they had bothered to read any online discourse about the show (and we know RT definitely does), they would know that fans are actually somewhat sympathetic to Madison--after all, she was the intended recipient of the drugged drink Veronica received at Shelly Pomeroy’s party, plus growing up in a family that she wasn’t meant to be a member of must have negatively impacted her. When the preview scene of Veronica encountering Madison at the reunion welcome table was released, Veronica didn’t come off sympathetically. In a similar vein, as much as I liked Corny as a side character in the original series, I didn’t need him to come back for that random scene at the reunion. Nor was anyone asking for an out-of-nowhere James Franco cameo (which given what we know about him now is super gross in hindsight).

So why was the movie well-received by fans? Veronica was in character after an unevenly written and performed S3, and she was back in Neptune, doing what (and who; Ay-yo!) she was meant to do. So while the mystery was subpar (and what Rob Thomas mystery isn’t?), the character side of the story made sense and was satisfying. I wouldn’t call that fan service so much as good writing. Plus, what is even the point of wasting time, money, and effort on making a tv show or movie if it’s going to actively alienate the audience?

S4: more trauma porn than true noir

Admittedly, I’m not exactly the world’s foremost scholar on film noir (in my opinion, the height of cinema is teen romcoms c. 1995-2005), but I do feel I have enough pop cultural knowledge to have a working understanding of what film noir is, and as internet folk would say, S4 ain’t it chief. Sure, S4 was bleak subject matter wise, but that does not automatically equal noir. HappilyShanghaied, who does have a film studies background, wrote a pretty excellent post about why that is shortly after S4 dropped that I could not improve upon, so I will just leave it here. 

In addition to this analysis, I would also point out that S4 was lacking in a unique visual style common to noir films, especially compared to the original television series and the movie. The original series made use of green, blue, and yellow filters to fulfill a high school version of the noir aesthetic (quick shoutout to Cheshirecatstrut’s color theory posts for more on what we thought this meant before it turned out that Rob Thomas did not actually intend to imbue meaning into any of this), while the movie adopted a more mature muted blue-grey palette. S4, however, was more or less shot like a conventional drama and was brightly lit, perhaps signifying Rob Thomas’s apparent plans to turn the show into a conventional procedural.

The movie: more than fan service 

If anything, the movie was more noir than S4. Take Gia’s storyline for instance. While Veronica was off obtaining elite degrees, Gia spent 9 years in a virtual cage being forced into a sexual relationship without her total consent (because that’s the only storyline women can have on this show), and then set herself up to be murdered at the very moment she could potentially break free. That’s pretty fucking grim.

Then there is the whole police corruption storyline, which is a hallmark of noir fiction. The glimpses we get of the Neptune sheriff’s department point to a larger conspiracy at play than just crooked cops; Sachs lost his life trying to expose it and Keith was gravely injured. This was the story I was excited for future installments of Veronica Mars to address, especially given its relevance to today’s politics. Unfortunately, this thread was entirely dropped in S4, where the police department (because, as Rob Thomas revealed in interviews but not onscreen, Neptune has incorporated) is merely overwhelmed by the scope of the bombing case rather than outright corrupt. (Side note but Marcia Langdon was also a more complex and morally grey character when introduced in the second book than she was on screen in S4. Another wasted opportunity).

Noir is also marked by a sense of inevitability or doom as a result of greater forces at play. An example of this in the movie is Weevil’s storyline. After building a life and family for himself, he ultimately ends up rejoining the PCHer gang he left as a teenager due to a misunderstanding based on his race and appearance and the assumptions authority figures make about him because of those things. No matter what he does, he is still limited by an unjust and racist society. Contrast this with the final explosion in S4; it’s not inevitable, just based on Veronica’s incompetence. Rob Thomas claims that he tried to create a sense of doom to LoVe’s relationship between the OOC Leo storyline and the last minute barriers before the wedding, but those aspects just served to make the story unnecessarily convoluted.

What is noir anyway? Was Veronica Mars ever noir? Does it matter?

But this is all assuming there is a set template for noir anyway. This New Yorker essay points out that trying to definitively establish a set of rules for noir is difficult and that the classic noir films were more a product of midcentury artistic and political movements than a defined genre. The noir filmmakers working at the time would not have described their work as such. The kicker of this essay is the final sentence: “But the film noir is historically determined by particular circumstances; that’s why latter-day attempts at film noir, or so-called neo-noirs, almost all feel like exercises in nostalgia.” I found this particularly amusing because as Rob Thomas infamously proclaimed in his S4 era interviews, he wanted to completely dispense with nostalgia going forward. Rob Thomas and S4 supporters have said that Logan needed to die because noir protagonists can’t have stable relationships; but, if there isn’t a defined set of rules other than “an element of crime”, then was it strictly necessary? Hell, writing a hardboiled detective who does have a stable relationship and maybe even a family could have been an interesting subversion of genre expectations. Unfortunately, Rob Thomas isn’t that imaginative.

There’s also the issue that noir and hardboiled detective fiction aren’t interchangeable genres. This article lays out that idea that they aren’t the same because noir is ultimately about doomed losers; in contrast, detective fiction, while dark, contains a moral center and has an ending where a sense of justice is achieved. An interview with author Megan Abbott makes a similar argument; she states that in hardboiled detective fiction, “At the end, everything is a mess, people have died, but the hero has done the right thing or close to it, and order has, to a certain extent, been restored.” Based on the descriptions laid out here, I would argue that in its original format Veronica Mars far better fit the detective fiction model; while she wasn’t always right, she was never a loser, and she solved the mystery. S1-3 all had relatively hopeful, if not totally happy, endings, but you never see anyone complaining that they weren’t noir enough; if anything, they were more emotionally complex than the ending of S4, where Logan’s death is essentially meaningless. One could make the argument that S4 did push Veronica towards a more noir characterization by the definition of these articles by making her more incompetent and meaner than she was in previous installments, but that is a fundamental change in character, which is not coherent writing.

And that is ultimately why S4 was so poorly received by longtime fans and why there will be no more installments of Veronica Mars anytime soon (at least on Hulu). Even if S4 had been noir (or at least shot like one), the serious issues with plotting, characterization, and lack of adherence to prior canon that this season exhibited would still exist. Defending the poor writing choices made in S4 with “it’s noir!” does not mask them or automatically heighten the quality of the product. Perhaps ironically, in ineptly trying to be noir in S4, Rob Thomas likely prematurely ended Veronica Mars by failing his creation and fans with lazy storytelling.

[bunnimew]

Sass, Cynicism, and YA Romance

For RotG Secret Santa 2019 and the always awesome @piratekingpitchblack !

Rating: G Ships: Gen / Pitch Black & Seraphina Pitchiner Notes:  Waahhhhhh This is so far outside of my usual style of fic that I am certainly nervous to release it into the world, but I was really determined to *try* despite the challenge it presented. I wrote half a book in the notes on AO3 here, but I don’t wanna make this post too long so~ Summary: 

It's been a long time since Seraphina Pitchiner has had anyone she could call a father. She's rather ready to have one again.

But that doesn't matter if he's not ready to be one.

It was darker than the other boxes. A tarnished brass when everything else was a shining, polished yellow. Seraphina pressed her fingers to the cloisonne patterns along the top of the box and felt their delicate edges. Awfully big box for just one tooth, but Sera would never dare to tell Tooth how to do her job. It seemed to be a one size fits all kind of situation.

“Thank you for letting me see,” she said, finally letting go of it. She pressed the box into Tooth’s waiting, gentle hand and made herself step back. Tooth’s understanding, patient smile was too much. It hurt. It all hurt, and Sera needed to get away.

“Of course,” and all of the excitement and pleasure that had been in Tooth’s voice before was tamed, calmed into a soothing, lullaby-like tone. She knew Sera was tense, and she was tip-toeing, and Sera hated it. 

She wasn’t going to break. She wasn’t overwhelmed. And if she was, she could deal with it. She had dealt with everything else so far, she could deal with this.

She just… needed to do that somewhere else.

“I need to-” Sera began, then stopped, “I’m sure you’re-” Why did everything sound so cliche? She wasn’t trying to make an excuse, but that’s how it all came out. She forced a smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Tooth’s smile regained some of its shine, and Sera was glad to see it. “Anytime, Love. The palace is always open to you.”

Sera would like to say something else, exit a little more smoothly, but…

Her thoughts were a jumble, and she didn’t have the energy to think on it any more. She bowed, turned, and was gone.

-

“Why have you come here?”

The voice echoed endlessly against the hard rock walls. It perfectly camouflaged wherever the voice may have come from. Which was fine, because Sera was in tune with the Earth and didn’t need to rely on her ears to figure out where bodies disturbing the ground and the air happened to be. Let him hide, if it made him feel more at ease. She wasn’t here to scare him. This time.

“To talk,” she answered curtly. She didn’t owe him manners or pleasantries.

He certainly hadn’t made it a habit of offering those to her. 

Laughter, mean and hollow, echoed this time. She wasn’t amused, and neither was he. “Then talk,” he said simply, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t quite believe you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been so civil with me.”

She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but to herself, that was fair. He had not exactly given her reason to be civil, though.

“Do you remember when I was last civil to you?”

Even for a cave covered in darkness, it was quiet. The silence was unnatural, eerie by design. Sera could feel it through the rock; nothing was moving down here. Pitch was barely breathing. 

She thought he might be thinking about it. Actually trying to remember. His mind was… not what it used to be, but no one else knew just how gone it was. That was a secret Pitch kept to himself.

Mostly.

“Almost.”

The answer was a whisper on stagnant wind. It didn’t echo. The word reached her and faded into nothingness. And yet it said so much.

Almost meant the memories weren’t gone. Almost meant there was some chance of almost becoming yes. Almost was not a no. 

Without letting any warmth into her voice, Sera asked the void around her, “Would you like me to remind you?”

The smallest bit of an echo was back, “Could you?”

She could. She remembered it very well. She had thought about it a lot while she was out there in space with nothing else to really do. It wasn’t a remarkable story. Right boring, actually. On second thought, that wasn’t the story she wanted to tell. It was meaningless, in the grand scheme, and she had so many better memories to pick from.

Like the one she knew for a fact was hidden in Pitch’s mind somewhere, present enough to have been selected and pressed for safekeeping into the one lone tooth he had lost during the whole of Toothiana’s reign.

Did he remember it more than as a distorted reflection? Did he, just maybe, actually remember it?

There was no better way to find out than to ask. It was harder now to keep the warmth out, but she held her voice firm. “Do you remember that afternoon in the Gliese system?”  

The shadows shifted, for the first time since she arrived. It was normally an ill omen, but right now it felt like hope. 

She pushed.

“Do you remember my books?”

“Perhaps,” said a shadow to her left, but then it wasn’t a shadow. The darkness solidified into a man, and eyes and teeth glowed, hanging suspended in the black all around. 

That was a frustrating answer. Sera was not here to play games. She narrowed her eyes in warning and let some ice slip into her words, “Do you or do you not? It is a yes or no question, Pitch.”

His lip curled at the edge, clearly displeased. However, he didn’t melt back into the shadows, or return to his annoying echo-voice, so he must not be that displeased. In fact, it meant this conversation must be more important to him than he wanted to let on.

“I think I do,” Pitch bit out irritably, “Does that answer satisfy?”

“It does,” she said, with a nod to recognize his cooperation, however reluctant it was. Best not to be as rude as she could be. He was, apparently, trying. 

It was a promising answer, too. If Pitch thought he did, then he must, at the very least, be aware enough to have imagined replacement memories, even if the true ones were lost. You didn’t almost remember something you didn’t know you ought to remember. 

“Now,” she began, allowing herself a small, secret smile, “tell me if this sounds familiar.”

-

It was good to get her away. The military made too many demands of his time, and when he stayed home to spend time with her, even their play seemed to be regulated by strict schedules and interrupted by calls for his attention. 

This far out in the Gliese system, if someone wanted his attention, it would take them a while to get it. And he was pretty good at ignoring their calls and dodging their presence until he felt like being found. 

And Sera loved the game of chase. The best part of taking her out here was the utter lack of plan. They could do anything, talk about anything, do nothing if they wanted, and there was no pressure to ‘get back to what mattered’ or ‘prioritize their time’ some other way. 

They were on an average moon of an average planet. Sera had wanted to explore the terrain just because she could. It wasn’t terribly interesting. There were broken rocks and small cliffs, lots of dust and odd little bugs that Sera liked to watch. 

She was done now, though. They sat on the edge of a crater, letting their legs dangle over the edge. Kozmotis had half a mind to let himself slide off the side and along the rounded slope to the bottom, but only after Sera was done lecturing him about young adult romance novels.

“But she should have just let him go,” she was saying, worked up into a proper rant with her arms waving all around, “He wasn’t respecting her career choices! Who was he to say what was or wasn’t ‘like her’? I would never let a boy get away with treating me like that.”

Kozmotis dearly hoped she wouldn’t. 

“If he didn’t like who I was becoming, fine. He can go find someone else to stay the same, then!” 

Her face was flushed a pretty pink in her excitement. Koz didn’t actually have to say anything, he could just sit here and smile at her and she would continue on as if he had, but part of the fun of being dad was interjecting ridiculous things, so he had to. 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to date statues, though.”

“Daaad!” Sera groaned, “You know what I mean.”

“You sound too experienced,” Koz stated sagely, “Do you have boyfriends I don’t know about?”

“Stop it!” She smacked his arm, and it wasn’t all that gentle. She was strong, and Koz was proud. “You know that I don’t. That’s not what I’m talking about! Stop distracting me!”

“Alright, alright, I won’t say anymore,” he promised. It was a lie. “Please, continue.”

“Thank you,” she said primly. It was very cute. “Anyway, she had more chemistry with her best friend. I hate it when writers force two characters together because they’re supposed to be together. I would have rather nobody ended up with anybody! Romance isn’t romantic if it’s stupid.” 

Well, his daughter was certainly opinionated. “Oh, I know,” he said indulgently, “That’s the absolute worst.”

Sera scoffed and looked at him with a put-upon glare. “Dad, you don’t even read these books.”

“I don’t,” he agreed, “but I hear about them through you all the time.”

“It’s not the same!”

He shrugged, “It’s pretty close.”

“It’s not close at all!”

“You’re right,” he grinned, “Guess that means we should get closer, right?” And with a speed and strength born of military training, Kozmotis scooped up his daughter into his lap and attacked both of her sides with nimble fingers.

She shrieked in protest, absolutely shrieked. She could be so loud when she wanted, and Koz winced, but didn’t stop his attack. Not even when she elbowed him in the chest, nor when she kicked his shin with her heel. He only stopped when she finally told him to, gasping the word out between hurried breaths, “Stop, stopstopstop!”

Koz knew the smile on his face had to look horribly soft, endlessly patient, and likely exasperatingly innocent. Sera would appreciate none of it. He wrapped his arms tight around her waist and held on while she caught her breath. When her heartbeat had slowed from a sprint to a trot, he asked, “Close enough?”

“By the moon, Dad!” she exclaimed, hitting both of his thighs with unamused little fists, “You’re not funny!”

Kozmotis thought he was pretty funny. 

Taking the opportunity where it lie, he shoved off from the edge and kept her safely tucked to his chest as they slid the fifteen or so feet down the edge of the crater and into the dust. 

Sera yelped and clung to his arms, smartly pulling her knees up so her feet didn’t drag on the ground. She looked a little panicked, but her grin was huge, and that was the kind of look Kozmotis lived for. Even when they slowed to a stop, Koz didn’t let her go, continuing to hug her close to his chest like the precious bundle she was.

She twisted around to face him, but didn’t try to get away, “Dad, that was dangerous! I wasn’t ready!”

Kozmotis let go only enough to tuck her hair behind her ear. She was still so small, but he could see the woman she would one day be already. Fierce, and wild, but careful and so kind. He couldn’t wait, but he also knew he would forever miss her just like this. “The best things happen when you aren’t ready.”

She laughed and shook her head, looking at him like he was crazy. She was right. “Also the worst.”

Kozmotis leaned back as if he were offended, “Who taught you to be so cynical?”

“Uh, you?” The absolute sass in that tone.

“Never me!”

“And my books.”

Koz shook his head, “We need to get you new reading material.”

Sera snorted and wiggled away from him to stand, then turned around to offer her hands to help him up, which was so cute Koz thought his heart might burst. “There’s nothing wrong with my books,” she was saying, “Besides, how else am I supposed to learn about dating? You just keep telling me not to!”

Koz stood to his full height, brushed his trousers free of dust, lifted his nose into the air and said, “No one will ever be good enough for my little girl.”

Sera rolled her eyes so hard he worried for their safety, “Yeah, exactly.”

“You have years before you have to worry about that,” he insisted. He placed a hand gently around the back of her head, because he just didn’t want to let her go yet.

“No I don’t,” she said right back, and leaned into his side because she was a wonderful daughter like that, “I’m old enough to have crushes. I could have a boyfriend if I wanted! I just… don’t, yet.”

She was growing up too fast. Koz took it back. He could wait for her to grow up. He could wait forever. “Well, be sure to tell me as soon as you do so I can make sure to be extra scary.”

The unimpressed look she gave him was comical in how convincing it was. “Why would I want that, Dad?”

Koz patted her head softly, “Not everything is about what you want.”

She put a hand on her hip and Koz had to wonder just where all of this attitude had come from. “My dating is pretty much only about what I want.”

Koz tried not to laugh too much but feared that he was failing. She looked like an adult crammed into a tiny tween body and he couldn’t help but to lift her up into his arms. “Of course. Absolutely. How could I be so silly?”

She sighed, but deigned to wrap her thin arms around his neck anyway, “You’re always silly.”

“Am I?” he asked. He turned around and began the trek back to the crater wall. He was tall enough that scaling it wouldn’t be too hard. Even with his daughter attached to his chest. “It’s only because I love you so much. You know that, right?”

Sera looked to be fighting her smile, as if letting him see it would encourage his bad behavior, but she was very bad at hiding her happiness and eventually just let it shine. “I know, Dad. I love you, too.”

She was already so beautiful. 

-

His voice was a quiet whisper, scattered by a breathy wind and almost inaudible, definitely not meant to be heard. But she heard it.

“So it was real…”

She let him consider that for several more seconds of silence, respecting his need to process the knowledge and the feelings that came with it. But she couldn’t let them be silent forever. She was a busy spirit, and she was ready to have her father back, if he was at all capable of being back. 

“It was,” she said, “and I have a million more memories just like it.”

Pitch’s eyes snapped up to hers, sharp and glowing in the darkness. There was a horrible desire there, a longing so acute it could slice. He wanted what she was offering, maybe more than she wanted it. No, not maybe. Definitely. 

He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “I know that your mind has been fractured. I am willing to fill in the gaps. Are you willing to heal?”

Pitch’s gaze turned suspicious, calculating, and… wary. He thought she might have meant to hurt him. She couldn’t fault him for it, it wasn’t like she had been particularly nice to him recently. Still, she needed him to make the decision. Sera could tell him stories all day and night, but it wouldn’t mean a thing if he wasn’t going to take any of it to heart and try to be her father again. 

Because right now, she was more of a functioning adult than he was, and that was rather sad. 

Pitch was fighting an internal battle. She could see that he was picking his words very carefully, that he wanted to say something but, maybe just didn’t know how. Maybe just didn’t know how to trust. 

Finally, he lifted his head, eyes steeled with a strength she was almost certain he didn’t actually have. “I am not sure that I can.”

Seraphina was surprised, shocked, at the honesty. She felt a prickling at the corners of her eyes, and blinked it away. That, more than a simple yes, spoke volumes about the willingness he might be too afraid to show. 

“If you can, we will find the way,” she said with a strength and confidence that could only come from her years of experience finding her path all on her own. The Guardians worked miracles every day, and this could be one of them. “Will you try?” she asked, “For me?”

He hesitated, and she would swear that as he stood there, his gaze turned wet, although a tear never fell. His voice, when he spoke, was so soft. It reminded her of when her father used to tuck her into bed with a kiss and a wish for sweet dreams.

“For you, I would do anything.”

[lovvegood-a]

THE BASICS:

Full Name: Luna Lovegood

Label: The Dissonant Serenity ( x )

Nicknames: Looney, Luns

Birthday: February 13

Birth Place: Near Ottery St. Catchpole

Gender: Transwoman

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Occupation: Student

INTERIOR:

Blood status:  Halfblood ( Pureblood father, halfblood mother )

House: Ravenclaw While Luna does show qualities that belong to other houses ( she’s definitely courageous and noble, has a deeply proud streak that often brings her more bad than good, and is a loyal and kind person ), she fits best in Ravenclaw. It’s where she can flourish, where she can feed her endless intrigue with everything around her. I think Luna is a true Ravenclaw, as she uses her sharp mind in most situations she’s in --- I chose innovative as her defining positive trait for a reason; I think Luna is able to look at situations with an unique perspective and because of this, she often brings good solutions and/or insights. She’s an original, incredibly stubborn when it comes to her convictions, and always down to learn. 

Wand: Pine wood, unicorn hair core, 14 inches, inflexible. Pottermore on pine wood: “The straight-grained pine wand always chooses an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells.” /// This, I think, perfectly fits Luna --- she’s a strong individual, who is definitely an experimental and creative person, both when it comes to magic and other aspects of her life.  I chose an unicorn hair core, because wands with this core struggle to perform Dark Arts -- like Luna -- but are very faithful -- like Luna. Her wand is long, as she’s quite tall and has a strong sense of self, and is inflexible because she’s most often an incredibly stubborn person.

Boggart: Her mother’s death scene --- it’s what scarred Luna most, even if she doesn’t admit that to herself. It’s a memory that startles and shakes her, one that’s been buried down due to the trauma linked to it --- seeing it again, experiencing it again ( especially knowing what the outcome would be, what the long-term effects would be, how much the longing would ache ) would be one of the scariest things for Luna. It could also take the shape of that scene, but with her father in stead of her mother; losing her father is another great fear.

Patronus: The Hare

Pets: None, but then Luna doesn’t really believe in the idea of pets. Animals are their own, after all, and she feels connected to plenty of them. Cats from her housemates, the thestrals, mice running around the hallways; she loves all of them, but none of them are hers. At home, there are often stray animals hanging around --- she and her father tend to them, if they need help, and Luna does sometimes name them ( carefully, though, because what if these creatures have a name of their own already? ). 

Moral Alignment: True Neutral. Luna looks at the world with a bit of a distance, at time, and is able to look at situations with objectivity, when she wants to. She’s not apathetic, though, or coldly distant; she just acts without prejudice or compulsion. And more than often, she does do what is morally good ( and she does lean towards being neutral good very much ), but I think that the way she views the world and how she approaches things is more true neutral than anything.

Tarot Card: The Hermit

Goals / Desires: Luna wants to do what fills her heart. Make art. Discover the world. Research magical creatures. Those are all things she would like to do with her future life, but then there’s more --- she wants to do what is right. With a sense of justice -- or, well, more a deep hatred for injustice -- she is motivated to take strides to make the world a little brighter and better. 

PHYSICAL:

Height: 178cm / 5′10

Eye Color: Pale grey

Hair Color: Light blonde

Clothing style: Where can I begin? Luna’s style can only be defined by her own person --- I don’t think there’s anyone else who dresses similarly to her, haha. She makes plenty of her own clothes, likes accessories made of unconventional objects, adores a bit of magic in her clothing. She likes colours, especially pastels. When she wears shoes, she likes converse. Mismatched patterns are always good. Flowy dresses? Yes please! 

Left handed or Right handed: Left handed

Distinguishing Features: Her hair and eyes.

Tattoos or scars: Usually has some minor scars from animal or branch scratches, that fade easily.

FAMILY:

Parents:  Xenophilius Lovegood ( father ), Pandora Lovegood néé Henneberg ( mother, deceased ).

Siblings: None

Children: None

FAVORITE:

Book: Luna doesn’t like picking favourites, but she really loves her old picture books still, mostly for sentimental reasons & because she likes illustration. She mostly reads non-fiction these days, preferring her own fantasy over fiction. 

Movie: N/A -- Luna has never seen a movie, sadly. I think she would love studio Ghibli, though, as well as documentaries ( both nature and more conspiracy theory based ).

Food: Strawberry bavarois

Flower: Lily of the Valley

Season: Spring

Animal: This one is so hard, haha. Luna loves animals! I think she feels especially close to thestrals, but she’s also simple in the sense that she really likes cats and bunnies. 

Memory: The summer she and her parents went to Iceland.

THIS OR THAT:

Cats or Dogs: Cats

Mornings or Nights: Mornings

War or Love: Love

Smoke or Drink: Smoke, if it’s weed. Otherwise drink.

Coffee or tea? Tea

Writing or reading? Writing

THOUGHTS:

Death Eaters coming back Luna is rationally scared and quite frustrated. She also has her fair share of theories on Voldemort’s return ( none that conflict with Harry’s story, though, just ones that fill the gaps ), some more logical than the other. She and her father have had many discussions about these --- like the role Fudge played in it all ( bigger than in reality, of course ) and whether the Death Eaters are using midges to communicate.

Enemies coming back Luna doesn’t necessarily have enemies that are personal. I suppose she’s not looking forward to seeing her bullies again at Hogwarts, but she doesn’t consider them enemies. As for enemies that aren’t personal, those are mostly the Death Eaters ( as well as the Ministry and a few Quidditch teams ), and for that see above! 

Loved ones coming back Luna thinks she will see her mother again already, but if it were to happen now, she would be incredibly surprised and more than happy --- she’d be euphoric. And confused, and very lost, but mostly just incredibly happy. 

Love At First Sight Luna thinks that love exists in an infinite amount of ways, so love at first sight as well.

One True Love / Someone You Will Always Love She will always love her father --- it’s an unconditional love, and if we look at his canon future and how he ends up selling out her friends, that is something she will forgive him for. 

QUESTIONS:

What is their family history like? How does it affect them? How do they feel about their family? How does their family feel about them? Pandora was born to a muggle and a witch, and raised by her father alone. And, being able to see the magical world through her father’s muggle eyes, she grew interested in the limits of magic from a young age. She began experimenting with charms early on, and met Xenophilius at Hogwarts, where they bonded over their love for the unknown and their willingness. Xenophilius comes from the Lovegood family, of course, which has always been a tad eccentric, though never as eccentric as he himself.  Luna was born to this set of openminded parents, and it was exactly what she needed to flourish. Her own mind has always been open, but she was able to dream outside the lines with her parents. Growing up was a world of opportunity --- no questions unanswered, no desires unfulfilled. Luna got to paint and run and discover from a young age, and was a perfect mix of her two parents, with some of her own qualities mixed in.  Luna is extremely proud of her family. She sometimes pities others, for having parents that restrict them, keep them from all that she did get to do. When people speak ill of her father -- who is a somewhat public figure, and often painted as a crazy conspiracy theorist -- she gets uncharacteristically fiery and angry, and will lash out. Her mother, she is proud of as well, but it’s more complicated than that --- and luckily, people don’t bring her up as often as her father. Of course, a big part of her family history is her mother’s death --- it was a turning point in the way Luna’s homelife functioned. In the years after Pandora died, her father grew codependent on her ( which is not how it should be --- and Luna vaguely knows this, but doesn’t feel any anger over it ), but on the other hand the two grew incredibly close as well. But Luna worries about her father when she’s not near, as he’s of the opinion that tasks like eating, washing and sleeping are meaningless in the grand scheme of things, a waste of time when there’s so many more pressing and interesting things to do --- and it’s Luna who often was the one to remind him that, dad, you’re a human being despite it all.  And then her mother, her mother is just a massive gap. And yes, Luna believes that she will see her again, that she isn’t truly lost ------ but that doesn’t ease the waiting, the longing, the aching. Her mother’s death left her with mental scars and a hole in her soul and while there’s plenty of beautiful and comforting things she can say about death, it doesn’t change that. Her mother still died, and she’s not there --- and she will be there one day again, yes, but sometimes Luna just wants her mother now.

Who were their first love and do they feel the same now as they did then? Luna hasn’t really been in love yet, I think. She has had crushes, but she’s never been in love with someone, has never had a connection that deep --- it’s just flings and crushes, connections that lasted just a night, a week, a month at most. She doesn’t mind.

Do they believe that a person can redeem themselves from mistakes of the past? Yes, in most situations --- I think even Luna, an eternal optimist, draws a line here with people like Voldemort and the Lestranges, for example. She does believe in people’s strength to do good and does believe that there’s almost always a way to make up for ones mistakes --- but of course, there are things that are inexcusable. Luna is able to be very unforgiving, though, so sometimes it does take a lot for someone to redeem themselves in her head. 

What scares them? Losing her father. The war. Complete silence. 

How do they feel about death? Have they been significantly affected by it? On one hand, death is just another mystery --- and Luna does love mystery and life’s bigger ones. It’s a mystery she can’t solve, though, and sometimes she’s at peace with the fact that she can’t have all the answers. Other times, she’s just incredibly frustrated and angry, because death took her mother away from her and there’s nothing mysterious about that --- she’s just gone. One day she will see her again, that she is sure of, but right now she’s a young woman who grew up without a mother and that’s just painful. That just hurts. And that’s definitive.  Luna has seen death, and that has affected her deeply. Seeing her mother die at age nine was a traumatic experience that still haunts her -- despite her denial about this -- and it’s triggered her to dissociate from the world around her and herself quite a lot. On another hand, it has given her a bit of wisdom and insight, an ability to understand death perhaps a bit better than others do -- or at least give it her own interpretation. 

Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed and sloth. If your character was a seven deadly sin, what would they be and why? Pride, with anger on the second place. Luna is incredibly proud and can be, because of this, very inflexible. Yes, she is openminded, but when it comes to her beliefs and convictions, she won’t change her mind unless there’s solid proof. When people question her, she doesn’t reflect on her beliefs, but rather thinks that they’re narrow minded and limited. When it comes to her father, she’s quite prideful as well --- she holds him and his work in high regard and if someone dares insult this, she will becoming steely and hard

Do they believe Voldemort is back ? Yes. Why shouldn’t she? When Harry came out of that maze and spoke those words, it was clear that he spoke nothing short of the truth, and you will never find Luna believing the Daily Prophet over someone like Harry Potter. It’s not a truth she likes, but it’s clear to her that it is the truth, and she won’t shy away from that.

PICK THREE:

Lyrics that describes your character best        -- Runaway by AURORA  ( the whole song, tbh ) ------  I was painting a picture / the picture was a painting of you and / for a moment I thought you were there / but again, it wasn't true / and all this time I have been lying / oh, lying in secret to myself / i've been putting sorrow on the forest plains        -- Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac ------ she is like a cat in the dark and then / she is the darkness / she rules her life like a fine skylark and when / the sky is starless         -- The Wind by PJ Harvey ( I chose this song for her app more for atmosphere reasons than lyrics, but I wanted to add it still ) -----  Catherine liked high places / high up, high up on the hills / a place for making noises / like whales / noises like the whales / here she built a chapel / with her image / an image on the wall a place where she could rest and / and a place where she could wash / and listen to the wind blowing

Quotes that your character lives by        --  “The knowledge of all things is possible” --- Leonardo da Vinci        --  “There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life.” --- Federico Fellini        -- “Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.” --- Marcus Aurelius

Fictional characters that your character can relate to Allison Dufresnes from The Little Friend by Donna Tartt. --- All of the quotes on my blog are quotes about her --- she just really reminds me of Luna in a lot of ways. Both of them saw a family member die at a young age and both of them were damaged by it. Both of them deal with dissociation because of their trauma, have trouble with communicating with people at times and are described as a dreamy, soft, vague. They also both have a soft spot for animals.  Orla McCool from Derry Girls. --- Orla just ... screams Luna. Both have convictions that others think of as wacky, naive or just downright nonsensical, both make incredibly out-of-the-blue comments that do, somehow, make sense. They’re both a bit ignorant of social cues and don’t have much of a filter.  But they aren’t just similar in that sense, they’re also both very loyal friends. ALSO when Orla danced with her grandpa? That’s Luna and Xeno. Spot on. “Protestants hate ABBA.” -- Orla. “Purebloods hate ABBA.” -- Luna. I’m just SAYING.  Phoebe Buffay from FRIENDS. --- I feel less passionately about this one than the two above, but I just think that Phoebes role in the group of friends really mirrors that of Luna in the dynamic of her ( future ) group of friends. Phoebe’s optimism, creativity and straightforwardness are also things she has in common with Luna, and honestly? I could see Luna writing a song like smelly cat. 

People who have changed your character’s life immensely I think her parents have had a massive impact on Luna --- they allowed her to flourish, to grow, to develop her passions and beliefs and convictions. Because of the freedom she was given as a child, she’s been able to grow into who she is now. Her mother’s death, of course, has impacted her life greatly as well.  Ginny is also on this list, I think, as one of her first friends. :’)

[quinlinkin]

take it from me ( i’d be lost without you ) ↳ Q’s twdg writing challenge

character(s): mitch, louis ship(s): louitch ( louis/mitch ) word count: 1749 author’s note: ahhhhh, so i finally fell behind. but hopefully only for these couple of days! either way, this fic is based around a short louitch comic i started making in xnalara a couple of months ago that i never ended up finishing. though i do hope to get it done soon, esp if this ship starts to make some traction?? who knowssss

have a lil preview of that comic anyway!!

[   ao3 link   ]

*credits to the wonderful @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale​​​​​​​ for creating this challenge! you can view the entire prompt list + further details here. happy writing!!

                                                          ― ☼ ―

                                     day fourteen ; night sky.

“Makes you feel small, huh?”

“Hmm…?”

“Like… the universe. When you really think about it, we’re just so- insignificant. A puny, meaningless speck that doesn’t keep everything else from existing. It wouldn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things if we all disappeared one day.”

Pulling his gaze away from the blanket of stars above them, Mitch quirks an eyebrow at Louis. It’s become somewhat of a routine for them to find themselves right here, seated upon the roof of Mitch’s house as they stargaze and talk endlessly. They’ve occasionally even stayed put long enough for the sun to begin to rise, peeking over the horizon as a startling reminder for Louis that he needs to get home before his parents wake up and realize he isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

A crooked grin starts to tug at his lips, and he can’t help but to lightly tease, “Jesus… Deep, much? Y’know, I think you’d better quit that damn drama class before it’s too late, it’s obviously starting to get to your head.”

Louis rolls his eyes and scoffs, yet the unmistakable signs of his own subtle grin are plainly visible in the moonlight. “I’m just saying. When you put things into perspective, it’s pretty wild to think about.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mitch shrugs, green eyes flicking back up to the inky black sky. Truth be told, he hasn’t spent a lot of time contemplating their existence like Louis apparently has. It didn’t really matter to him.

Except for aliens, of course. Aliens were real, the government are hiding the truth, and he’ll gladly fight anyone who tries to disagree.

“Well… What do you think, then?” Louis asks after a beat of silence.

Again, Mitch gives an offhanded shrug. “I dunno. Not much, I guess.”

He can feel Louis’ eyes on him without having to look. It makes his skin crawl, his cheeks tingle.

“No opinions on life beyond earth? No theories about our existence? Figured you’d be all about the conspiracy theory life.”

“I ain’t Shane Dawson.”

Louis laughs. “No, you’re definitely not.”

Mitch gives a breathy chuckle of his own, his elbows shifting against the shingles. “Yeah, I mean- conspiracies are fun to think about. But I wouldn’t go as far as… whatever all that was that came outta your mouth just now.”

“What, you didn’t like my awesomely philosophical speech?” Louis retorts. Mitch can hear the smirk present in his airy tone. “I should be offended.”

Mitch is forced to redirect his attention back to Louis’ face, where sure enough, that classic Louise-esque smirk is spread across it. His eyes linger for longer than intended. “I think you’re better off leaving all that shit to Aasim.”

With another brief, joined laugh, they both turn their attention back to the sky. It’s not uncommon for them to fall into comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes, Mitch will light up a cigarette that Louis always decline to share. Other times, they’ll take turns with a bottle of alcohol snagged from his father’s liquor cabinet until their heads are warmly fuzzy and boundaries become just a little bit thinner.

Tonight, however, there’s nothing but the two of them, no distractions or obligations to be anywhere other than right here.

It’s also not uncommon for Mitch’s mind to wander during these bouts of silence. He wishes he only held positive thoughts for this odd, indescribable bond that’s formed between him and Louis.

He’s unable to understand why Louis would ever want to show up whenever Mitch decides to text him late at night, why he ever gives him the time of day or humors him when they have just about nothing in common. While it’s no exaggeration that Mitch could produce quite the lengthy list of reasons why Louis is so great and interesting, he’s yet to find a single reason why the opposite would prove to be true.

Mitch glances at Louis while his focus is directed above them. There’s a gentle smile on his face, his expression blissful and carefree. He looks positively at peace, and Mitch doesn’t get why.

He suddenly feels guilty. He’d called him out of bed at nearly two in the morning, after all, and while Mitch never dares to admit whenever there’s an underlying problem that prompts him to want Louis’ company, he suspects that Louis already knows.

Louis makes him feel better, plain and simple. Perhaps it’s his shining personality or his positive way of thinking, though whatever the true reason, Mitch never fails to feel his mood lifting from as early on as seeing Louis typing back a message despite immediately regretting sending his own in the first place.

“You don’t have to be here, y’know,” he suddenly tells him. Out of context, it’s entirely unprompted, yet in Mitch’s mind, they’re words that have to be spoken.

Louis immediately turns his head to look at him, his brows pulled together with a keen mixture of confusion and compassion. It’s more than enough for Mitch to be quickly looking away, that too-sincere expression tugging at his heart in a way that makes him feel queasy.

“I know,” Louis speaks quietly, steadily. Careful, as if saying the wrong thing will cause Mitch to freeze up and bolt. It wouldn’t be the first time. “But… I want to.”

The outward confession instinctively draws Mitch’s eyes back to his face, just for a second, before he’s forcing them away again. His eyebrows furrow, searching for words well beyond his grasp to say.

Naturally, Louis picks up on his uneasy silence. “Do… you not want me here?”

“What?” Mitch’s head snaps back towards him, eyes slightly rounded before he’s firmly shaking his head. “No, I - of course I do.”

While he hadn’t quite expected Louis’ response, he supposes he should have. With his standoffish, blunt nature, he can only imagine that he must come off as disinterested in Louis’ company from time to time. He curses his unapproachable demeanor, wishes it wasn’t so difficult for him to open up.

Apparently, Louis decides to push things a little further. Mitch doesn’t blame him for wanting answers, though once again, he’s no longer able to look at him as his expression grows more sympathetic. His voice is incredibly timid when he speaks up, and Mitch feels even worse.

“Then… why say that?”

Mitch sighs. “Ah… I dunno, I just- most people wouldn’t want to, I guess. Most people… wouldn’t care.”

He can feel Louis shifting closer, trying to crane his neck in order to meet his eye.

It doesn’t work until he speaks again, barely above a whisper. “Well… I do. I care.”

Mitch simply can’t control the troubled look that crosses over his face, displaying his every conflicted emotion and his perplexed thought for Louis to see despite the fact he doesn’t want him to.

There’s nothing he can do to stop himself from asking, “But… why? ”

Louis instantly falls quiet. For a moment, Mitch regrets asking, assumes that there’s nothing that Louis has to offer in response to his question. Of course there isn’t, his mind bitterly taunts. He only said he cares to make you feel better.

He’s proven entirely wrong in the next second.

“Because…” he starts, seeming to choose his words very carefully until they’re spilling freely from his mouth. “You’re worth so much more than you think you are. Yeah, you’re a little devious, and yeah, you’ve got this whole ‘tough guy’ act nailed down. But under all that, you… you have a good heart, Mitch. I can see it all the time. Even if you don’t.”

Mitch blanks. There’s nothing that could ever describe the whirlwind of emotions that instantly overtakes him, no amount of understanding that could hope to make sense of it all. Impossibly, he feels gut-wrenching sadness and heartwarming inspiration at exactly the same time, a melting pot of conflicting feelings coexisting with each other, relentlessly battling for the top spot within his mind.

Ultimately, sheer disbelief wins.

“I… think you give me way too much credit…” he mumbles, a rather pathetic reply to Louis’ meaningful expression of his self worth.

Louis doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe you just don’t give yourself enough.”

Mitch can feel Louis’ eyes practically boring holes into his skin as he grows distressingly silent once again, their shoulders brushing in a way that has him tensing up despite himself. Yet as undeterred as ever, Louis is piping up again before he knows it.

“I see you for who you really are. Whether you like it or not.”

There’s no denying the phrase sums everything up better that Mitch could ever express, himself. Yet he’s unable to think about it for much longer after those words are spoken, for in another, completely unexpected turn of events, Mitch can feel Louis shifting even closer.

A brief pause ensues, before Louis is leaning in the rest of the way. He kisses Mitch’s cheek, and Mitch is blown away how such as simple action can bring forth such an intense response. His heart ricochets inside his chest, his thoughts all but exploding inside his head. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

Then, he’s turning to gawk at Louis as if he’s grown at least five extra heads. Louis bears a similar expression, seemingly shocked at himself, leaving them both staring at one another like two deer within the glow of the same headlights. 

“I - I’m sorry, I-”

Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe the rapidly multiplying emotions within him take over, blinding him and masking all the rational common sense he already lacks.

Whatever the reason, there’s no stopping himself, no controlling his own actions. He doesn’t care if Louis regrets it, if he’s apologizing because he didn’t mean to.

Mitch closes the distance between them again, and kisses him.

Louis freezes, but for only a second. Mitch thinks that same emotionally fueled instinct must be taking over him, too, for faster than his mind can process, they’re quite literally kissing each other senseless. It feels as if a slowly cracking dam between them has finally broken, and with it, everything comes effectively pouring out.

He doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts. All concept of time becomes lost upon him, and the only thing that eventually separates them is the burning need for oxygen.

And, as they pull away, in some cheesy, embarrassingly cliche passing thought, Mitch swears the stars above Louis’ dazed, smiling face shine brighter than they ever have before.