#I am an uncontrollable force <- has no impulse control

[aromanticannibal]

u scared me 2 death I was like whadda fuck whoda fuck is at!!!!! when u liked my post!!

sorry 😭😭😭

[wheelie-sick]

-> TW for in depth discussion of suicide <-

a lot of people look at anti psychiatry and say "well these aspects of psychiatry helped/saved my life!" and that's not the point. the point isn't that no one can ever find psychiatry helpful the point is that the system abuses its patients

I have been uncontrollably suicidal at many points in my life but 3 stick out to me and those 3 were my full suicide attempts (rather than my suicide near attempts i.e standing at the ledge of a cliff with the intent to jump, something I have done so many times I cannot possibly count them) I have been so desperate to die that despite having every possible lethal mean removed from the house I lived in I tried to drown myself in a bathtub. I tried this twice. there is nothing more desperate than frantically shoving your head under the water face down hoping you have the willpower to stay there until you black out and inevitably die. I remember these things viscerally and painfully. suicide is not unfamiliar to me.

but no one could have forced my recovery. recovery is a decision I had to consciously make. trying to force my hand would only have traumatized me further. I am all too familiar with forced recovery, I have been in ABA therapy against my will and had an awful experience. I would sob and beg to leave the system. I was in ABA partially because my mental illness was classified as severe, not just because I had moderate autism. my family admits a large driver of it was the fact that the support I was receiving from my incompetent therapist was not helping and they hoped ABA would. in the end it only made me worse by providing me more trauma on top of the existing trauma I already had.

with that said full recovery is something I will never experience but that does not mean I cannot be supported in ways that do not remove my personhood. I am bipolar, bipolar disorder is lifelong. it has been one of the main contributors to my suicide attempts as it started creeping into my life at 10 years old. I have, since my last suicide attempt, strongly considered trying again. there were points where I considered willingly going to a psychiatric hospital. something pushed me away- both from the ledge and from a psychiatric hospital.

there's a theme with when all my suicide attempts happened. my first was at the age of 12 and my last was at the age of 14. I was isolated. I was living with an incredibly abusive father and a mom who just couldn't keep up. I had very few to no friends. around 14 I started to gain community and mend the relationship with my mom. I had support. my latest near miss was only a couple of months ago, it was during a manic episode and the impulse arose and I barely had the self control to stop it. manic episodes are when bipolar people are at greatest risk of suicide. again, what saved me was having support. people saw what was going on and intervened- not through hospitalization against my will but through peer to peer support.

a psychiatric hospital would not have helped me. psychiatric hospitals are traumatizing experiences. trauma is a large influence on my life as is. the trauma of going to a psychiatric hospital outweighed the danger of me at my lowest staring at a bottle of opioids with intent to take them.

the thing about anti psychiatry is that it's not anti treatment it's anti abuse. if there was an alternative to psychiatric hospitals that did not revoke my autonomy, that would not have traumatized me, I would have gone. I don't believe that live-in alternatives are the answer for everyone, it looks different for different people, but I do believe everyone has a right to autonomy in their treatment.

I am happy I am alive and I am happy I survived my attempts but what I needed was not a traumatic experience at a psychiatric hospital what I needed was support that respected my autonomy and personhood.

a lot of people assume that anti psychiatry people just don't understand the experience of mental illness but I'd argue the contrary- most of us are classified as "seriously mentally ill" and most of us have become anti psychiatry through negative experiences with the psychiatric industry. we want autonomy for mentally ill people, not abandonment.

[lip-gallaghers-cigarette]

I am about to infodump about why steven universe has BPD (and cptsd but thats canon)

later in the series and in SU future is when all the trauma has already happened and hes finally safe is when it manifests itself heavier. hes very people pleasing, putting other peoples needs ahead of himself, even if the other person is in the wrong, his emotions spiral so out of control that he becomes corrupted or goes "pink mode", he has identity issues (bc of constantly being told hes his mother) to the point where he cant tell if he is her, if he is himself, if hes a he, if hes a she, if hes a gem or if hes a human, good or evil, etc.

has bursts of intense anger and feelings of guilt, would go to any length to keep people in his life (connie for example) and when she rejected his proposal his symptoms spiraled out of control, which is typically what happens w bpd, its triggered, his symptoms started presenting when he hit 16 / SU future. as for the ptsd though thats actually canon, there is an episode where he visits the doctor and she doesnt directly call it ptsd but shes asking him about his trauma and how far back it stems from (and he begins recalling traumatic events starting all the way from the beginning of the series to the middle of the series before connies mom interrupts him and tells him that he p much has c-ptsd) and steven starts having intense flashbacks and then falls into an episode when he is reminded of connie rejecting his proposal, his body starts physically reacting to it as if its happening again. (which by the way the proposal was very impulsive and spontaneous and mainly based in fear of abandonment, and solidified when garnet agreed. very bpd like.)

he views small issues as life threatening, which is seen in ptsd and bpd. hes been in a constant state of trauma since childhood, never knew his mom and constantly i n peril fighting monsters he doesnt even know the origin of protecting himself from a battle his mother forced him into, bpd and ptsd are inherently traumagenic. he changes himself and overextends himself to fit other people's perception of what he should be or to fit his own idea of perfection, hes terrified of being alone and will go to any lengths to keep his loved ones around him.

when people offer him support he pushes it away because he doesnt want to burden his loved ones with his problems or intense emotions or trauma. in fact, he bottles it up SO much that he falls into an episode where he starts fixing other peoples problems to distract himself from his own, as if fixing other people will in turn fix himself, which only makes it worse and worse until he explodes. he talks about how hes worthless, how hes a bad person, how he doesnt deserve his loved ones, and then becomes corrupted when the trauma become too much for him gem to handle anymore. (Him splitting on himself after bottling his feelings up for so long)

this was only soothed when his loved ones reminded him how much he was loved and cared for. he lacked a voice his whole life and once jasper taught him to fight and defend himself and he became all big and strong his personality changed completely and he ended up becoming aggressive in the same way jasper was and literally purposely and v violently shattered her because of it (which is obviously very out of character for steven who has healing powers)

he also takes control of and attempts to shatter white diamond when he has trauma flashbacks to her almost killing him despite working through those issues previous

he has a "the grass is greener on the other side" mindset

He has bouts of uncontrollable rage because he has no form of grasp of his emotions due to alienating them.

He creates narratives sticks to them then he is unable to change these thought processes.

after shattering jasper he has an intense panic attack, thinking he is a violent killer or bad person, his guilt spirals and he makes a very desperate and emotional attempt at bringing her back.

he also takes control of and attempts to shatter white diamond when he has trauma flashbacks to her almost killing him despite working through those issues previous.

he has a "the grass is greener on the other side" mindset

He has bouts of uncontrollable rage because he has no form of grasp of his emotions due to alienating them.

He creates narratives sticks to them then he is unable to change these thought processes.

He creates a happily ever after in his mind and then when the outcome isn't perfect or what he imagined he freaks out.

he has frequent flashbacks to issues from his past and tends to block the thoughts out when they show up or dissociate himself from them, or, alternatively, he hyper-fixates on them so much that it takes over every aspect of his waking life. he also thinks in black and white a lot, with things being either all good or all bad, and becomes paranoid about other peoples intentions or the way they perceive him. he also is CONSTANTLY on edge expecting bad things to happen and prepares himself for danger that might not even come.

Also throwback to the time where he crashed the car and split on his dad when he realized his dad got the childhood he always wanted and that he was neglected, he quickly went from idealizing his dad to feeling spiteful toward him and putting their own lives in danger.

also the time when he realized all of his friends were moving on without him and subconsciously trapped them in a giant bubble that he had no control over

oh and the NIGHTMARES!!!

- sincerely, a Steven kinnie with BPD and C-PTSD. (Cross-Posted)

[p1xiemeat]

hi do you mind if I ask you what symptoms of bipolar you have experienced before/are currently experiencing right now? if this is too heavy for you to answer then that’s alright it’s just that I was recently diagnosed with bipolar 2 and I wanted to hear about the experience from another person.. thank you 

well i have bipolar 1 rapid cycling which is more severe than just having bipolar 1. and bipolar 1 by itself is more severe than bipolar 2, so definitely don't compare yourself to me too much. also everyone is different. not every person with bipolar of any type has the same symptoms. i also have anxiety, ptsd, and im seeing a psychiatrist in november to be tested for a neurological disorder that my therapist thinks i may have but she can't diagnose me. so sometimes those symptoms from other things overlap into what i experience. some things might be caused by my anxiety or ptsd. for example i've had hallucinations plenty of times which can be a symptom of bipolar but also could be from ptsd too. i have manic episodes all the time. and when im not having mania im basically in a constant state of depression. its awful. i do have impulses but ive spent years learning how to control them. they used to be uncontrollable and it ruined my life for many years. my sleep and appetite changes constantly. sometimes i dont need sleep at all and other times all i do is sleep. and most of them time i can't eat a lot. and when i am able to eat i end up binge eating to make up for barely eating most of the time. im extremely indecisive and its hard to focus on one task. i usually have like 10 different tasks going at a time which makes it hard to complete anything. but i also become obsessed with my interests. it actually annoys ppl because i will talk about the same few things over and over. i have suicidal thought all the time. only thoughts tho. i would never act on them. but before i could control my impulses i had multiple attempts to end my life. i also have constant racing thoughts or my mind feels blank and i'll be completely silent for days sometimes because i have nothing to say. except when it comes to my children. obviously i speak to them when they are around, but i won't start a conversation when my mind feels blank or i won't CHOOSE to say anything for days. yeah it really fucking sucks. life with bipolar is mainly living in extremes. [for me anyway]. im either exteremely happy or extremely sad. same goes with being confident or not confident, hungry or not hungry, etc. one of the hardest things is having so much energy when im manic and feeling constantly tired and drained when im depressive. because i have children and i HAVE to be productive on daily basis. i can't just NOT clean or do dishes or laundry etc. so when im depressive i have to mentally and physically force myself to do anything. its honestly absolute hell. and im so sorry you have it too. i wish i had more positive things to tell you about it, but im not going to sugarcoat it or lie to you.

as long as you put in effort to work on yourself and try to be aware of the way you react to things or what things affect your mood, it will get easier. i know that i NEED therapy. every time i left therapy i relapsed on drugs or i mentally deteriorated. so i highly recommend finding a good therapist if you start to struggle badly. or just have one just to help you even if you don't think you need one. they help sooo much with helping u understand yourself and your thoughts and actions. i wish you nothing but the best✨💜 bipolar disorder can be so crippling. it can even be a disability for some ppl. for me it is. i am getting disability soon because its pretty impossible to find a job that works with what im able and unable to do. it lowered my confidence a lot when i realized i needed the extra help but now im more okay with it because i know its just the hand i've been dealt. i didnt ask for bipolar disorder. just like i didn't ask for it to prevent me from working. its just what happened to me. and thats okay. 🖤💜 i hope you are well🥰

[damagedxbrain]

These days I'm tortured by recurring thoughts how you must have felt those last years. Especially the enormous pain, unimaginable suffering and frightening agony you had to endure during your last months. The range of negative and extreme painful emotions, the endless grief and mourning. The suffocating fear and anxiety. Feelings I can't recall, all I know is they are unbearable, too heavy to be felt, too suffocating. Draining away all energy and light. Darkness is everywhere and complete hopelessness. The feeling of losing it totally, going crazy, to loose control over everything gets more and more persistent. I feel a deep loneliness, like part of me has gone missing and I forgot how to function as a living human being. Sometimes I even forget that I have to function. Then I forget who 'I' is. And that 'I' should function is not even existing inside my head anymore. I'm physically there but my mind chooses shutdown modus in order to survive.. I'm getting tired by forcing my brain not to think, putting up a 'fight' by distracting myself or running away from this recurring thoughts. When I manage to get 'away' I'm mostly going down dark paths again. Questioning everyone, their motives, the feelings, the truth behind the words they tell. It's getting more often that I am turning into someone I barely recognize, saying things, doing things, having situations, where pretty much all I do is an uncontrolled impulsive act, and led by overpowering emotions. / . When thinking how you have been those last years my mind takes me to a dark and horrible place, a place that makes me feel alone and lost. Every thought and emotion are telling that they will chase me for eternity. So I shut my brain down. My emotions too. I'm not ready for all of this, not ready for these emotions, not at all ready to feel this kind of horror. It's the worst nightmare I ever had. And it follows during daytime and nighttime, being awake or asleep doesn't make a difference mostly. Some days sleep is a relief plus being completely drained of all energy sleeping for hours is like a needed welcoming escape, even with nightmares it's a 50/50 chance that the nightmare that plays during day is more exhausting. On that occasions waking up gets even harder. There is this brief peaceful and comfy place between sleeping and coming to conscious, it's a warm and bright place where everything feels safe and good. Then the world grabs it's thorns around my soul again. The memories come rushing back and I'm once again forced to control every thought and emotion, controlling myself to not let 'it' catch up to me. Feels like I'm running away from emotions and feelings so so extreme and hard, both of them way too much to ever be burdened on a human being. Too much to be felt. Everything aches, physical pain is paired with emotional pain. Brainfog and confusion can become so intense, that the body trembles too. Suddenly the sight of my eyes worsens in seconds. Existing at the bar minimum, means seeing people every few days, doing laundry and chores, going grocery shopping, doing adult duties, and even the simple things like taking a shower turn me real quick into feeling weak accompanied by nauseating exhaustion intensifying from dull and numb to a hollow, empty lifeless feeling best described as a near death. There's zero energy left, no power, no lifeforce. Nothing matters anymore.

[overnighttosunflowers]

the anatomy of an ending

(because I love fanfiction and talking about craft)

If you’ll permit me a self-indulgent post (& given that this is tumblr I very much hope you will), I’m going to monologue about writing for a little bit, using the lens of my last couple of Imogen/Laudna fanfics. I’m hardly an expert author, but I am a professional editor, and when I do write, I find it interesting to examine why it is that I’m doing what I’m doing.

Above all, I love a narrative callback. They make a story feel thoughtful and deliberate, and they can help stick a powerful emotional landing. When I’m trying to write the ending of a fic, I like to lean on as many as I can without it becoming unwieldy or feeling forced.

For bittersweet, sly, uncontrollable, here are the three that I landed on and where they came from:

1. This bit near the beginning, when the musicality of Laudna’s thoughts first makes an appearance:

2. This part a little further on, where Laudna is mulling over the difference between love and in love:

3. And this bit from closer to the end, where Laudna gets all fluttery but doesn’t realize why:

Beyond this, though, an ending is a chance to tie up a narrative arc—and most fic is character-driven, so I’m aiming to tie up character arcs. Where do they begin, so where should they end?

My previous Imogen/Laudna fic, and we’ll share my all, was animated by Laudna’s fear of being a puppet—if Delilah could control her once, create the impulse to make her hold Imogen’s rock and then lock her hand to it, could she do it again? Heartbeats play a particularly significant role:

Playing off that, here’s a moment in the fic when Delilah takes control:

There’s also, of course, the romantic thread of Laudna trying to untangle what it is that she feels for Imogen. Here’s Pâté calling her on it:

And, later on, Dusk doing the same:

So where does that leave us at the end of the fic? Well, here, with Laudna untangling her feelings in a way that plays off of autonomy and heartbeats:

So, to return to bittersweet, sly, uncontrollable—what (beyond the romance) was Laudna’s narrative arc? I was having some trouble nailing this down. Obviously it has to do with her learning to access the romantic part of her brain, but more specifically? I was finding this especially tricky because I wanted to avoid implying that any kind of love is superior to any other (this is an aro/ace positive blog), and I couldn’t quite figure out how to do it.

I handled this as any rational person might, by bombarding my beta @thunderburning with stream-of-consciousness thoughts:

thunderburning: [. . .] so the theme of this fic is—Laud realizing she can love? Realizing she isn't broken? Realizing there's a whole way of being in the world she didn't know about before?

me: I am still sort of flailing my way mentally around HOW exactly to do that—emotions wise not story beat wise, the story beats will come after

me: Gonna try to talk it out to puzzle it out I guess? So like. She has just realized that she's been in love with imogen this whole time and therefore that her understanding of herself as someone who was like. Distorted by her circumstances? is mistaken

me: Sooo the idea is she's been giving this big big love the whole time? Even if she hasn't realized it enough to then make it romantic until right this moment?

me: So maybeeeeeeeee imogen says something about how Laudna's love has already been saving her for two and a half years?

me: Hmm idk idk

me: But segueing into that is tricky because if Laudna is like "I thought I was broken bc I couldn't love romantically" it is a little weird for Imogen to then be like, well actually your love has been perfect this whole time anyway, bc Imogen clearly DID want DESPERATELY for it to be romantic

me: You’re getting stream of consciousness brainstorming sorry

me: Hm hm hm but imogen has just observed that Laudna DID love her romantically this whole time

thunderburning: Hmmmmm

me: So maybe Lauda's like, how does this change things now? If we are together as a couple? I'm afraid I don't know how to be a couple? And imogen is just like you dumbass (affectionate) nothing is going to change at all because we've been acting like a couple for years even before we realized it. Just because we didn't recognize what kind of love it was didn't mean it wasn't there

me: ?????? Is that anything ???????

thunderburning: THAT LAST ONE ROCKS

me: And then Laudna is like [emotionally] that sounds perfect and then is like but also maybe one thing can change and we can keep kissing? And then they do

me: I feel like this is on the right track is that anything????????

(It was.)

So, that brings us back to the end of the fic. Laudna has gone from unable to “access that part of her brain” and afraid she doesn’t know how to date someone to the realization that she’s been in love with Imogen this whole time, and that what she and Imogen have is intuitive to her after all. Because all it is is being together, just in a slightly different way now.

And being together with Imogen is the easiest thing in the world.

[shepherds-of-haven]

Lena, who would be drift compatible in a pacific rim AU?

Hmmm, good question! I don’t think I’ve ever done a Pacific Rim AU post, so let me give it a try (all Shepherds work in the Jaeger program):

Blade: a powerful but vengeful and brooding Jaeger pilot who’s known for being one of the few pilots to solo-fly a Jaeger for several missions. Has refused to take on a co-pilot since his older brother (his first co-pilot) was killed beside him in battle. Known for using lightning/plasma attacks, making him popular with the public--however, he refuses to appear in any public-facing PR campaigns, preferring only to fight and kill kaiju. 1st Jaeger: Coyote Lightning

Trouble: a reckless and headstrong hotshot pilot known for having a death wish and zero fear of kaiju. He was born into a family of Jaeger pilots and is eager to make his name distinct from his father’s, who is a veteran war hero of the First Contact Wars. His Jaeger is specially equipped with more explosive weapons than most. He was voted to have the best smile among the Jaeger pilots for three years in a row. 1st Jaeger: Atlas Striker

Tallys: a solemn and no-nonsense pilot known for her refusal to employ flash and cool maneuvers in battle, and for her refusal to join the celebrity culture surrounding Jaeger pilots. Few know this, but her family was killed by kaiju during the First Contact Wars and she joined the program out of revenge. She is motivated solely by bloodthirst for kaiju, and her Jaeger employs long-range attacks, making her an effective defensive pilot. 1st Jaeger: Echo Hydra

Shery: like Mako Mori, she is the daughter of the current director of the Jaeger program and therefore relegated to secretarial and administrative duties only. In the academy, she became known for her abilities to drift with almost any partner; however, she freezes in combat situations until she is paired during an emergency crisis with Riel, whose ruthless determination forces her into action.

Riel: a scientist and financier of the Jaeger program, he uses his vast wealth and expertise to work to develop better and more efficient technology (and weapons) for the Jaegers. He knows every Jaeger’s components from top to bottom and would be an extremely efficient and tactical pilot, but is adamantly a non-combatant until the kaiju attack the outpost he’s staying in, necessitating his becoming a sudden pilot alongside Shery as a last resort. 

Chase: a former thief/criminal who had his prison sentence commuted in exchange for becoming a Jaeger pilot. He was initially forced to fly solo because other pilots didn’t trust him and thought he would either run during battle or would refuse to put himself in danger to save innocents. However, he is one of the most popular “Jaeger Idols” in the public eye, earning fans everywhere with his sense of flash, fashion, and flair. He pilots as if he has a death wish, and his Jaeger has two blades installed into its forearms. 1st Jaeger: Lucky Corsair

Red: initially a scientist and academic who wanted to study kaiju behavior and the Breach from which they came, he was eventually recruited to the Jaeger pilot program due to his excellent combat abilities and due to the wishes of his friends, Pan and Neon, who became their own drift-partners. He is working with Riel to develop technology to allow Jaegers to either become invisible or to teleport very short distances. The prototype of this technology has led to the development of his signature move in battle, the Flashstep. 1st Jaeger: Garnet Dawn

Ayla: a headstrong pilot initially known for deviating from orders, she was also known for developing friction with her partners, leading to a never-ending roulette of pilots who would join up with her and then quit shortly afterwards. She is famous for a technique in which she spins her Jaeger at such velocities that she creates devastating whirlwind attacks. It’s rumored that she was trained in a secret Jaeger facility in a foreign country and later defected, leading to supposed assassination attempts by rival government agents. She always carries a bo staff with her in the Jaeger outpost, even in the canteen. 1st Jaeger: Cyclone Banshee

Halek: one of the first-ever Jaeger pilots, he initially flew and fought with his twin, Naolin, as his co-pilot. However, their many fights took a toll on Naolin’s body, leading to him retiring from the program. However, Halek continues to fly (even to the detriment of his own body) in order to avoid returning to civilian life, where an arranged marriage to a wealthy socialite awaits him. Thus, he is desperate to take on any partner, leading to... well, you’ll see down below. 1st Jaeger: Willow Titan

Briony: one of the most resilient and powerful Jaeger pilots to exist, she is known for fighting so effectively that she can push her body past the limits of most other Jaeger pilots. Her signature move is a superpowered punch that can send a kaiju flying more than a mile away. She performs body slams, punches, kicks, and whirling chain sword attacks with her Jaeger. However, she can have trouble controlling her own strength and momentum, a flaw little-known to the public until the strength of her will accidentally overrode her co-pilot and wreaked massive damage on a city she was protecting. As a result, she has become hesitant and fearful of her own piloting, as well as afraid to fly with others. 1st Jaeger: Valiant Orion 

Lavinet: a surprise Jaeger pilot and former model, she is the heiress to a massive construction empire: her father is in charge of building the Pacific Wall, a last-ditch effort by humanity to protect the coastlines from the invading kaiju. Although she could live in peace in one of the few safe zones left on Earth, she has  decided to throw her hat in the ring and become a Jaeger pilot, attracting media attention and fan adoration everywhere. Due to her father’s fortune and massive donations, her Jaeger is one of the fastest and sleekest to exist. To the horror of her superiors, she ordered her warmachine to be painted in pink and lavender. 1st Jaeger: Wildcat Renegade

Croelle: a Jaeger pilot who professes to only be in it for the money. Despite his selfish attitude and mysterious background, he is one of the most skilled and powerful pilots in the program, allowing him to stay on despite his loud insistence that kaiju will ultimately destroy the world. Few can manage to pilot with him for more than a few weeks due to his utter lack of respect for others. However, he proves his valor while running am (ultimately unsuccessful) mission to destroy the Breach, earning him a medal and a promotion to being the liaison between pilots and the people who run the Jaeger program. 1st Jaeger: Crimson Rogue

MC: idk who they would fly with, but my headcanon is that they would be a new pilot of mysterious origins who turns out to be able to communicate with and/or control the kaiju. Turns out they were developed in a secret genetic lab to be the first-ever human-kaiju DNA hybrid!!! And they have mutant superpowers as a result!!!

Drift Partners:

Blade-Briony: It turns out Blade’s total sense of control and dominating precision is a good match for Briony’s chaotic and uncontrolled power; her bubbly and almost indomitable determination also thaws his aggressive solitude and stoicism. Their Jaeger is named Coyote Sakura and its signature attack is charging a chain sword with plasma lightning and launching an all-out flurry of superpowered moves!

Tallys-Lavinet: Despite an extremely rocky beginning, these two mature and tactical pilots form a well-coordinated team focusing on long-range defense and rescue, with Lavinet handling close-quarters combat and Tallys handling ranged attacks. Despite their extremely different backgrounds, their measured ways of thinking and steely determination give them a lot of common ground. Their Jaeger is named Lattice Electra and its signature attack is throwing a huge Jaeger lance that is strapped to its back, spearing two kaiju at once!

Trouble-Chase: Trouble is the only pilot fearless enough, reckless enough, and daredevil enough to take on Chase as a partner without caring about his criminal background and reputation. Together, the two of them have a balanced mix of bravery and evaluation, although they are also both impulsive enough to completely disregard orders, leading to a friendship for the ages. Their Jaeger is called Spitfire Eden and specializes both in blades, fisticuffs, and guns!

Red-Ayla: Red is patient and well-mannered enough to tame Ayla’s brash temper and abrasiveness, forming a powerful and balanced team that becomes known as one of the fastest-moving Jaegers in the program. With Red’s speed and ability to teleport, paired with Ayla’s agility and wind attacks, their Jaeger is named Whirlwind Dawn, and they are often called in to rescue or defend the coastline. 

Halek-Croelle: Although Halek is initially paired with Tallys, his general passivity and laziness chafes against her thirst for revenge. He floats from partner to partner, eventually being informed that the next partner will be his last before he is ejected from the program. To his horror and dismay, he is paired with Croelle, and they get on like cats and dogs. However, Croelle’s utter lack of fear and pleasure in violence activates Halek’s berserk battle-rage, causing them to become an extremely formidable (if violent and unpredictable) team. Their Jaeger is named Redmoon Danger, and they are only called in as a last resort, as they will not stop fighting until every kaiju in the area is dead. 

Riel-Shery: The kaiju discover the Jaeger outpost in which the team resides, developing a two-pronged plan that requires keeping all of the active Jaegers away from base and preoccupied in battle. In the meantime, more kaiju attack the outpost base, threatening to destroy all of the superiors who run the Jaeger program, as well as all of the non-pilot personnel who reside on the base. Left with no fighters and reinforcements and faced with no other option, Riel and Shery climb into a Jaeger under repair, becoming pilots when they drift together for the first time. They manage to repel the Jaeger attack single-handedly and later join the team without academy training, meaning they are only deployed as a plan B. Their Jaeger is named Fox Spirit Rho and is known for its excellent analysis capabilities, targeting a kaiju’s weak spots and deploying a swarm of drones to help attack while the Jaeger fires powerful laser-cutter beams usually used in the construction of rockets. 

(That was fun, I hope you enjoyed reading!)

[hunterartemisanime]

Barakamon: The Renovation of the “Manic Pixie Dream Girl”or The Anime Version of Muse

Although it is my first attempt to anything other than Kuroko No Basket, but I hope this rant is reached out to the people who have found this particular anime as inspiring as I have.

Disclaimer: the animes I mentioned below, I don’t hate or despise them. So please don’t come defending that I am bashing them: because I am not. I used them to point out the difference between them and Barakamon

We all know these type of story: a genius male protagonist hits a slump, meets a quirky girl and then comes back to his field fully charged with his creative genius. Most of the time the hero is romantically involved with the heroine, and when the story is nearing resolution either the heroine is conveniently killed off or bonded forever with the hero. Barakamon follows the same bildungsroman pattern. But Barakamon is not like many anime belonging to the same type of story like Nodame Cantabile or Your Lie in April: because it reinvents the heroine from a quirky love interest to a real, living breathing human child: Naru Kotoishi.

Naru's character have always perplexed me. She is a haywire child, nightmare to babysit for any person who is born and brought up in urban propriety, untamed, unfeminine, liberating. She represents the entire untamed naturality of the Gotou island, she is incorruptible hope. While everyone in the island appeared to be laid back and languid, she is the only one who is eccentric and unpredictable. When Handa arrives in the island, he is presented with the the two-faced persona: the out languidity of the island and the turbulent nature of the place that is seasoned dealing with nature’s unpredictability, in the tiny girl’s form.

So how does Naru fall into Handa’s narrative aside from literally barging into his new abode? Naru is actually everything Handa wished he had as a child: unbridled freedom, lack of controlling parents, playful and capricious. Handa was incubated into a controlled environment and molded into the fundamentalist calligrapher. Naru literally appears in a blue t-shirt and shorts with a length of rope coiled at her waist. That’s a wonderful allusion to “Wonder Woman” that was about to enter Handa Sei’s life. At the later episode, when Handa’s mother opposes how the countryside has “corrupted” his son’s refined character, we can also understand how Naru’s influence was a sort of Feminist invasion in the rigid, conservative setup of Calligraphy world. Handa’ s mother who is a good calligrapher isn’t a professional like her husband or son, thus it further proves the point that the field is male heavy space.

 At the first episode, when his fundamentalist style was challenged, he lashed out and was forced to retreat. And who he finds facing him face to face? It’s Naru. At first she makes him uncomfortable, anxious and irritated but soon Handa comes to term with the child. Naru in her essence is the other side of artistry that is impulsive, bold and uncontrolled, something which is outside Handa’s comfort zone. In several episodes, Naru is seen spilling ink, tripping on the bottles and smearing ink in clear spaces, like on the hull of the boat where Handa was asked to write by Miwa’s father. This is a great allusion of Art being an uncontrolled living breathing organism which isn't just there to please others with aesthetics; it stirs the souls and transforms. The sudden change in Handa's style, from "well behaved penmanship" to "fuzzy experimental brush strokes" are great example of Naru's influence over him. His words became simpler: "star", "feather", "utmost" "sea bream" and his style became totally eccentric. The last of “Barakamon” ‘s soundtrack is called “People learn from People” I think it actually alludes to Naru in the sense because she is the one who makes Handa face the limits of his art by challenging him physically and mentally.

So how Naru is different from the Manic pixie dream girls of the other similar animes? Both Megumi Noda of Nodame Cantabile and Kaori from Your Lies In April felt like the male fantasy of the slumped, socially awkward hero. Megumi who is outwardly perverted and downright lewd in many places is the caricature of Shinichi Chiaki’s rather prudish behaviour; as a reconciliation both  end up as couples. Kaori in “Your Lie in April” is the textbook definition of “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” who is only there to motivate Kosuke Arima and disappear to the Death. Both of the women were musically prodigious and “muse-like” that brings the protagonist out of their roadblock. Both Megumi and Kaori play classical music which are not strictly dictated in the notations, and though it strikes Chiaki and Kosuke, they accept it as their path to sublimate. Naru is neither a prodigy in any artful sense, nor she is a sexual creature (or was seen with any romantic sense by the protagonist). Like any “Manic pixie dream girl” she makes the protagonist break out of his awkward shell through her eccentricity, but she does it with a perilous edge. Handa had to combat with all of his willpower to stand up to her antics in order to grow and mature. In this self-reliance boot-camp, all his previous identities, in the form of magazine articles, interviews and books gets torn out. The torn pages are then flown away as paper aeroplanes by Naru, as a symbolic gesture of “unlearning” in order to “learn” again.

 The Muse figures in the other two animes are the comforting image of perfection which heroes of both Nodame Cantabile and Your Lie in April are trying to reach. Shinichi's hurried and capricious playing of Mozart's piano duet "Allegro Con Spirito" and Kosuke's "Twinkle Twinkle 12 variations" are the attempts to touch the perfection of their respective muses. In both anime, Mozart plays a significant role in both animes in symbolizing the “perfect”, the “liberating” and the “sparkling”, something the hero must attain in the course of time. The theme of “reaching” in those animes are so apparent that “is my art/music reaching him/her?” is a quote which appears in almost every episode. Handa on the other hand never tries to "reach" Naru, who is the muse figure. In his struggle to find his “true self” she rather becomes the light of clarity through which he attempts breaks from his fundamentalist shell. In the end, Handa doesn’t become the paramount he had imagined he would; he gets rejected by the highly conformist industry which pushed him back because he was “too fundamental”: that sort of an anti-climatic ending to the Muse and Poet sort of narrative, and that’s where Naru’s significance lie. In art, there is nothing which is “perfect”, actually perfect is the enemy of good. In the end of Barakamon season 1, it is the “Good” that wins: Handa’s satisfaction with the calligraphy of the Doners’ names on wooden plank.

...

wow that’s a lot, now tags (although I have no evidence that they like Barakamon)

: @sidd-hit-my-butt-ham @yanderebakugo @kurokonbscenarios @kurokonobasket @kurokonoboisket @art-zites @idinaxye @sp-chernobyl @strawbe3ryshortcake @reservethemoon @rilnen @a-shy-potato @thirsthourdemon @animebxxch @edagawasatoru @akawaiishi-blog @reinyrei @chloe-noir @theswahn @ahobaka-trash @jeilliane @trashtoria  @scarlettedwardsposts @quirkydarling @ghostieswaifu @levihan-freaks @hope-im-spirited-away @yves0809 @marshiro1101 @bubziles @heartfullofknb @kit-kat57 @akichan-th

[eyelinerda3euro]

The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction

In the temperate and tropical regions where it appears that hominids evolved into human beings, the principal food of the species was vegetable. Sixty-five to eighty percent of what human beings ate in those regions in Paleolithic, Neolithic, and prehistoric times was gathered; only in the extreme Arctic was meat the staple food. The mammoth hunters spectacularly occupy the cave wall and the mind, but what we actually did to stay alive and fat was gather seeds, roots, sprouts, shoots, leaves, nuts, berries, fruits, and grains, adding bugs and mollusks and netting or snaring birds, fish, rats, rabbits, and other tuskless small fry to up the protein. And we didn’t even work hard at it — much less hard than peasants slaving in somebody else’s field after agriculture was invented, much less hard than paid workers since civilization was invented. The average prehistoric person could make a nice living in about a fifteen-hour work week.

Fifteen hours a week for subsistence leaves a lot of time for other things. So much time that maybe the restless ones who didn’t have a baby around to enliven their life, or skill in making or cooking or singing, or very interesting thoughts to think, decided to slope off and hunt mammoths. The skillful hunters would come staggering back with a load of meat, a lot of ivory, and a story. It wasn’t the meat that made the difference. It was the story.

It is hard to tell a really gripping tale of how I wrestled a wild-oat seed from its husk, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then another, and then I scratched my gnat bites, and Ool said something funny, and we went to the creek and got a drink and watched newts for a while, and then I found another patch of oats.... No, it does not compare, it cannot compete with how I thrust my spear deep into the titanic hairy flank while Oob, impaled on one huge sweeping tusk, writhed screaming, and blood sprouted everywhere in crimson torrents, and Boob was crushed to jelly when the mammoth fell on him as I shot my unerring arrow straight through eye to brain.

That story not only has Action, it has a Hero. Heroes are powerful. Before you know it, the men and women in the wild-oat patch and their kids and the skills of makers and the thoughts of the thoughtful and the songs of the singers are all part of it, have all been pressed into service in the tale of the Hero. But it isn’t their story. It’s his.

When she was planning the book that ended up as Three Guineas, Virginia Woolf wrote a heading in her notebook, “Glossary”; she had thought of reinventing English according to her new plan, in order to tell a different story. One of the entries in this glossary is heroism, defined as “botulism.” And hero, in Woolf’s dictionary, is “bottle.” The hero as bottle, a stringent reevaluation. I now propose the bottle as hero.

Not just the bottle of gin or wine, but bottle in its older sense of container in general, a thing that holds something else.

If you haven’t got something to put it in, food will escape you — even something as uncombative and unresourceful as an oat. You put as many as you can into your stomach while they are handy, that being the primary container; but what about tomorrow morning when you wake up and it’s cold and raining and wouldn’t it be good to have just a few handfuls of oats to chew on and give little Oom to make her shut up, but how do you get more than one stomachful and one handful home? So you get up and go to the damned soggy oat patch in the rain, and wouldn’t it be a good thing if you had something to put Baby Oo Oo in so that you could pick the oats with both hands? A leaf a gourd shell a net a bag a sling a sack a bottle a pot a box a container. A holder. A recipient.

The first cultural device was probably a recipient.... Many theorizers feel that the earliest cultural inventions must have been a container to hold gathered products and some kind of sling or net carrier.

So says Elizabeth Fisher in Women’s Creation (McGraw-Hill, 1975). But no, this cannot be. Where is that wonderful, big, long, hard thing, a bone, I believe, that the Ape Man first bashed somebody in the movie and then, grunting with ecstasy at having achieved the first proper murder, flung up into the sky, and whirling there it became a space ship thrusting its way into the cosmos to fertilize it and produce at the end of the movie a lovely fetus, a boy of course, drifting around the Milky Way without (oddly enough) any womb, any matrix at all? I don’t know. I don’t even care. I’m not telling that story. We’ve heard it, we’ve all heard about all the sticks and spears and swords, the things to bash and poke and hit with, the long, hard things, but we have not heard about the thing to put things in, the container for the thing contained. That is a new story. That is news.

And yet old. Before — once you think about it, surely long before — the weapon, a late, luxurious, superfluous tool; long before the useful knife and ax; right along with the indispensable whacker, grinder, and digger — for what’s the use of digging up a lot of potatoes if you have nothing to lug the ones you can’t eat home in — with or before the tool that forces energy outward, we made the tool that brings energy home. It makes sense to me. I am an adherent of what Fisher calls the Carrier Bag Theory of human evolution.

This theory not only explains large areas of theoretical obscurity and avoids large areas of theoretical nonsense (inhabited largely by tigers, foxes, and other highly territorial mammals); it also grounds me, personally, in human culture in a way I never felt grounded before. So long as culture was explained as originating from and elaborating upon the use of long, hard objects for sticking, bashing, and killing, I never thought that I had, or wanted, any particular share in it. (“What Freud mistook for her lack of civilization is woman’s lack of loyalty to civilization,” Lillian Smith observed.) The society, the civilization they were talking about, these theoreticians, was evidently theirs; they owned it, they liked it; they were human, fully human, bashing, sticking, thrusting, killing. Wanting to be human too, I sought for evidence that I was; but if that’s what it took, to make a weapon and kill with it, then evidently I was either extremely defective as a human being, or not human at all.

That’s right, they said. What you are is a woman. Possibly not human at all, certainly defective. Now be quiet while we go on telling the Story of the Ascent of Man the Hero.

Go on, say I, wandering off towards the wild oats, with Oo Oo in the sling and little Oom carrying the basket. You just go on telling how the mammoth fell on Boob and how Cain fell on Abel and how the bomb fell on Nagasaki and how the burning jelly fell on the villagers and how the missiles will fall on the Evil Empire, and all the other steps in the Ascent of Man.

If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it’s useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you, home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then next day you probably do much the same again — if to do that is human, if that’s what it takes, then I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time.

Not, let it be said at once, an unaggressive or uncombative human being. I am an aging, angry woman laying mightily about me with my handbag, fighting hoodlums off. However I don’t, nor does anybody else, consider myself heroic for doing so. It’s just one of those damned things you have to do in order to be able to go on gathering wild oats and telling stories.

It is the story that makes the difference. It is the story that hid my humanity from me, the story the mammoth hunters told about bashing, thrusting, raping, killing, about the Hero. The wonderful, poisonous story of Botulism. The killer story.

It sometimes seems that the story is approaching its end. Lest there be no more telling of stories at all, some of us out here in the wild oats, amid the alien corn, think we’d better start telling another one, which maybe people can go on with when the old one’s finished. Maybe. The trouble is, we’ve all let ourselves become part of the killer story, and so we may get finished along with it. Hence it is with a certain feeling of urgency that I seek the nature, subject, words of the other story, the untold one, the life story.

It’s unfamiliar, it doesn’t come easily, thoughtlessly, to the lips as the killer story does; but still, “untold” was an exaggeration. People have been telling the life story for ages, in all sorts of words and ways. Myths of creation and transformation, trickster stories, folktales, jokes, novels....

The novel is a fundamentally unheroic kind of story. Of course the Hero has frequently taken it over, that being his imperial nature and uncontrollable impulse, to take everything over and run it while making stern decrees and laws to control his uncontrollable impulse to kill it. So the Hero has decreed through his mouthpieces the Lawgivers, first, that the proper shape of the narrative is that of the arrow or spear, starting here and going straight there and THOK! hitting its mark (which drops dead); second, that the central concern of narrative, including the novel, is conflict; and third, that the story isn’t any good if he isn’t in it.

I differ with all of this. I would go so far as to say that the natural, proper, fitting shape of the novel might be that of a sack, a bag. A book holds words. Words hold things. They bear meanings. A novel is a medicine bundle, holding things in a particular, powerful relation to one another and to us.

One relationship among elements in the novel may well be that of conflict, but the reduction of narrative to conflict is absurd. (I have read a how-to-write manual that said, “A story should be seen as a battle,” and went on about strategies, attacks, victory, etc.) Conflict, competition, stress, struggle, etc., within the narrative conceived as carrier bag/belly/box/house/medicine bundle, may be seen as necessary elements of a whole which itself cannot be characterized either as conflict or as harmony, since its purpose is neither resolution nor stasis but continuing process.

Finally, it’s clear that the Hero does not look well in this bag. He needs a stage or a pedestal or a pinnacle. You put him in a bag and he looks like a rabbit, like a potato.

That is why I like novels: instead of heroes they have people in them.

So, when I came to write science-fiction novels, I came lugging this great heavy sack of stuff, my carrier bag full of wimps and klutzes, and tiny grains of things smaller than a mustard seed, and intricately woven nets which when laboriously unknotted are seen to contain one blue pebble, an imperturbably functioning chronometer telling the time on another world, and a mouse’s skull; full of beginnings without ends, of initiations, of losses, of transformations and translations, and far more tricks than conflicts, far fewer triumphs than snares and delusions; full of space ships that get stuck, missions that fail, and people who don’t understand. I said it was hard to make a gripping tale of how we wrested the wild oats from their husks, I didn’t say it was impossible. Who ever said writing a novel was easy?

If science fiction is the mythology of modern technology, then its myth is tragic. “Technology,” or “modern science” (using the words as they are usually used, in an unexamined shorthand standing for the “hard” sciences and high technology founded upon continuous economic growth), is a heroic undertaking, Herculean, Promethean, conceived as triumph, hence ultimately as tragedy. The fiction embodying this myth will be, and has been, triumphant (Man conquers earth, space, aliens, death, the future, etc.) and tragic (apocalypse, holocaust, then or now).

If, however, one avoids the linear, progressive, Time’s-(killing)-arrow mode of the Techno-Heroic, and redefines technology and science as primarily cultural carrier bag rather than weapon of domination, one pleasant side effect is that science fiction can be seen as a far less rigid, narrow field, not necessarily Promethean or apocalyptic at all, and in fact less a mythological genre than a realistic one.

It is a strange realism, but it is a strange reality.

Science fiction properly conceived, like all serious fiction, however funny, is a way of trying to describe what is in fact going on, what people actually do and feel, how people relate to everything else in this vast stack, this belly of the universe, this womb of things to be and tomb of things that were, this unending story. In it, as in all fiction, there is room enough to keep even Man where he belongs, in his place in the scheme of things; there is time enough to gather plenty of wild oats and sow them too, and sing to little Oom, and listen to Ool’s joke, and watch newts, and still the story isn’t over. Still there are seeds to be gathered, and room in the bag of stars. by Ursula K. Le Guin

[kiarasukulele]

Hate That I Love You (r.c.)

Summary: Where your drug, alcohol, and sex fuelled relationship has turned you into a cold and detached person. Both running from things in your lives, you and Rafe Cameron lose yourselves each night in each other and any substances you can get your hands on. 

(not my gif, if it’s yours let me know so I can credit)

requested: no

warnings: drug use & dependency, sexual content, swearing, drunk driving, toxic/violent relationship, ANGST ANGST ANGST (I'm sorry if I missed anything)

word count: 3.4k (issa long one oops)

(A/N): omg hi, it’s finally done. This is the first piece of writing I'm posting on here so I’m extremely rusty so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Also, I am in no way trying to romanticize toxic or abusive relationships!! If you are experiencing something like this or have in the past, it is not love and you all deserve the world♡. Also thank you to @adoreyoudrews​ for just being supportive since the beginning and throughout this whole process (ilysm). Enjoy!!

He could be crazy, but some would argue that you were crazier. You’ve always been an impulsive person — but you both brought out the worst in eachother. You used to spend your days with the pogues who you called your best friends, but as you grew closer to Rafe he slowly put the idea in your head that you were better off without them. You would do anything Rafe asked you to, which might scare you to death. But your drug and alcohol-fueled relationship didn’t leave room for you to feel scared.

You squeezed your way through the crowd of intoxicated teens that were currently surrounding a game of beer pong in the kitchen of Kelce’s house. As you brushed past some of the familiar faces you would whisper, “Rafe is in the pool house, come if you have cash.”

You and Rafe became a team over the course of your relationship. The king and queen of the kooks. It was summer, and you had been doing what you wanted, whenever you wanted with your boyfriend. Days usually consisted of hanging out at the country club, golfing, or boating but they always ended with you and Rafe getting high or drunk together. The only time you ever felt bad was when you stopped the cycle, so eventually you just decided you wouldn’t stop. You were constantly around him, which your old friends would call “unhealthy” — which is exactly why they’re now old friends. All you needed was Rafe.

Once you spread the word to enough people about Rafe’s new supply of the “finest coke in the obx”, you made your way back to the pool house excited to try it yourself. As you were exiting the house, you passed a few acquaintances who would greet you with a smile and offer you a shot, which you happily accepted. The day someone sees (Y/N) (Y/L/N) refuse a drink will be the same day hell freezes over.

Opening the French doors of the pool house, you see a small group surrounding your boyfriend. Laughter and twenty dollar bills were being exchanged. You stood there for a minute to admire him. Cracking jokes and telling stories with these people before they would take a bump or in between them. When he wanted to be, he could be the most charismatic and magnetic person in the room, but it often flipped like a switch. The way that he could captivate an entire room of people whenever he wanted with seemingly no effort always left you astonished.

Sure, you guys fought like you hated each other sometimes but when you loved each other... holy shit you loved each other. And there was no inbetween with you and Rafe — your relationship was either scalding hot or freezing cold, it was never lukewarm.  

You strut towards Rafe with a devilish smirk. You eagerly pushed past every person standing between you and your boyfriend. He makes eye contact with you and his face lights up immediately. This is the atmosphere both of you have been happiest in lately. You were both running from things in your home lives that each of you knew better than to bring up to one another. As long as you and Rafe were running in the same direction, you didn’t care how tiring it would often feel.

He eyes you up and down as you approach him. You’ve discarded your shirt since the last time you saw him that night, your black bikini still damp from the pool.

“Get over here, baby” he mutters, firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling you onto his lap. The surrounding conversations continue as you make yourself comfortable on top of Rafe. He leans around you, gathering the white powdery substance into neat lines while you roll up a loose twenty dollar bill. When it comes to this, it’s like a ritual. The two of you move like it’s a dance you’ve rehearsed every night for the last few months — you leaning over, him holding your hair back, your nose brushing up against the cold surface of the table as the drugs enter your system. You lean back into your boyfriend as the euphoric sensation takes over. He eagerly begins to lean forward, to finish off the lines you left behind.

“No,” you mutter, grabbing a hold of his bicep to pull him back. He looks at you with furrowed brows, confusion written all over his face.

“What the fuck do you mean, no?” he spits. As mentioned, Rafe could flip like a switch at any moment. The bruises that would often litter your frail figure could attest to that, but you forgave him every time.

“I mean…” you trail off as you twist your body so your back lays flat on his lap. His demeanor calms immediately, as he catches on to what you’re asking him. He gathers the coke and lays it between your cleavage. As the drugs disappear from your chest, he kisses the surrounding area. If you were sober, you would maybe feel slightly embarrassed as the two of you had gathered somewhat of an audience. But sober you were far from. In this moment there wasn’t a trace of the guilt, anger, and sadness that would often plague your sober thoughts. You’ve convinced yourself it’s easier this way; and you really believed that you loved this boy.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Rafe was recklessly driving back towards his house with you in the passenger seat, head out the window and giggling uncontrollably.

“Get back in here.” he slurred, pawing at your skirt to try and get you to sit still in your seat.

You began to laugh even harder at his attempt to reel you in. Your whole upper body was leaning into the cool summer breeze passing you by.

“I’m not fucking kidding.” Rafe said firmly, losing his patience. Your laughter softened as you sighed, “Fine.”

Sitting in your seat you began to get bored after only a minute. Over the past few months you have grown to need constant excitement in your life. Things always needed to be fast paced and you craved the adrenaline that accompanied your reckless behaviour while under the influence.

You stared at Rafe for a moment. His eyes were hazy; hand switching back and forth from your thigh to a bottle of beer he’d been drinking as he sloppily navigated the streets approaching tannyhill. Your own eyes widened with the idea that suddenly came over you. Lifting Rafe’s hand that was resting on your thigh, you raise it to your mouth.

He glances over to you, a smirk spreading across his face. His index finger finds its way into your mouth and you begin to gently suck. His eyes are hungry as they flash between you and the road in front of him.

“You’re so hot, (Y/N).” he practically moans, a bulge appearing in his shorts. Roughly, he grabs hold of the back of your neck and pushes you down towards his crotch. Leaning over the centre console, you take him into your mouth.

If the drugs weren’t fueling your relationship — it was the sex. Taking place anywhere and everywhere — his father's boat, the office, the beach, or simply in between his french-imported sheets. It was while he was inside you that he unleashed much of his aggression and rage, especially if you had just been fighting. It might bother you, if it didn’t feel so damn good. You didn’t mind that he could be rough, violent, or cold towards you. You were all of those things too.

Between the drug haze, intoxication, and the feeling of your mouth around him his driving was becoming more and more reckless as he pulled into the long and swerving driveway of his house. He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the feeling of pure bliss. As his eyes were shut, the car began to swerve. You jolted forward as you came to an abrupt stop.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Rafe muttered in a panicked tone, zipping up his shorts and roughly shoving you off of him as he exited the car. He had collided with the marble statue that resided at the edge of the Cameron’s driveway. Wiping the edge of your mouth, you exit from the passenger door to assess the damage.

You couldn’t help the laughter from escaping your lips as you looked upon the statue that was broken into pieces before you. Rafe was anxiously pacing, shaky hands running through his hair.

“What the fuck is funny, (Y/N)? My dad is gonna lose his shit!” he spat at you, still not able to keep your laughter under control. You couldn’t help it, you always found that statue of a naked man hideous and borderline creepy. Through the laughter you uttered, “Holy shit, it’s dick broke off.”

Rafe was getting angrier with you by the second. You picked up the cracked and detached marble phallus and started making obscene gestures with it, which Rafe didn’t happen to find as entertaining as you did. “What? Are you jealous, baby? I’ll save some for you don’t wor—” before you could finish your sentence, Rafe’s hand swung to knock the piece of marble from your grasp as he grabbed a hold of your jaw to keep you from talking. “Shut the fuck up.” he angrily slurred.

You pushed him back with all of the force you could muster. “Don’t you fucking touch me.” you spat. He took a few steps back due to the abrupt force of your shove. As much as he could push you around, you rarely sat there and took his shit without fighting back although you were no match to his 6’2 frame.

“You know what…” he trailed off. Rafe was looking between you and the shattered pieces of the statue that Rose had treasured. “Go the fuck home.”

His statement, the way he was looking at you with utter disgust, and the throbbing pain from where his hand had been gripping your jaw was enough to cause tears to form in your eyes. “What do you mean, go home?” you asked softly. Rafe had strayed from the usual pattern of events that would take place. Usually, you would have it out and scream at each other like maniacs for a good amount of time, before you each would break down and lose the argument somewhere between the sheets. Home was the last place you wanted to be right now. The place that should be associated with warmth and love could not be said about your large blue house with the wrap-around porch. Your mother and father hated one another — their least favourite characteristics about each other were reflected in you, their daughter. Most of the time they couldn’t manage to look you in the eyes, much less hold a conversation.

“I mean, I don’t want you here,” he explained to you in a condescending tone, as if you were an unknowing child.

All of a sudden, the anger you had just felt towards him was replaced with absolute desperation. Desperate to stay, for him to forgive you, for him to hold you even if it hurt. You’re not even sure what you’d be asking for forgiveness for — but you’d do it without hesitation.

Your shaky hands find his chest and you snake your arms around his waist. He stands frigid and cold, unresponsive to your touch.

“Please, I’m sorry baby.” you mutter into his shirt. “Let’s just go inside…” you trail off as you use the tip of your finger to trace shapes on his back, a weakness of his. You begin to feel him slightly relax into your touch.

Trying to diffuse the situation you add, “We can make something up about the statue. I know how Ward can be sometimes...”

He tensed up again. You knew better than to bring up his dad, especially in the state he was in right now. You were already blaming yourself for whatever would come next, before it even happened.

Rafe ferociously pushed you off of him sending you into the ground, knees scraping against the pavement. “You think you know everything.” he spat, “You don’t know shit, (Y/N).”

Rafe walks away and you sit there for a moment. All that can be heard is the pounding of your heart and the crickets chirping. You begin to think from this angle, you and the shattered statue didn’t really look much different.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Walking the streets of figure eight, you begin to feel the effects of the stimulants wearing off. The distractions you so desperately seek are beginning to crumble around you — leaving you completely and utterly alone with just your thoughts, bloody knees, and shaky hands.

These streets were painfully familiar. Under the amber glow of the street lamps, memories uncontrollably flooded your mind. You were seeing it like a movie scene — from the days that you spent with the pogues riding bikes together fading into more recent memories of Rafe carrying you on his back on your way home from a houseparty. Sometimes you think of that girl you used to be. Even if you wanted to be her again, you had no idea how. Riding on the back of JJ Maybank’s bike while the sun was setting and the rest of your friends trailing closely behind you. You remember the sound of your laughter while your arms and hair danced in the wind. The thought reminds you of earlier that night in Rafe’s car and the similar sensation you had felt while leaning out the window. You immediately felt guilty for thinking about the past — you loved Rafe… and they didn’t want you with him.

Attempting to keep your thoughts from slipping out of your control, you begin to start thinking of what painkillers you could steal from your parents medicine cabinet. Continuing to stumble home while considering whether or not there was enough oxycontin or vicodin that could be stolen without someone noticing. Nobody ever did.

Noticing headlights approaching, you stagger to the side of the road. The streets were usually vacant at this time. You look to your right to see the van you once spent much of your time in, with the paint still chipped and surfboards strapped to the roof. You immediately avert your eyes, desperate to disappear into thin air. The constant presence of Rafe basically ensured that whenever you crossed paths, all of you would just look the other way.  

“(Y/N)?” you hear the familiar voice as the van slows down beside you. You hesitate before looking up, meeting the gaze of John Booker Routledge. You’re grateful it is only him in the van, seeing all the faces that represented your old life would be too overwhelming while you were in this state. You don’t slow down your pace, but he drives slowly alongside you awaiting a response. All that you do is quickly glance up with a forced smile, panic rushing over you as you think of what Rafe would say if he knew who you were talking to.

“(Y/N)… are you okay?” he asks, noticing the blood running down your shins and unsteady steps. “I’m great.” you reply, eyes glued to the road ahead of you. Your voice comes out sounding harsh. You feel a pang of guilt, but you’re not the same girl that John B remembers. You’ve become detached and full of anger — ready to unleash it on anyone in an instant.

“I can’t let you walk home like this.” he states with a sigh, looking between you and the road as he drives alongside you.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you retort. “Besides, Rafe would beat the shit out of you if he found out.”

John B scoffs, “I’m not scared of your boyfriend.” You should be, you think to yourself. “And besides, I don’t see him anywhere.”

That comment caused you to stop in your tracks and stiffen up. John B hits the brakes. You constantly craved Rafe’s presence and standing on the side of the road bloody and bruised and practically sober, you never felt more alone.

“Shut up, Booker.” you almost whisper. His eyes softened at the use of his middle name that he only ever let you call him by, “Listen, I’m sorry. Just let me take you home.”

You think the faster you get home, the faster you make it to the medicine cabinet. So you get in.

What would’ve been a 30 minute walk was just a short 6 minute drive. Silence had filled the space between you and the boy who you once called your best friend. After what seemed like forever, your large blue house finally came into view. You were prepared to make a quick exit with just a simple ‘thank you’ but John B sighed as he put the car in park, obviously wanting to say something.

“(Y/N), I know it’s been almost two years but—” you cut him off, “We’re not doing this. Thank you for the ride but, we are not doing this.”

You manage to open the passenger door slightly so you can make a swift escape from the last conversation you want to have but John B reaches over you, slamming it shut and making you flinch which doesn’t go unnoticed. “Please let me say this.” he pleads. You sit there staring at your hands as he continues, “We never stopped caring about you. I don’t care where you are, or who you are with. Pogues for life… I don’t care how much of a kook you or everybody else thinks you are.”

You shake your head, “You think you know everything.” you recycle the words you had just heard from your boyfriend, “You don’t know shit.”

“You’re wrong.” he replies, “I know you, (Y/N).”

You break your gaze from your hands, looking at him in the eye for the first time. The words come out soft and sort of sad, “Not anymore.”

You exit the car and begin to walk towards the door of your cold and harsh home.

“(Y/N)!” John B shouts. You spin on your heels, with a sigh. What more can be said, you think. “You know where to find us… if you ever need anything.” With that, he drives away.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

You collected the pills that you hoped would make you forget the events that took place and snuck into your bedroom. Leaning against the counter of your ensuite bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Someone with messy hair, smudged makeup, and bloodshot eyes stares back at you. But what caught your attention was the hand shaped bruise that was beginning to form on your jaw. Your fingertips graze over the area as tears form in your eyes. You suddenly felt sick to your stomach. It wasn’t Rafe’s violent nature that scared you. It was realizing that no matter what he did, you would still love him. You pop the pills and head to bed.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

The sunlight peeking through your blinds wakes you up. With your head pounding, you reach for the aspirin that you kept on standby as this is how you were left feeling most mornings. Reaching for your phone, you hoped to god that you had messages from Rafe. 

No new notifications, just your lockscreen with a picture of you and him kissing from last year's Midsummers staring back at you. Unlocking your phone, you open your contacts. Scrolling to the letter ‘B’ you find the contact information that has laid idle for nearly two years. ‘Booker.’

You stare at the name for what seemed like hours, something inside you willing you to be brave and reach out.

Before that voice got too loud, it was interrupted by your ringtone. ‘RAFE♥’ spread across the screen and your heart rate picked up. You eagerly answered, “Hello?”

“Hi baby girl. Can you be ready in 15 minutes?” he asks, “I just picked up from Barry’s and we’re going to spend the day on the boat I think.”

You hesitate, remembering what it was you almost did mere seconds before you received Rafe’s call. “(Y/N)?”

You snap back into reality, “Yeah, I’ll be waiting on my dock.” you confirm.

“That’s my girl.” you smile at his words, “And hey, sorry about what went down last night. We were both really fucked up.” he chuckles.

You had forgiven Rafe before he even said the words, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Rafe.”

[mytwilightimagines13]

Amnesia (Book Two)(Part Eight)(Alec Volturi)

Immortal Child

Three months passed when a letter came. Bianca, the new human secretary, walked into the throneroom, a silver platter in her hands and a note on top of it. The three masters where sitting onto their thrones, dressed in the deepest black. Jane, Alec and Maeryn where standing on the right side of the throneroom, by Caius. Demetri and Felix where standing near Marcus, on the left side of the throneroom, and Santiago guarded the door and closed it once Bianca had entered the room. Bianca was quite a pretty human. Her golden hair was curled and fell over her shoulder, he body was very slim. She wore a blood red dress with black high-heels. Her face was flawless and slightly tanned and her green eyes, her green eyes showed fear as every vampire in the room could hear her heart beat franticly. Bianca went up the stairs and presented Aro the silver platter with the note on top of it. Aro took it and Bianca took a few steps back, shaking slightly. Aro read the note. “Oh, it is from Carlisle. Which is spelled with an s, sweet Bianca.” He said while he lengthen the s. Aro mentioned for Felix and Demetri whom sped and stood behind her. “He has added a new member to his coven.” Aro continued. “Ah.” Marcus said, almost joyful. “Increasing his power.” Caius said, clearly satisfied with the news. Maeryn was also glad. At least now the Volturi no longer had anything to do with the Cullens, well at least for a while. Aro slightly laughed at Caius’ comment and looked at Felix and Demetri. They grabbed Bianca by her arms and dragged her out while she dropped the platter and screamed for mercy. Aro shook his head and looked at the girl pitifully. “First it’s the spelling, then the grammar.” He said while handing the note to Marcus. Maeryn watched Bianca being dragged away. Not the she truly cared. Bianca was only a human after all with no gift. The only thing she was good for was providing blood, nothing more. “At least our dispute with the Cullens is over.” Marcus said, once more with a slight joyfulness in his voice. “Over?” Aro asked. “Hm hm.” Marcus said agreeing. “Goodness no.” Aro said, to which the remaining vampires looked at him questionably. “Our dispute goes far beyond the fate of a mere human.” Marcus lowered the note and seemed slightly disappointed. “And what might that be?” Caius asked. “My brother, I thought you understood. They have something I want.” So, Bella and Edward where married and Bella was changed into a vampire. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful again in the vampireworld. That is until a certain immortal entered the castle with grave news that would change everything. It had been a peaceful afternoon. Alec, Maeryn and Jane accompanied their masters while reading through some history books, when a blond, female vampire with blond hair walked through the throneroom doors. Felix and Demetri stepped close by, to prevent the blond vampire from attacking. “What a pleasant surprise.” Aro said, seemingly not very interested. Caius closed his book with a loud thud and turned towards the vampire. “What do you want?” he asked. The vampire didn’t answer. “Hm?” he asked once more, tilting his head slightly to the left. The vampire took a few steps forward, followed by Santiago, Felix and Demetri. “I have to report a crime. The Cullens, they have done something… terrible.” The vampire said. Once the name Cullens fell from her lips, Aro’s red eyes grew wide. He slammed the book shut and rushed towards the vampire while Caius had a small smirk playing around his lips. “Allow me, my dear?” Aro asked as he took the vampire’s hand. As Aro read her thoughts, the others gathered behind Aro, very curious to what he had seen. Aro let go of her hand and was seemingly shocked. “Oh my.” Was all he said. Aro gathered everyone to the throneroom to share what the crime was. “Dear ones, it saddens me to tell you this that our dear friends, the Cullens have committed one of the worse crimes our law knows. The Cullens, have created an immortal child.” And with that, the whispering started. Whispers of fury, and disbelief. “I

know how shocking this betrayal is, and I promise my friends, that justice will triumph! So let us make our preparations, bring our dear friends so they can let the world know, the world of vampires will soon be peaceful again!” Aro said and the lower guard all left to gather other vampire’s. However, the higher guard remained and trained for the fight that would come. However, at night when training was over, and Maeryn was playing with Alec’s necklace once more while he stroked her bare back, she did wonder. What where immortal children precisely? “Alec?” Maeryn asked looking up, just in time to see Alec open his eyes and look at her. “Yes, amore mio?” “What are immortal children precisely, and why are they forbidden?” Maeryn asked. “I am sorry I haven’t informed you sooner. As your creator I should have.” He said and kissed her forehead before explaining. “Immortal children are human children who have been turned into vampires at a very early age. Creating immortal children has long been outlawed by the Volturi due to their inability to remain concealed from the human world. There is no absolute age limit set as to what constituted an immortal child; it was a subjective definition, based on the child's ability to behave himself in a way consistent with vampire law. Like all vampires, immortal children are frozen at the mental and physical age at which they were transformed. Post-transformation, these small children continued to exhibit childish behaviours, including impulsive acts, tantrums, irresponsible activities, and a general lack of circumspection. It is said that an immortal child's tantrum can kill people, since restraint is basically impossible for someone so young. Another aspect was their appeal; they were both beautiful and endearing that any human or vampire would automatically love them. Carlisle described them as adorable little children with smiles and dimples that would destroy a village in one of their tantrums. It is presumed that while their mental maturity is frozen at the age they were transformed, they still have the vampiric gifts of enhanced strength and speed as well the supernatural gifts of certain vampires. The uncontrollable, childish behaviours of immortal children battled the vampire laws of secrecy, and these children often attracted the notice of humans. Because they were too young to be controlled, the Volturi killed all those who could be found. Under this law, anyone who knows about or stands by the child is also punishable. Countless humans and vampires were massacred because of these creations. The creators of immortal children and those who knew of them were utterly devoted to the children and opposed the Volturi at all costs to protect them, and were all destroyed in the process. The Volturi found themselves punishing individual covens for the behavior of their immortal children with a much greater frequency than other occurrences of lawlessness. Because of the devotion inspired by immortal children, the Volturi were forced to destroy full covens in order to destroy one immortal child. After some study into the matter, the Volturi decreed that immortal children were not capable of following the law, and therefore it was made illegal to create them. Creating one has since become the worst crime in the vampire world, under penalty of death for both the child and its creator, whether the child has broken the law or not. Even after the law was established, we kept two children to experiment on. A boy named James and a girl named Mandy. However, no matter how many centuries we'd spent teaching the children, they still could not be controlled or taught. After they determined that immortal children could not be tamed, they had the children destroyed. “ “hmm. I can see why now. They are indeed a threat to our safety.” Maeryn said. Alec nodded his head and pecked her lips. “Will there be a fight?” Maeryn asked, slightly worried. “Most likely, but don’t worry. We have never lost a battle, and we never will. I promise.” He said as he pulled her down and kissed her passionately,

continuing the love they had just taken a break from.

[coruscantguard]

In The Absence of Induration

Whumptober Day Three - Alt Prompt - Comfort

Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Cuddles

Commander Thorn & Commander Fox

Warning for PTSD, implied past child abuse, and clone trooper-typical identity issues

(Ao3 Link)

Thorn is halfway through getting up off of Fox’s bunk to go dump the datapads on the Commander’s desk when a hand catches his wrist.

He flinches, and it’s instinctive, reactionary, violent. It’s a damn good thing that the hand loosens its grip immediately, as if it hadn’t, it’s owner would’ve met a face full of datapads. 

“Manda kriffing hells, Fox, really?”

“Sit the kark back down, shabuir,” Fox snaps, with all of his usual tact. 

“I’m just putting the datapads on your desk so you don’t decide to do them in the middle of the night,” Thorn replies placatingly, and he tries to tug his wrist out of Fox’s grip again. Fails. In his defense, he’s tired. “Fox.”

“You have a broken leg, sit the kark down,” Fox snaps, breaking out the Commander voice this time, and that’s surprising enough that he doesn’t even fight back when Fox kicks his knee on his unbroken leg out from under him, even though the impulse is there.

He falls on the bed with a thump, and unceremoniously drops the datapads on the ground. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, do you want me to call Naat and tell her that you’re ignoring her instructions? Because I have no problem with ratting you out. I’ll take great joy in it, actually.”

Thorn glares at him. Fox looks back mildly, face pleasant. 

Force. In his months away, he’d forgotten how infuriating that expression was.

“Listen, I’m just gonna--”

“No, you’re not,” Fox interrupts, and tackles him fully onto the bunk.

“Oh, kriff you,” Thorn says, but he sinks into the violent embrace anyway, getting in a hit to Fox’s ribs that makes him curse. Thorn grins at that, barely managing to avoid the elbow Fox throws his way, and catches his arm, pinning it.

(And they’re clones, they’re born and bred soldiers. Weapons down to the bone. Natborns just don’t… understand. Violence is always going to be the language they understand best.)

Fox doesn’t try to get out of the pin, though, and his hands are insistent in their cling even though a punch had probably been their goal just moments before, and Thorn makes a mental note to prioritize looking into what happened when he was away. Despite how obviously touch-starved as he is, Fox very rarely allows himself the luxury of being anything even approaching the realm of needy. To have him clinging to Thorn's side like a cephalopod is worrying, even if Thorn admittedly doesn't mind the contact. 

But...

“I really should go back to my bunk,” Thorn says, and pokes the back of Fox’s neck, squirming halfway out of his grip. In response, Fox kicks him in the shin. “Hey!”

“Lie the kark back down, kriffer. Naat will kill me if I let you go back to your bunk.”

“No, she won’t,” Thorn says, rolling his eyes. “For some goddamn reason she actually likes you.” 

Fox physically rolls over to face the wall in response, because he’s a dramatic bastard. “Yeah, that’s why she’ll grant me the mercy of death instead of prolonging the torture,” he says dryly, “now, stay. Sleep. That’s an order, Commander.”

Kriff. Kriff. He wants to, but...

If there's anything the last few months of back-to-back escort missions has made Thorn acutely aware of, it's his own destructive potential. Even without Hammer, he can cause damage. He’s a CC. Causing damage is his entire purpose. It’s literally in his blood. 

(And he’s not-- he’s not talking about the affectionate controlled fights, here. This is a wild kind of destruction, uncontrollable, like a Kamino typhoon, brought upon by specific memories, sensations, dates, feelings.)

In hindsight he knows that he was extremely lucky that it was Senator Amidala who woke him up during his last mission. Senator Amidala is kind, and merciful, and apparently knows exactly how to dodge when waking someone up who's still trapped in the throes of a nightmare, and Thorn is never ever telling Fox about that incident, because Fox's fear tends to manifest as lectures on tactics where he's citing regulations, and Fox only cites regulations when he's either justifying a dubious course of action to a superior officer, or scared out of his goddamn mind and grasping at straws.

"That… might not be the best idea," Thorn says. He hates to turn Fox away on the rare occasion that he actually asks for something, but he'd hate to hurt him more. "The anniversary of, well, you know, is coming up, and recently I've been—" twitchy, jumpy, unpleasant, vaguely murderous to the point that Thire has started making snide comments comparing me to you which is hypocritical as hell considering that it’s Thire saying that, "—off. I've been off."

Fox doesn't say anything in reply, but his silence feels unimpressed anyway. Thorn sighs. "Briar woke me up the other day by poking me with butt of Jek’s sniper rifle, and I managed to get in a damn good punch before I realized where I was. She was literally holding a gun-- turned on stun, don’t give me that look-- and standing a full fifty inches away, and I still managed to break her nose. Sleeping in the same bed as someone else is not a good idea right now."

Fox is quiet for a moment, but then he rolls over, punches Thorn’s arm, then collapses on him, going limp and pinning him to the bed. Thorn wheezes as his still-bruised ribs protest, and Fox headbutts his chin as an apology, says, “I know when people are going to hurt me, Thorn.” A pause, then: “You won’t.”

Kriff. There’s a bone-deep certainty there, and it’s one Thorn can’t argue with. It’s like by saying the words Fox has spoken it into existence, created a guarantee that Thorn can trust, made it so that he physically can’t hurt him. He says it the same way he’d say Kamino is an ocean planet, or the clones were made for the Jedi-- like it’s an undeniable fact, like there’s no argument to be had because it’s simply the truth. 

And trusting Fox comes as natural as breathing does at this point, but seeing how that trust is completely and unconditionally returned feels uncomfortable in a way that Thorn doesn’t want to examine, so. Time to change the subject. “Are you trying to break my ribs, osikovid?”

Fox snorts. “Not my fault that you have weak bones.” 

“We have the same bones, di’kut.”

“That’s what the Chancellor wants you to think.”

Thorn blinks. Blinks again. “How much sleep have you gotten in the last week?”

“How much have you gotten?” Fox asks, and his voice is soft, but there’s a thread of steel woven into it, a hint of beskar-clad spine in the pointed nature of his question, even as he somehow manages to simultaneously entwine himself further into Thorn’s side. It reminds Thorn vividly, almost violently, of when he was a cadet and Blackout would do the same, and he has to force himself to breathe through the instinctive panic that thinking about his batchmate always brings. 

Blackout is smart, and strong, and he’s got the best luck out of any vod. He's in special ops because he's one of the best. He’ll be fine.

He has to be fine.

Anyway, Blackout’s grip as a cadet tended to be looser, probably because he wasn’t dealing with fifteen layers of repression and touch starvation, but the weight of Fox’s body feels the same and that realization sits heavy on his chest. “Touché,” he says, and Fox mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like knew it into his blacks.

Thorn sighs, and he tries to muffle the yawn that follows it. Fails.

"Go to sleep, di'kut," Fox says, because he's kriffing omniscient or some other osik, and Thorn really shouldn't, but--

Maybe he can just close his eyes for a moment or two.

-

osikovid: shit + head in mando’a. this is probably done wrong, but i am very tired, rip.

and if you think you recognize bits of this, you don’t, but actually if you are one of three people, yes, you do, as I accidentally posted a snippet of it last July, oops lol <3 <3 <3

[moons-and-stars-and-shit]

Hi, I just found your blog. And I actually haven’t read anything yet but I saw that you do crystal and star match ups and that is so niche and cool I haven’t come across that ever so I thought it warrants support.

I’m really excited to your works! I am actually interested to get a star match up if that’s possible for a new follower.

I’d like to ship myself with Kuroo as of lately that guy is the only guy I can’t get out of my head lol.

I read that the big three make up your personality but inner placements and planets: (Sun, Moon, Rising, Mercury, Venus, and Mars) have a bigger impact on your personality than the outer planets so I figured I’d offer that too.

My sun sign is Aquarius

Moon sign is Sagittarius

My ascending/rising sign is Libra

Mercury sign Pisces

Venus sign is Aquarius

And Mars sign is Aquarius.

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕡 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕂𝕦𝕣𝕠𝕠

𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑠 🪐

The Planets Mars and Pluto rule Scorpio, and the Planets Saturn and Uranus rule Aquarius.

Mars is a revolutionary, aggressive and spirited masculine energy, and Pluto enlightens these impulses and adds a rebirthing, cyclical quality.

Saturn is a cool, contained energy, and Uranus is about all things different and unusual.

Mars is emotional, reacting without thinking things through; such is the nature of Scorpio.

Saturn demands of Aquarius much hard work and discipline, while Uranus gives them that forward thinking mind.

A gentle Scorpio lover, careful not to tether an Aquarius in too tightly can teach their mate about a life based on emotional intuition, one that quiets the intellect sometimes in favor of physical sensation.

Understanding Aquarians can teach their serious Scorpio mates to calm down, to detach themselves from uncontrollable situations and to reevaluate their goals if they get off course.

𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 🔥💧🍃🌬

Scorpio is a Water Sign, and Aquarius is an Air Sign.Air is about the intellect, so Aquarius tackles life as one chance to grow and explore after another, while Scorpio is more analytical.

Scorpio looks for purpose, and Aquarius seeks stimulation.

These love mates have trouble understanding one another’s origin of thought.

Confrontations arise is Scorpio’s possessiveness gets the better of them or if Aquarius seems too cool and flippant and denies Scorpio emotional reassurance.

Both need to learn that they view the world in different ways and they should celebrate and laugh at their differences.

𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 🤞

How on Earth is it possible for two honest and straightforward individuals such as Scorpio and Aquarius to have such a problem to trust each other?

The problem here shows its face when they get too close.

As soon as Scorpio starts to assume that Aquarius should be tamer and belong to them in a loving relationship, it will result in a forceful rebellion and the counterattack of their partner.

Things could really get out of control if any sort of manipulation takes place, and unspoken tendencies might tear them apart in a matter of minutes.

𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 🤝

For as long as they don’t give in to their stubborn, unmovable modes, these partners could have great conversations about all strange topics they can imagine.

None of them will want to have small talk or discuss their day at work. It is futile from their perspective, and although Scorpio likes to be in control of everything their partner does, it will be refreshing to talk to someone who says unusual things.

The biggest quality of their relationship is an incredible connection of depth and width in only one couple.

They will both have trouble understanding our society as it is, and have certain similar perspectives on anything out of the ordinary.

Scorpio exalts Aquarius’ ruler and this is why their relationship is the possibility for both of them to grow.

Not only will Scorpio adore the intellectual strength of their partner, but they will also help them understand the way their ideas might be realized through a feeling of ultimate possibility.

The weakest link in their relationship is their respect for each other, combined with their static natures.

We would think that both of these signs are in connection to change and they couldn’t possibly be static, but in fact, they are static in their way of change, and their biggest challenge is to stop for a minute and treasure what they’ve found in each other.

𝐸𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 😠😔😊

If love happens between them, the most typical scenario is for Scorpio to fall into an obsessive mess of feelings towards their uninterested Aquarius partner.

It takes a lot of work and commitment to reach the emotional core of Aquarius, and it is impossible to get there without spontaneity and trust.

Scorpio can be spontaneous in situations that are free of emotions, but will rarely let their love for someone be a part of a maybe-yes-maybe-no swing controlled by their partner.

Aquarius will rarely tolerate or be with someone who tries to make them be more stable and down to earth, or anyone who quenches their desire to be free.

As soon as they feel obligated to do anything, they will start pulling away and any emotion that might have been developing will suddenly be covered by the fear of commitment and the rut of everyday life.

If they want to reach emotional balance, Scorpio has to be untied, realize that their partner will never belong to them and that they are free to leave anytime.

They will have to understand that this relationship might end tomorrow and there is nothing they can do about it but accept it.

On the other hand, Aquarius will have to confront their emotional depth and be ready to make certain changes in their approach to romantic relationships, so they can steadily feel understand Scorpio’s emotional nature.

𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑠 🤲

They will both value excitement and change and this will be a strong meeting point for their characters.

Unfortunately, most of the other things they would value in their partner are completely different.

While Aquarius values free spirit, communication and independence, Scorpio values commitment and deep emotional connection.

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑦𝑠 💪

For as long as they stay out of their ego battle, they could find many things to do together.

They will both like to take risks of any kind and their best date could be anything from parachute jumping to a night out in a casino.

The best way for them to spend some quality time together is in some sort of intellectual activities and competitions, because this would allow them to manifest their possible hostility in a healthy way.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 💕

When Scorpio and Aquarius make a love match, it is a fusion of two very different life philosophies and many very different needs.

There is much chance for friction here.

Where Scorpio faces their inner emotional world directly and with an intense energy, thinking deeply about the more hidden undercurrents of life

Aquarius takes that same sort of energy and turns it outward.

With their unusual, idealistic and, above all else, very social outlook on life, Aquarius seems an odd choice for the more introverted Scorpio.

Aquarius needs a crowd to feel stimulated, and they’re always looking around the room for the next interesting person to get to know.

Scorpio, on the other hand, desires engaging, probing and very intimate time with their romantic mates.

This pair may seem to have very little in common, but they both have such strong wills that, when focused on their relationship, can get them what they need and want.

Both Scorpio and Aquarius can be uncooperative and opinionated: They like things to go their way, no questions asked!

For this love match, though, ‘their ways’ are very dissimilar. Scorpio is inquisitive, digging deeply into the hidden meaning of things, always asking questions and wanting to know where things are going and why.

Aquarius is progressive and affable yet does not enjoy detail. Scorpio may be enticed by their differences, as Aquarius shows them new, exterior worlds but may end up frustrated trying to get answers from this eccentric enigma.

Aquarius does not welcome possessiveness, either, preferring to belong to the world rather than one single person.

But a stinging Scorpion can be fiercely possessive, and they require more attention than an Aquarian might be able to give.

If Aquarius slows down and pays attention, they may find the devotion Scorpio provides to be a great support.

[madeofsplinters]

You and charlesdances have been giving me life with your Tarkin/Daala headcannons. One thing I've been thinking about lately though is would Tarkin be a better jedi or a better sith?

Thank you, and what a fun question!

Four reasons why Tarkin, in an AU where he’s Force-sensitive, would be a better Sith:

1. He’s power-hungry! Sith are ALL about being power-hungry. Tarkin may have principles after a fashion, he may even genuinely believe that him being ruthless and seeking power is for the overall greater good, but deep down he really is in it for himself. (c.f. Grand-Uncle Jova’s insistence on “personal glory” as the one valid goal)

Though Tarkin, especially New Canon Tarkin, is also very capable of deep loyalty to a specific leader who he trusts - which is handy to have when you’re a Sith Apprentice.

2. He has zero respect for the Jedi code of ethics. Peace? Harmony? Compassion? Meh, only if you want to be weak and lose everything :-| 3. The “passion vs calm” angle is an interesting one here, because Tarkin projects an image of being very coldly rational and unruffled, and that attitude might actually serve him pretty well if he was in the Jedi Order. However, the more I get to know Tarkin deep down the more convinced I am that he makes quite a lot of decisions out of anger, impulse, and an intense sense of drama, and just rationalizes them so hard that some people don’t notice that’s where it’s all coming from. Dude blew up a planet out of spite! There’s plenty of suppressed rage in there for a Sith to deal with.

(The Tarkin novel shows him having been much wilder and more impulsive when he was younger, in the Justiciars, etc, so that’s also a fun thing to think about. I think that the image of being rational and controlled is something he worked on and cultivated deliberately as he got older.)

I think that although Sith Lords cultivate anger and hate and draw power from those emotions, it’s not necessarily an uncontrolled anger. We see Sith Lords like Sidious, Tyrannus, and Maul being very canny and very patient in how they carry out their plans, even if the plans are fueled by wild, hateful passions. Vader is more the impulsive type, but even Vader is able to make plans that require patience and subterfuge when it suits him. It’s not that Sith don’t control their anger, in my opinion - it’s that Sith deliberately build up feelings of anger so as to direct it for their own ends, while a Jedi (depending on your interpretation of the Jedi) would rather suppress anger, work to calm down from it, or process it so that the underlying cause is resolved. So this Sith way of dealing with anger and passion is actually very compatible with Tarkin!

4. Tarkin’s career has been guided in many ways, subtle and overt, by Palpatine. And we all know what side Palpatine prefers his pet Force-sensitive boys to be on...

All that being said, while Tarkin becoming a Sith seems more natural to me, you could also definitely spin an AU where he’s a Jedi if that’s your preference. I imagine that would work a little bit like the Jedi Maul AUs that I’ve seen cropping up - it would be a fun chance to see an alternate, softer Tarkin and to imagine what might have been if he’d been raised in a way that was sliiiiiiighly less terrible than what he got on Eriadu. :D

[dast218]

Days that turned into months and eventually years - Pt 4

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

** I see Damian as cold, at times irrational and a type that won’t think straight after years of being essentially lied to. (He definitely possess hidden love and kindness as well)

I was debating on whether or not to post this but here goes nothing - DLDR

------

Marinette felt numb. Thoughts were uncontrollably rushing through her mind without any direct path. It had to be a dream, it just had too. Right? Her mind is playing tricks with her. No way is that actually Damian. No way would her lover be standing at arms reach. If she dared to stretch out would his form evaporate into thin air? She wanted to test out her theory but at the same time was too afraid to let go of the possibility of him being here, even if it was just a fluke.  

Memories were rapidly flashing, hitting her senses hard. Moments of happy times spent together, days of cuddling in bed, late night adventures, playful bantering with the Waynes, family pranks and their last fight. A feeling of failure suddenly hit her like a train wreck. The dark-haired women couldn’t move, as in the background she saw the faces of those who she cherished  judging her for not fighting harder, mocking her weak attempts of escaping and laughing at her current predicament. What kind of hero does it make Ladybug if she can’t even protect herself? Marinette felt herself shrinking. 

On the other side of the door Damian wasn’t doing any better. He just stared at the doorway, without exhibiting any clear emotion. His face was pale. Was Marinette’s ghost hunting him? But why does it feel so real? Is it really her? He wasn’t able to catch a single clear thought as the reality was crashing into him. What was he supposed to do when someone who he accepted as dead was standing in real flesh and soul right across from him? His body and mind felt hopeless as no answer arose.       

Both of the adults were desperately stuck in their minds until a small and gentle voice  interrupted. As Damian looked down he saw a girl slightly younger than Thomas tugging Marinette’s long sleeves. The resemblance between the two was disturbingly transparent. The young child’s long dark hair was tied into a high ponytail, her blue eyes were glistening with concern as her darker skin complexion was elicited by the setting sun.  

“Mom you ok? Father asked me to come check”

Marinette visibility paled but kept her composure with a soft “I am fine go back inside” 

That short exchange stopped Damian dead in his steps once again. Did he just hear mom and dad come out of the mouth of the girl who looks almost exactly like Marinette? FATHER?! Before his mind was able to spiral down into the deep hole of misery and confusion a new figure stepped into the frame. 

A well dressed, dark haired man with a seemingly gentle smile walked up to the entrance. At his arrival he wrapped his arms around Marinette and kissed her on the cheeks without receiving any response. Marinette stood there lost in thought. Holding up his free hand he announced his presence.   

“Good evening Mr. Wayne its a pleasure meeting my new business partner. I am Andrew Dobronski and this is my wife Mrs. Dobronski.”   

Mr. Dobronski pointing and calling Marinette his wife was the last straw. Damian saw red. He lived through all these years of grieving, all these years of trying to think positively, all these years of telling Thomas that his mother loves him and is watching from heaven just to witness her finding someone else. What kind of stupid game is the universe playing? His wife, his goddamn wife is standing with some stranger wrapped around her ALIVE! Could he still call her his wife, after all it looks like she married again to some richass billionaire. Was the kidnapping just for show? Couldn’t she just tell him off like a normal human being? Damian couldn’t. His emotions were running wild, screaming to escape. Built up rage and the remains of the Lazarus Pit magic were arguing with his soul to be let out. Inside he was fighting to remain in control.

Damian might have won the battle, walked back peacefully and took his time to rethink his feelings like he had learned to do over the past years if it hadn’t been for the slick comment of the billionaire. In the near future he would regret his words. 

“Mr. Wayne is everything alright? I hope that my wife hasn’t offended you while I was busy inside.” 

Something in Damian snapped and everything exploded. Looking directly at Marinette his inner thoughts released in a high range fury.  

Marinette felt the urge to fight back but as she opened her mouth the hands around her tightened. The billionaire's nails dug into her skin as she fought the impulse to grin in pain. There was a clear and silent message: Don’t you dare say anything if you know what's better for you. In return Marinette stared at the rose bush outside, trying and failing to cancel out Damian’s voice. Her inter thoughts kept reminding her that she deserved his wrath after abandoning their son at the mere age of one. 

If Damian was more observant and in full control of his emotions, he might have noticed their interaction and figured out what was happening much earlier.  

They stood there one screaming, one looking away and the other slightly smirking for what felt like hours.

--------- 

In a venom filled voice Damian stated, “I am done here. Good night.” 

As Damian was walking away, he came to an abrupt stop when Mr. Dobronski called out. Looking back he saw the billionaire approaching him leaving behind a stunned Marinette. 

“Now that you have taken care of your personal business can we discuss the business accept of your trip. This partnership is especially important for the International Wayne Industry.” 

Damian stared dumbfounded. This guy really thinks that I care right now. I want to get out of here.

“I have some errands to run… You can contact one of my brothers to fill in my spot.” 

“Very well.” 

---------

Leaning back on the door, Marinette closed her eyes and shrugged into herself as she was trying to hold back the tears that were about to spill. ‘Hold it in, you already did it so many times. Keep it up. Don’t show a sign of weakness, don’t allow him to win.’ She kept repeating the rehearsed speech to herself while trying to calm down.

Pushing all her emotions aside she reluctantly looked up just to be directly facing a smirking billionaire.  

“You invited him on purpose” 

“So I see you liked my surprise. How it is like losing the last person you cared about, someone who was supposed to love you till the end.” 

Marinette deflated with that punch to her heart but picked herself up quickly. Stepping aside she started moving away from the older man and suddenly felt a strong force pushing her back. He grabbed her hands, slammed her body on the rigid wall and held her hands above her head. 

“Now listen to me little lady. Under my roof you are going to look at me when I speak and wait until I give you permission to walk away. Do I make myself clear” Receiving a small node he continued, “I hope that after Mr. Wayne’s lovely speech which might I add had gone a hundred times better than expected, you will get your head out of the gutter. Now I thought you had plans for later tonight, better start getting everything ready.”       

Rubbing her left wrist Marinette followed him deeper into the mansion.   

Its better not to get Damian or his family involved in this. Just let it go Marinette, its for the best. There's no say what Andrew and the rest would do to them.

--------- 

Sorry not sorry. In the plot’s defense, Damian had a lot of built up emotions and was in big shock. The kiss and word wife triggered it all to explode. And Marinette isn’t in the best headspace right now. 

Damian had a chance to split his heart out, so now it's only fair that Marinette has the same. It's been awhile since she was able to yell at someone. (Possible next chapter spoiler).  

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[twoidiotwriters1]

Pure Blood 12 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

Words: 2,646

Masterlist: 

Chapter 11// Chapter 13

"P!" I hear in the distance. "Persephone!"

I open my eyes and meet Jenna. Her body is on top of mine, her hands on my shoulders.

"What?" I whisper hoarsely.

I turn to my right and the other girls we share the room with seem scared. I return to Jenna, "What?" I repeat totally lost, my throat is dry, my body is waking up little by little. I'm drenched in sweat.

"You're good?" Jenna says.

"What happened?" I finally ask.

"You were screaming…” Says one of the girls.

“Claire woke me up when you started. It was horrible, seemed like they were torturing you” adds Jenna.

I frown and she gets off my bed.

"Do you remember your nightmare?" I shake my head as I slowly sit down on the mattress, rubbing my eyes. Claire hands me a towel, I thank her and wipe my face. "We should go to the infirmary.”

"It was just a nightmare."

"P, you are still trembling and you are pale. Madame Pomfrey must have some- "

"No," I say shortly. I sigh and look at all of them. "I'm sorry I woke you up,” I lie down with my back to them.

“P-"

"Good night, girls," no one answers. I only hear their footsteps back to their beds.

I couldn't sleep in what was left of the night; My dark circles are evident and when I arrive at the dining room the next day, the first person I see is Regulus.

"You don’t look well…”

"Thanks, it's what every girl wants to hear"

"Sorry, but you really look sick" He looks at me worried.

"I couldn't sleep well last night, but it doesn't matter, I'll sleep on the train"

"Are you sure you're not-"

“I’m sure.” I interrupt, trying to smile at him.

We have breakfast and then we leave the castle towards the train station. We enter the train, find an empty compartment, and lean back in my seat. I sigh and look at my friend.

"Remember when you asked me to be your girlfriend?" My question takes him by surprise and his cheeks flush.

“I planned everything in detail," He smiles embarrassed.

"I still have the ring,” It was back at home, I was playing with Sirius in the yard, then Reg and Alphard came out. Little Regulus, six years old, nervously asked me to be his girlfriend and gave me a green toy ring. Sirius was so angry that Regulus cried.

"Sirius was jealous,” He adds making me laugh.

"Everyone wants a little of me," I joke.

“Alphard got the ring. I remember being nervous and didn't know what to do, but he helped me”

That day, after the boy ran away I went to look for him, he was hidden under the dining room table. I spoke to him and accepted the ring, told him I would keep it well, and kissed his cheek.

"The ring was too big," We both laughed.

"I can't believe you still keep it," I shrug. "I also remember that you forced Sirius to apologize," I laugh.

"I helped him get a cookie Kreacher had made."

"I miss those times," He sighed.

"Me too…” We were silent.

The soft movement lulls me, slowly I fall asleep.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Regulus P.O.V.

Persephone falls asleep on her seat, her small body gives me enough space next to her.

At that, the compartment door opens and Sirius looks in, he sees the girl asleep, then notices my presence.

"How long has she been asleep?” He asks.

"A few minutes, don't wake her up," He nods. He backs up, but I stop him.

"What?"

“Can we talk?" He looks at me confused, but nods.

We both get out of the compartment as quietly as possible. He guides me to an empty one.

"You're good?" I am surprised by his concern.

"Why you ask?"

"You never want to talk to me. I thought something was happening to you,” He shrugs. I shake my head.

"The one in trouble is you,” He growls. "Listen, I know that the obvious is that I’m on Persephone's side, but I can't just leave you aside." And when I think he is going to make fun of me, he does the opposite.

"It sucks, Reg," I sit down and he does the same. He hides his face  with both hands and growls again. "All my life has been controlled by our parents, I believed that once I left Hogwarts I’d have freedom. And then this…” I grimace at seeing my brother like this.

"Lupin's plan will work." He looks at me.

"Since when do you trust Remus?" He raises an eyebrow, I sigh.

"Persephone trusts him, so I do too– Whatever happens, Sirius,” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I'll help you"

“Thanks.” He smiles sideways.

"You just have to take something into account,” His smile disappears. “I’ll do my best so that she doesn't get hurt. And if you get in the way, I won’t hesitate”

"Okay," I frown. "What?"

"I thought you were going to argue back, something like: But I am your brother!” He sighs.

"I know she's important to you… too important." He raises his eyebrows and I look away. "I wouldn’t blame you if you decide to defend her, in addition-" I return to him, "I wouldn’t bear to hurt her, not again"

"I thought you hated her?” He laughs a little.

"I don’t, it's... complicated. You wouldn't understand- even I don't, it just…” He seems to struggle with the words “I don't know, Reg”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Percy P.O.V

I feel my body shake uncontrollably, everyone gets off the train to meet their families. In the distance I recognize the intimidating figure of my father, next to him is my mother and Apollo, along with a blonde girl.

"Ready for the show?" I jump in my place when hearing a masculine voice next to me. Sirius, who makes a sign with his head towards the place where my family is, stands next to me, but there’s something different on his demeanor.

"This is not going to end well," I whisper.

“Easy," He replies, surprising me. We share a look and walk towards our families.

"The future couple,” says Walburga as soon as we approach with a false smile. I want to throw up.

There are no hugs or sweet words, at least not for us. The Blacks greet Regulus warmly when he arrives, while Ares and Amelia welcome Juno with open arms. Apollo approaches us. He watches us without saying anything until the blonde follows him.

"Hello, Persephone, Sirius," She says with a warm smile, which we return.

"Hi Jane," My gaze lowers and I step back just like Sirius. Apparently we both noticed her bulging belly at the same time. "Wow, you're huge," I say without thinking.

"Persephone!" My mother scolds me, but Jane laughs, touching her belly.

“It’s okay, it's true"

"Did you know she was pregnant?" Sirius whispers in my ear. I shake my head.

"Just a couple of months left,” Apollo says, also touching his wife's belly.

"We better go," Says my father. No one contradicts him.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

I get to my room, which is intact, everything is clean and tidy, making me nauseous. Returning home and seeing what it was like before is very strange.

I put my bags on my bed and sigh. Then I hear someone knock on my door, I open it and meet my older sister Isis.

"The small misfortune of the family, finally returned" Her smile makes me shiver. She’s always been quite rare, her sense of humor is cruel and she’s really impulsive. She never bothered me, it was just her in her world, but now I'm afraid she can do something to me.

“H-hi," She enters the room and I open the door completely in case things get ugly. At that Balder enters with a wolfish smile.

"It- it's good to see you," I say in a shaky voice.

"Excited to marry the older Black?" Balder says still smiling.

"Oh, that must be her biggest dream since she was a child," adds Isis, sitting on my desk. Balder sits on my bed. When they don’t receive an answer, they both laugh.

"Family meeting?" Juno says entering.

Great, this is great. I back up until I reach the wall opposite them.

"Dear Juno, how’ve you been?" Isis asks.

“I'd be better if you stopped sending me so many letters telling me stupid things," She growls, making Isis laugh hysterically.

"Oh, come on. Didn't you like the howler?” She and Balder laugh again and high-five each other.

The three continue to interact while I stay quiet. I’d like to be happy that all my siblings are reunited like before, but this time is different. I know everything is going to explode and I have a feeling none of them will help me if something bad happens. They didn’t, last time.

Isis and Juno fight over something else and Balder just watches them amused. Of all the brothers, Isis and Balder are the ones who get along best, as children they were inseparable, in fact, before we all got along well.

Apollo was the most serious but the most protective, especially with me. Isis always tried to make us laugh with some nonsense, Balder was the most active, always playing Quidditch or some other thing, then there was Juno, she always tried to pretend to be more mature, hiding her smile behind books. But all of that changed over time.

Apolo married after Hogwarts with Jane, that girl so sweet and warm, at first I didn’t understand how she could be with my brother, always calm and quiet. Their marriage was also arranged, but Apollo was lucky and over time they fell in love, now they’re expecting their first baby. No wonder they didn’t tell me the news, since they moved we’ve hardly spoken, it was rare to see him at the station.

Isis is also married, but she doesn’t take her husband seriously, he’s quite a jerk. When we met him, he wanted to control all of my sister's movements, but she always found a way to get out of his grip. Balder was sent to Dumstrang, he only has this year left, then he’ll be trained to be a professional Quidditch player, why did my parents agree to  that? I have no idea.

The discussion is interrupted by Kles, the house elf, announcing that dinner is ready. We left my room and sat at the huge table. The order was always the same: my parents at each point, then to the left of Ares there should be Apollo, then Balder (although now Apollo’s wife is there) on the other side Isis and then Juno, then me, the closest to my mother

"I want you on my left, Persephone," Says my father without looking at me.

Everyone is silent, Isis and I switch places. My hands tremble and I feel my heart pounding out of my chest when I reach his side.

The soup is served and everyone eats in silence.

"You look sick,” I look up to the front where Apollo is, I shrink in the chair.

“It's nothing," I say in a thin voice.

"Let Jane check you,” I look at the girl and she smiles at me with a nod. Jane is a healer.

"She said no, Jane won't do anything," Ares interrupts.

I look down at my plate. My mother clears her throat and starts a conversation with Juno about her splendid notes at school, the attention goes to them throughout the dinner.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"He's a boy," says Jane, sitting next to me in the armchair in front of the fireplace.

"Good," I say. I lift my legs up and hug them by putting my chin on my knees.

"Are you sure you feel good, honey? I can check you,” I shake my head.

"I haven’t slept well,” I’ve said this so many times that I’m fed up. She sighs.

"I have a potion to make you sleep better"

“It's not necessary-“

"It was not a question or a suggestion, I’ll tell Apolo to give it to you before you go up to your room," She says, surprising me. I just nod in response.

We were silent for a few minutes until she spoke again.

"I guess you didn't take the news of the wedding well," She says a little nervously, I look at her.

"I don't want to sound rude, but I don't want to talk about it now, please," She laughs softly. I look at her in confusion.

“You’ve changed. I remember the first time we met. You were quite rude when they told you I was going to marry your brother”

I feel my cheeks flush.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"Don't worry, I understood. You just wanted to protect him, it was cute ”

"At first I thought that all that kindness was part of an act to be accepted in the family"

"But Sirius asked you to give me a chance. That boy was a delight. Is he still the same? ” Again, my cheeks burn.

"I suppose…”

"Oh look at you, you're embarrassed," She teases, causing my face to turn red.

“Enough!" I say, laughing.

"It reminds me of when I met your brother," She says in a dreamy voice. I grimace making her laugh. "I was lucky to have someone so attractive"

"Oh no," I cover my ears and she tickles me to remove them, in the end only our laughter was heard.

"I see you’re having fun," says Apollo, sitting down in the individual chair next to ours.

"Your dear sister cannot bear to know that you’re one of the most beautiful men in the world," She replies, making him laugh.

I watch my brother for a few seconds without being able to believe this facet of him. It's weird to see him... happy.

“Ew!" I complain and laugh again.

"Accept it, sister," I shake my head. "I have a good reason to be with the most beautiful woman in the world."

Janes looks at him tenderly and kisses him, while I act like I’m about to throw up.

"Please stop,” Jane's laugh stops and touches her belly, Apollo and I see her worried.

"I can't believe it, the baby’s kicking!” Apollo kneels in front of her and raises her blouse and then puts his hands on her belly, waiting. I look at them confused,

"Isn't that what they're supposed to do?"

“He hadn’t done it, ever. The healer told us there was nothing wrong.” Apollo frowns and walks away a little. Jane pouts.

"We talk to him all the time, but he doesn't want to answer," she says with a sad smile.

I go up to her and touch her belly.

"Maybe he’s too serious like his father," I joke and feel a small push in my hand. "Wow! What happened?" I remove my hand.

"Oh, Merlin. It's you!”Jane squeals. "Say something else!” She takes my hand and returns it to her stomach.

"Uh..." I think deeply. "I hope I'm your favorite aunt, otherwise I won't give you gifts!”

I yelp when the baby kicks where my hand is. Jane and Apollo laugh delightedly.

“Persephone," I jump up when my father enters the room. Apollo does the same. "Go back to your room, I don't want you near my grandson.”

His words surprise me and all the joy from before fades away.

"She's not doing anything wrong, father," adds Apollo.

Ares just looks at him raising an eyebrow, but then he goes back to me.

"If in two minutes you are not in bed, you’ll face the consequences.” He sentences and then leaves.

My breathing becomes rough and my anxiety returns. I don't waste time and run to my room ignoring the calls from Jane and Apollo.

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