#I could talk about so many details of their dynamic its so.

[cognitosclowns]

whenever their expressions line up 10,000 years are added to my life

[proxythe]

i haven’t played p5/r in a while so forgive me that this entire thing is mostly off dome.

what i mean when i say “ryuji is the heart of the phantom thieves” is that i do genuinely believe that he is the glue that holds them together. without him, the group inarguably loses its charm, and would simply not function without him there. he’s outspoken, protective, and might be the only one who i feel has a genuine love toward every member of the group.

i need to replay to do a whole thinkpiece, but for now i do want to share the ryuji moments i remember the most, and why they are part of the concrete evidence that shows ryuji is the most important piece of the phantom thieves.

first of all:

such a casual dialogue that is amplified by a thousand simply because of ryuji’s unadulterated love for his friend… i am moved to tears by this interaction. i love him very much, and he is near and dear to the deepest parts of my heart.

secondly:

i admit im not in the know about a lot of persona fandom stuff, but i personally don’t see a lot of people talk about this? ignore joker on the right this ain’t about him. this is, i think, the first of many instances in which u notice how quickly ryuji jumps to defend his friends, namely his female friends, and it’s a huge part of him that draws me to his character.

since it’s atlus, it’s not hard to miss that ryuji is definitely victim to their “perverted male character” trope, but for me, the moments where ryuji is having genuine thought put behind his character, are the moments when he so intensely - and is usually the first to - defend the other phantom thieves.

another example:

the phantom thieves are each others biggest support system, as they’re a team, but ryuji is definitely the one we see show that off the most. i will not be going into details as this is all off the top of my head, but trust me i am thinking about his confidant and backstory as i write all of this out.

more:

this has always been on my mind as well, because not a day goes by where i don’t think about how quickly ryuji reassures his friends, since they r the most important people to him in his life.

more and more:

a less serious one, but i do genuinely enjoy the thought of ryuji just bragging about his friends because of how cool he thinks they are. when i say ryuji is the most obvious about how much he loves them, i am deathly serious. that is his family.

was excited to include this as well, as it goes to show even people ryuji has only known for a month are still worth going to war for. ryuji holds such an affection for his friends that it’s like i don’t even have to say more. he is literally speaking for himself here. i will never understand how anyone could dislike someone so passionate for the happiness of their own friends?

lastly:

i am personally not a huge fan of the negative dynamic atlus likes to portray between ryuji and morgana a lot of the time, so this is why this frenzy(?) is one of my favorites in p5d. morgana is the character ryuji fights with the most, and yet when morgana is feeling dejected, ryuji is there to pick him back up. obviously i know this is how the dance works and whatnot, but u cannot lie and tell me ryuji making him happy again didn’t make u almost cry a bit… it’s okay, i did too…

conclusion:

this ryuji shit gets serious, be prepared to die behind it.

[austinsastrology8991]

> Interceptions; through signs/houses <

interceptions are an overcharged, under-appreciated facet within a natives chart. its something you are acutely aware of and are usually extremely distasteful/uncomfortable of. Its something that was neglected in previous lifetimes so you are forced to fix it now...

1st/7th house or Aries/Libra - these people are very noticeable but in a uncomfortable way for themselves and others... they come off extremely strong (they are very imposing accidentally but also not in a good way) and they are always switching between being extremely self conscious of this or very idgaf. This creates a dynamic where they come off very wat da fuq > and are projected onto a lot and have a habit of projecting onto others a lot. 2nd/8th house or Taurus/Scorpio - These people are very insecure, but others are usually extremely unaware of this, which only accelerates the natives insecurity. To others they come off very valuable(2)/powerful(8) but usually they do not relate to this feeling within themselves at all. They however may overcompensate these feelings of inferiority by appearing stronger than they feel inside, and they are very good at convincing others this. Until it does inevitably crumble and everyone is shocked because their facade is relatively strong. 3rd/9th house or Gemini/Sagitarrius - These people are very talkative or the opposite; they are mindful of their answers and those of others, but because of their overthinking tendencies it makes them very fidgety and always need to have a great deal of input into the conversation. This makes others not sure if they smart, because they low key annoying to talk to (ya'll just sayin too much) but they dont appreciate their own cleverness because they mentioned every dot point in existence and this makes them feel stupid; don't know what a summary means or you made 5 summaries which defeats the purpose of one in the first place. 4th/10th house or cancer/capricorn - These guys had a rough childhood and you've never seen a more self protective person of their image. So they never reveal much and this statue-esque vibe they give off is very unesettling and many people talk about this lack of care they display because everyone knows ya'll just give a shit way too much. They avoid responsibility and emotional vulnerability often, and it creates conflicts within their personal life and that of their reputation. 5th/11th house or leo/aquarius - They doin a lot of vibin and not in a viby way. Its too much and they know it too and this creates conflict within their personality of not feeling like they shine in the way they wish they could, so they try even harder to shine the way they envisioned. But too others its the same song / dance we are so used to seeing this with them. This creates conflict in their presence within the community, and it can make them have a poor self image/ identity. 6th/12th house or virgo/pisces - they work a lot but they never satisfied with what they did, so they again work even harder. You can find these guys up at 4 am still tinkering their assignment/ project and even if theirs so many details implanted into it, its never enough and so they still doing more. They also neglect things that are necessary such as eating, or cleaning, because they are so focused on what they wanted to accomplish. This hurts their spirit because they never feel satisfied with what they have done with their life, despite working so damn hard.

> Im going to talk about double signs in my next post; and your double signs are what makes your interceptions far more bearable/ useful. But I want to encourage everyone to work on their interceptions, because it is a weakness, but it really can become a strength if you just put some practical work into it. < How to find interception? easy check yo house cusp; E.g. >

intercepted aries/libra in 12th/6th ;p > BEcause the Aries / Libra symbols is absent ^^^^ also after pisces and before taurus is 'Aries' which is swallowed up within the 12th house****** <That should make it obvious how to read now**** Oh and we always getting 2 gifs do not worry and these gifs *special* they encapsulate intercepted energy perfectly.... actually intercepted energy initself is encapsulation!!!

[shewreckz]

Hey your art is pretty whimsical and radical my gender non specific broseph, per chance would thou be able to enlighten us on how you draw such bodacious fine art? Like how you draw bodies and fave and what have thee. (Fr tho your art really cool and I'd like to see how you make it)

okay i have whipped up a quick little visual of my thought process while drawing!! it might not be the best cause im not the greatest at teaching but if anyones curious ^_^

first lets start with how i draw bodies

a lot of people like to do the "skeleton" method which is where you draw lines and circles to plan out where the limbs should be. honestly i really dislike doing that because i like to always have volume and shape in mind when drawing bodies, but if it works for you thats great.

instead i separate the body into different pieces, kinda like an articulated doll. i think it helps visualize all the moving parts in a 3d space and makes posing and perspective a lot easier. i can also always add the detailed anatomy on top of this basic model like you see on the left. its always important to work from simple -> complex. drawing a pose while being too worried on anatomy will really hinder your drawing process.

to improve doing this it really just takes practice and observation. i could be here all day talking about proportions, and how many heads high a person is, and each specific muscle group, but i reccomend you go and watch videos and study professional artists on your own. as someone who has been drawing and studying these things for so long, i barely think about how many heads high a person is when im drawing a body. its kind of like learning how to play and instrument or driving a car. it becomes second nature eventually, but you have to apply those skills and work through that period of time where youre still trying to program it into your brain.

after you get a hang of the basics you can take this basic model and draw all types of body shapes with it. i say its always important to play around with making your body types diverse. its not only fun to do but helps make all the characters you draw unique and recognizable. (dont be like vivziepop).

dynamic posing can be the hardest thing to master for a lot of people. the best way to learn how to pose is to not think about it too much and just doing it. for example in my figure drawing class we had to sketch out gesture drawings from a picture in 15 seconds. excercises like that help a ton in making you feel more comfortable when drawing from a reference. you should definitely reference a LOT when it comes to poses, it helps build this visual database so that eventually you can get to the point where you can just draw accurate and dynamic poses from memory. after getting to this point eventually you kind of start thinking of your canvas as this tangible 3d space and considering your characters in 3d space helps make the poses feel a lot more realistic and interesting.

ok now a quick little tour into how i draw different faces yaaaayy!!!1!1!1

main thing with my art is that i LOVEEE drawing dynamic face shapes i think its so important to avoid drawing the same slim faces over and over. shape language plays a big role into this. like for example the face on the middle is more square, the one on the left is more oval and the one on the right is more circle. shape language helps communicate so much about your character without even saying a word about them and just helps differentiate people from a glance.

facial features also play a huge role into making your faces different. these are all drawn from the same exact face shape but look like entirely different characters by adding variety in the features. different noses, eye shapes, lips, etc. can make such a huge difference

i think before any of that its important to learn the anatomy of the face though. again im not gonna go into how many eyes wide a face it or how far the nose is from the mouth but like its always important to learn the fundamentals before stylizing stuff. again the face is a 3d space and if you dont consider your face a 3d plane the features will kind of just look like theyre floating on your characters face like soup...theres a lot of great resources and tutorials online take advantage of those!!! and reference from artists you like too it helps a ton.

and then you mix that all together and Boom you have cool and interesting faces. you will best that same face syndrome in no time if you take my advice Trust...

anyways yeah thats the soda design philosophy hit that like button if you liked it or douse me with tomatoes and kick me off the stage if you think i give bad advice ill leave the decision up to you

[catboybiologist]

Are you comfortable with questions about your journey to HRT?

Like, mentally how you took the leap of faith from femboy to needing something more / different. Asking for, uh, *a friend*, yeah 👀

Holy shit, this got long. This springboarded me into a massive writing about how my life influenced my personal gender philosophy, and is probably more than you bargained for. But I hope it's helpful in some way! I actually had a similar conversation recently with an NB, not on HRT friend of mine. What's the jump that makes you want to do HRT?

I don't think my experience parallels that of a lot of people's - everyone's is unique. But I do think there are good takeaways from my thoughts on this. Now that I have an Adderall prescription and my quarter is about to end, I've started writing some kind of more cited and developed essay or video essay, but that's random future stuff. This post itself is gonna be a little rambling, and a little personal. Sorry!

Vaguely, I think that the *push* to start HRT was a distinct force from tearing down the internal barriers associated with HRT, if that makes any sense. For many people, I think they have some sense of a mild preference of the gender they would "want" to be, but it doesn't bother them enough to actually break down the barriers to transition. For me, breaking those barriers, both internal and external, was as important as the motivations to transition themselves.

One of the major barriers in people's heads, often without them realizing it, is some kind of inherent belief in the "sanctity" of their body. For many people, "permanent changes" are terrifying, "unnatural", and even if they don't have medical risks, intrinsically *feel* like a medical risk they're taking on some level. It's an offshoot of purity culture in a weird way- it's the same root as a fear of psychiatric medicine making you "not you". Much of this is intrinsically religious, but a lot is actually not. I had a little bit of this growing up. Being raised atheist certainly helped in this regard, even though it was still a queerphobic slavic atheism.

The tiny bit of this I did have was sanctity of my mind, which internally, I still viewed as a separate entity from my body. This was 100% incited by crushing academic pressure, which influenced how I think and my own morality in a lot of unexpected ways. I grew up in a kind of infamously high pressure education area. It sounds unrelated, but it's really not. My mind, academics, and thinking kind of got put on a pedestal on my mind. My personal image of myself was basically a detached orb of thoughts and public speaking. I had 0 connection to my body. But since my mind was everything, both psychiatric medication and HRT were these vile things that could alter how I think and my mood! Gasp!

The final, crushing blow to both of these mentalities was studying biology. And WOW there's so much I could say about how studying biology has influenced how I think about this idea, which I want to talk about a lot more outside of the scope of just a tumblr post. But to summarize- it's not even about finding a biological "reason" for transness. It's about how I saw a living thing as a detailed, dynamic, intricate, constantly changing system that is as much a function of its environment as it is any intrinsic factors. And this includes the mind. So since I'm a shambling mass of chemicals anyways..... Why not be a shambling mass of slightly different chemicals?

The "detached orb" image isn't entirely accurate, though. Because, from an early age, I did have a self image that made me happy. And it was a female one. I shoved this deeply out of my mind in shame, leaving behind the "orb". This was my "push", as I called it before. In addition to a weird separation between my mind and my body, an additional factor contributed to my detachment- a growing distress around developing male traits during puberty, which coincided in the worst ways with academic pressure during teen and preteen years. Looking back, I now recognize this as dysphoria. I don't think my dysphoria was ever as extreme as many other people. But this is why I'm emphasizing taking down barriers as much as the weight of dysphoria itself. It has always been easy to distract from my dysphoria, but it's always been my "resting state" without realizing it.

Linked a bit to the second point is also how I felt shame about exploring any aspect of my life other than academic and professional achievement. Being raised in a high pressure environment means that any exploration of my queer identity felt like a distraction from the "real" things I should be focusing on. The final thing that tore this down, which I don't recommend for ANYONE, was an almost traumatic set of events during the pandemic/my masters degree that made me have a wake up call. I wasn't structuring anything in my life for my own happiness. Going through that made me realize I was going to continue being miserable unless I changed that. So... I started taking the idea of transitioning to actually work on my happiness very seriously.

Being a femboy was actually how I tried to reconcile these things in my head. It was my attempt to "compartmentalize"- allow myself to gently indulge in gender nonconformity and the happiness associated with it, while still not making the "commitment" to fully transition. It helps that most of my existence as a femboy was crossdressing during the height of the pandemic- spending hours on analysis and writing while living alone during my MS, wearing femme outfits while I did it. And of course, taking pics to kick off this whole online persona. I also kind of liked the idea of cis gender nonconformity as a concept, and still do. I love how femboys fuck with gender, and I wanted a slice of that for myself. It wasn't enough long term, and my new commitment to happiness overcame my desire to compartmentalize.

The final barriers were practical. By the end of my masters in 2022, I knew I wanted to transition, I just needed to get my social and financial shit together. Cue moving to my PhD university, becoming active in the queer community here, having an accepting professional environment... and yeah. Here I am. Still gotta socially transition outside of my queer circles, but now, I even have a plan for that. I still got a long way to go, but for the first time, I feel like I'm going in the right direction. And I'm very, very happy.

A lot of this is not applicable to everyone. It's mostly my personal experience. But if there is one thing that I think should apply to everyone here, it's this: kill bioessentialism in your mind. Kill the concept of complete sanctity of your mind and body. Break the barriers and then let yourself move freely across the new landscape you've opened up. At the very least, you'll come out with a more healthy relationship with your cis identity. And at best, you'll find a new part of you that needed to be found.

The other thing I think is broadly applicable is this: when initially figuring things out, stop thinking about what you "are", and start thinking about what you want. Would it make you happy to grow breasts, curves, have a femme face, estrogen regulated emotions, and other transfemme HRT changes? Because those are the actual, physical effects of HRT. If the answer is yes, start it. There's no reason not to. Your identity can come later. You deserve to be happy *for the explicit purpose of being happy*. You don't need to validate that desire through some other random factor.

This got WAAAYYYY too long, but if you have any questions, please, please ask!!!!

[agustdiv1ne]

CONGRATS ON 3K ASHLEE 🥳🫶🏼✨ you’re truly amazing and here’s to many more milestones!!

right so, ik this isn’t a movie, but I was wondering if you could do something along the lines of bridgerton + beomgyu + fluff and smut please 🥹 but if it really is just movies, then titanic with the same member and genre please <3 thank you in advance <3

NOW SHOWING...

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: historical fiction, romance, fluff, smսt

wc: 4.2k

details + warnings: mdni, beomgyu and mc's characters are jack and rose adjacent but they actually have a happy ending bc i said so <3, mentions of alcohol, no established dom/sub dynamics but gyu takes the lead a bit, soft + romantic sex, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't do this!!), my big dick gyu agenda makes an appearance, light dirty talk, a little possessiveness, beomgyu calls mc: love, beautiful

note: SMILES!! TYSM <33 you are one of of my longest moots and i appreciate you and your talent so much! i've unfortunately never watched bridgerton (or else i would have used that ;-;), though i do adore titanic so i ultimately went with that ^^

you have found sunsets to be far more magnificent at high sea.

tonight brings one that is, by far, one of your most beloved from the voyage thus far: a sky flushed a deep rose, billowing clouds contrived of fairy floss drifting above your head. the horizon holds clear where the roseate hue melts into the ocean and scatters about the peaks of gentle waves. it's quite a breathtaking sight, almost too good to be true. a painting; that is what it resembles — you wish that you could reach up and brush your hands through it, watch it coat and swirl about your fingertips like smudged pigments on canvas.

leaning against the railing, you inhale a deep breath of fresh, salt-heavy air. it stings as it fills your lungs. despite the beginnings of spring, the weather has remained chilly, growing further frigid whenever the sky fades to black. now, the sun hangs low, sinking closer and closer to the sea that awaits to swallow it whole — you will be forced to return back inside soon.

sighing quietly, your mind wanders to beomgyu, the man who has won over your affections over the past five days. you wish he could be here with you to see this picturesque display. where is he right now? on one of the lower decks, perhaps? should you go find him?

does he miss you as much as you do him?

not even half a day has passed since you last saw each other, but these thoughts swirl within your brain nonetheless. busy mixing with pretentious elites and the potential suitors your mother demanded that you meet throughout the day, you hadn't found time to sneak away and meet with him despite your aching desire to. you just barely avoided your mother's watchful gaze to escape out here and finally be able to breathe.

as naïve as it may sound, you feel as though you've known the charming man your entire life. strangers with a divine connection — you ponder if you must have known beomgyu in a past life, fell for him just as you do now. your typically rational mind supplies you with grandiose ideas of running away, of fleeing this suffocating, predetermined path that you were born into. he is a breath of fresh air after all of the men that you have met who only wish to marry and mold you into a submissive, obedient housewife that they can then neglect. unlike those men — no, you think, those insolent boys, he is not hungry to further his wealth, to fasten his name to yours for the sake of status. he doesn't expect you to change yourself. rather, he takes you as you are, with all your sharp edges and imperfections, and worships you down to the marrow of your bones.

the longing to wander the entire ship until you find him strikes you square in the chest like a sack of flour, knocking the breath from your lungs. your heart aches. you want to see him. you must see him.

“i should’ve known i’d find you out here.” 

it's quite strange, how the hand of fate plays its cards. you whip your head around, and there he is, with his sun-kissed skin and wind-tousled hair, as if he had somehow heard your thoughts and rushed to meet you. the upward quirk of his lips conveys both fondness and mischief while he moves closer to you, gentle hands wrapping around your waist. you mirror his expression, relief flooding your system at his well-timed arrival. sliding your hands over his shoulders, you link your fingers together around the nape of his neck.

“gyu,” you whisper while you surge forward to embrace him, pressing your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder. he nearly stumbles, but quickly regains his balance, returning the hug. “i missed you.”

“we saw each other this morning,” he chuckles, but the way his arms tighten around you betray his true emotions. 

you deliver a light pinch to his neck in jest, mumbling against his neck, “you’re impossible.”

this simply makes him laugh harder, his chest shuddering against your own. he curls a hand under your chin to remove your face from his neck, and his chestnut-colored eyes find yours. “and you love it.”

“unfortunately, yes,” you admit with a sigh. he smiles wider at that.

a peaceful silence fills the air between you. only the sounds of the ship cutting through the sea fills your ears. turning in his hold until his back presses against your chest, you look back out to the horizon. the pink sky has faded into a muted indigo, the sun barely a semicircle along the horizon. the air has grown colder now, but the warmth that beomgyu exudes wards off the chill that runs deep beneath your skin. your place one hand atop the ones looped around your stomach, the other reaching up to play with the ends of his soft hair.

“where’d you disappear off to today?” beomgyu breaks the quiet first. he feels the way you stiffen within his hold, how your fingers stop toying with his hair, the deep breath you exhale. you can that he immediately regrets asking.

“my mother,” you begin to explain, a bitter, sour note in your voice. “she dragged me from party to party today. they weren’t even parties, really, just excuses to flaunt wealth and peacock about. it was absolutely ridiculous.”

you hear the small giggle he allows at your choice of words, and your lips turn up again. teasing, you say, “i’m glad my misery amuses you.”

“no, never,” he hastily says, oddly serious. your fingers rubbing soothing circles against his scalp is a silent confirmation that you know. a few beats of silence pass once more, your eyes trained on how the sun continues its descent below the horizon.

the ocean's maw has fully consumed the sun when he pulls you back against him, his warm breath caressing the shell of your war and causing you to shiver. the quintessentially impish lilt of his voice returns, a smirk rich on his lips.

“wanna go to a real party?”

and to a real party he takes you. a gathering on a lower deck, the tunes played by the instrument-wielding passengers brash and loud. others sing, some dance, many drink. it's as if you are walking into a brand new world, seeing colors you have never seen before. it is so disorienting yet exhilarating at the same time.

your hand enveloped in his, beomgyu guides you into the sea of noise and moving bodies with confidence towards two men who cheer his name at the sight of him. they each hold a glass of amber ale, eyes glazed over as they spot you behind their friend.

“you finally made it! thought you weren’t comin’,” the slightly taller of the two calls, his words slurred. his fox like eyes meet yours again, and he grins. “you must be the girl he’s been ravin’ about! y/n, right?”

you offer a shy nod and a polite smile, nerves apparent in the way your eyes dart across the room. next to you, beomgyu grows a bit red in the face, but holds you closer to him. how easily he picks up on your emotional state is beyond you, but appreciated.

beomgyu moves to introduce the two men, and you learn the taller one is named yeonjun. the shorter man, his eyes as round as a doe's, is named taehyun. he is far more reserved compared to the other two, but welcoming nonetheless. you converse with them for a considerable amount of time, growing more comfortable the longer you stand with them. none of them seem to care that you come from a wildly opposite walk of life as them; they treat you as a friend all the same.

the conversation soon turns to their history and how exactly they came to know beomgyu. they happened to meet while in paris, yeonjun explains, bonding over their shared heritage and quickly developing a close friendship.

“it’s a miracle we even got on this ship!” yeonjun laughs before he takes another swig of his drink. “gyu won a game of cards back at the port just before she set sail. lucky guy, ain’t he?”

“yeah,” beomgyu responds before you are able to utter a word, looking down at you with fondness coloring his gaze. “i really am.”

the two men soon depart on a search for more alcohol, leaving you and beomgyu alone. he does not take long in snatching your hand to drag you towards the makeshift dance floor.

“beomgyu, wait, i can’t—”

“c’mon!” he exclaims. “dance with me!”

he pulls you close to him as soon as you reach the space. chest to chest, hand in hand. your eyes widen, frantic.

with haste, your voice strained in order to be heard over the music, you say, “beomgyu i don’t, i don’t know this dance, i can’t do this!”

“sure you can!” he jovially yells. “just follow my lead!”

the music surges around your bodies as you begin to skip about the room. with beomgyu guiding you along to the fast-paced tempo, your apprehension melts away. you do not have to be in control, you can simply feel and allow yourself to flow along with him. you squeal as your unsuitably formal dress flutters around your legs and your heeled shoes click against the floor rhythmically. both of you laugh unabashedly, growing drunk on the excitement of it all. your heart beats erratically against your ribcage, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide you beam.

you feel more alive in this moment than you have in your entire life.

he spins you around and around until you grow dizzy. then, you are off once again, eventually joining a line of people holding hands and snaking about the room. you skip along with one hand held by a woman who speaks to you in rapid french and the other still taken by beomgyu, who attempts to translate her words, albeit poorly.

out of breath, you squeeze his hand, and he takes your hint; you break away from the line. others easily fill the void that you leave.

you stumble, giggling, and beomgyu catches you. harebrained and giddy and every cell of your body positively surging with joy, you are unable to even think your actions through before you are cupping his face in your hands and crashing your lips against his.

whoops and hollers sound around you, but the sole thing that permeates your senses is beomgyu's soft lips melding with your own. the grip of his hands upon your waist fortifies, but only enough to hold you to ensure your unchanging propinquity. hurried, ravenous, you devour each other in the middle of the crowd until you grow desperate for oxygen. pulling away, you draw a breath deep into your lungs, mouth agape just as the full force of what you did crashes into you, a strike of lightning straight to your chest.

and rather than fret, your lips split and their corners rise, and you laugh. you laugh and laugh and laugh until you collapse against beomgyu's chest. he gathers you up to his chest before you crash to the floor, holding you by your cheeks while he comprehends your wild eyes and glowing mien.

“are you alright?” he queries.

i think i may be in love with you, is what you wish could say, but you bite the words back before they escape.

instead, you ask, “come with me, please?”

he nods and allows you to pull him towards the stairs that you first entered from. mistakenly, you briefly meet eyes with yeonjun, who stands across the room with a suggestive smirk, eyebrows wiggling in your direction. though your cheeks grow warm, you continue to push forward, weaving your fingers through those of the man following close behind.

the trek to your private chambers takes far longer than expected. both of you are guilty of pulling each other into dark corners and giggling into each other's mouths at nearly every turn. the situation becomes dire once you reach the upper decks, dodging acquaintances of your mother through roundabout hallways. after what seems like hours, you reach the door of your room, swiftly unlocking it and pulling beomgyu inside.

without delay, he presses you up against the door, forearms caging you in, and crashes his lips to yours once more. gone is the nonsensical laughter and teasing touches — now all that remains is a carnal hunger, a bone-deep desperation to feel and to devour one another whole. his sly tongue sneaks into your mouth, dancing with your own before it retracts and his teeth graze your lower lip. you exhale a breathy whine, hands pawing at the rough linen of his shirt.

he pulls away to momentarily catch his breath before he blazes forward to kiss you once more. your finger pressed to his lips, however, halts his movements. questions dance in his pupils.

“take me to bed,” you whisper. 

biting your lip, you watch as the gears within his brain churn as he processes your words, how his eyes grow impossibly darker once he does. the short journey to your bed is a blur in your mind. hands tug at clothes and undergarments until you lay bare beneath his own naked torso, his trousers low on his waist, though unable to hide the aching erection that strains the fabric.

he reaches up to tweak your nipple, causing you to inhale sharply. he finds great delight in how sensitive you are, his lips ravaging your neck until he locates the weak spot just beneath your ear. he bites down lightly. a shock of bliss jolts down your spine, and you squeal his name — god, how he would give away what little money he has to his name to hear that sound every day.

the combination of his lips gliding down your neck and his thumb circling your nipple renders you speechless, merely able to moan and grip the soft sheets below you as he brings you pleasure that you have never felt before. though his calloused hands against your skin feel much rougher than those of the men that your mother forces you to mingle with, he treats you gentler than any of your desperate suitors ever could. almost as if your body is made of glass, he does not press hard enough to inflict pain, nor does he force you to your knees to take him. no man you have lied with before has treated you in such a manner, putting your needs before his own. your heart pounds at the realization. you pray that he cannot hear it.

deprived of warning, his lips and fingers disappear from your skin. you whine at the sudden confiscation of pleasure.

“why did you stop?” you pant, breathless, trying to reach up to touch him. he captures your hands and links his fingers between your own. he presses your arms back against the sheet before he lets go. 

he stares down at you for a moment, eyes trailing from your heaving chest to the swollen pout upon your lips. with a ghost of a smirk, he leans down to press a chaste peck to the corner of your mouth, his forehead now pressed against yours. eyes hooded, he breathes, “patience, beautiful. i’m gonna make you feel good, i promise.” 

“hurry, then,” you plead. you feel as if you are going insane without his touch. addictive, akin to opium; you want more, you crave it.

“ah, so demanding,” he jokes, though he gives in. he allows you no time to respond as he kisses you again, leaning over you with forearm pressed into the mattress next to your head. a hand slides down your side — drawing goosebumps to your skin — to your thigh, spreading you wider for him. you inhale sharply through your nose when you feel fingers press against your soaking center, one slim, rough-skinned finger sliding slowly past your entrance. the groan he emits rumbles against your own chest. he raises his head no more than a millimeter, shuddering at the wet heat that coats his skin as he begins to thrust the digit in and out. 

“fuck, you’re so tight,” he curses, unable to help himself. clinging to him, you bite your lip at his ministrations, nearly drawing blood when he slips a second finger in, stretching your walls. his thumb finds the aching bud just above to ease the sting.

“g-gyu,” you whimper, the sound singing in his ears like wind chimes, urging him to move faster, curl his fingers against the spongy patch inside you, watching how your face contorts beneath him. he fixates on the spot. your hips involuntarily buck up into his thrusts in response, the cord within your stomach tightening. your gaze meets his, desperate, pleading. “gyu, i need, ‘m going to—”

“let go, beautiful,” he groans, grinding his cock into the crease of your thigh for relief. “you can do it, c’mon. let go for me.”

his deep-voiced encouragement sends you over the edge, warmth flooding your veins as your thighs quake around him, nails digging into his tanned skin. your eyes screw shut.

“that’s it,” he coos as you float back down to earth. he rubs soothing circles against the skin of your cheek. “my lovely girl.” 

“want you, gyu,” you beg, stomach warm from the praise. “want you inside.” 

he freezes, eyes wide. “are...are you sure?”

“i’ve never been more sure in my life,” you say. thus, his grin returns. he moves to unbutton his trousers, and you help him, grazing the hard imprint in his underwear. he hisses at the sensation, then stands from the bed to remove his remaining clothing. your mouth dries at the sight, and you gulp. he is quite well-endowed, his cock standing tall against his soft abdomen, the tip an angry crimson, the color fading as your eyes travel down the shaft. you squirm at the thought of it being inside you, stretching your walls beyond belief, pressing into every spot within you with every roll of his hips.

he settles between your thighs once again, guiding his cock against your wet folds. your poorly-veiled apprehension is not lost on him.

“i’ll go slow,” he promises, guiding the head of his cock to your awaiting entrance. “don’t wanna hurt you...you ready?”

with a deep breath, you hum in confirmation. he murmurs out a quiet “okay,” directed more towards himself than you, and shifts his hips forward. the first press brings with it a small ache. you wince, and he slows, inquiring if you are okay. 

you nod. “go slow, please.”

“of course, love,” he whispers, distracting your mind from the pain with his lips. inch by inch, he sinks deeper into your walls, soon bottoming out deep inside of you with a strained moan. he stills to allow you to adjust. as soon as you do, you’re urging him to move. he obeys, thrusts slow-paced and tender until you beg for him to quicken them. 

“yeah?” he coos. “y’want more? you, fuck — you have all of me already, s-so greedy.”

the roll of his hips sharpens, canting upward — faster, harder, deeper. all you can think to do is moan, the thoughts ricocheting in your mind now too jumbled for you to decipher and voice. a fire has ignited in your stomach, growing hotter and brighter when swings your legs over his shoulders. the angle of his thrusts causes the head of his cock to brush against a spot deep inside you, a place that has never been explored prior. a sound that is foreign to your ears tears itself from your chest, loud and unabashed.

above you, beomgyu groans. his head is thrown back, mouth agape, his hair a tousled mess atop his head. a few strands stick to his sweat-drenched forehead. a flush has traveled down and stained his chest, his abdomen flexing in exertion as he loses himself completely. his head drops down again, his eyes meeting yours, half-lidded and brimming with heady lust. you attempt to hide your face in the sheets, growing shy at the intensity of it all, but he reaches down to grip your chin, holding your gaze steady.

“watch me,” he orders. in a daze, you obey, glassy eyes barely able to comprehend the bombardment to your senses. his free hand locates your slick clit, rubbing quick circles, breath shaky as your walls flutter and tighten around him. “so good. so good for me, beautiful. no one can make you feel as good as i do, hm?”

“o-only you!” you manage to agree through your cries. he slips his thumb past your lips, and you immediately begin to suck on the digit.

“so pretty, such a good girl,” he mumbles out, half delirious. “will never get enough of you.” 

your high slams into you in a flash, your entire body quivering around him. beomgyu rapidly pulls out, ropes of his release spilling across your abdomen as he jerks himself, gasping at how your empty hole flutters around nothing. your legs drop from his shoulders, as weak as a newborn fawn's. he collapses next to you, mopping up his release with the handkerchief sitting upon your nightstand, before he pulls you to his chest, holding you like you are about to disappear into the air. he cups your cheek gently, kissing you slowly, savoring every second. when you pull away, there lies an urgency in his expression.

“run away with me,” he whispers, searching your face for something, anything. “once this ship docks in new york, run away with me.”

your chest tightens. he feels the same — oh, he feels the same. you battle back the tears beginning to form on your waterline and hold him close, reaching up to envelop the hands on your cheeks with your own and kissing him breathless.

your forehead presses to his as you respond, a watery smile painting your lips, “where would we go?”

“anywhere you’d like,” he breathes. tears form in his own eyes — hope, unbridled joy. “just say the word.”

your blooming love is not star-crossed, but auspicious, you realize while standing on the deck of the carpathia.

you had been separated from beomgyu in the sinking of the titanic that night, in the frantic crowds shoving towards the life boats and the gunshots ringing out to maintain a semblance of order. your mother had found and pushed you onto one, lowered into the sea before you were able to leap out, to search for him. you sobbed into your palms the entire night, unknowing whether he survived the sinking or not.

but now, he is across the deck before you, alive. his clothes and hair are drenched in seawater, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders — but he's alive, so very alive. he has not spotted you, his eyes pointed out to the sea where the so-called "unsinkable" ship met its watery grave. your hands begin to shake. warm, breathing, alive.

you croak out his name, tearing away from your mother in order to sprint over to him, ignoring the weakness of your limbs and the frantic protests from your mother behind you. your calls of his name amplify in volume. he spins around, and his face melts into disbelief. he races across the remaining distance between you, feet thumping against the wooden deck. arms wrap around you as the two of you meet — two souls colliding, winding and weaving around each other like threads on a loom. tears are not lost upon either of you, streaming down both of your faces as you hold each other, skin against skin as you ensure this is not a dream, or mirage.

“i love you,” you sob. “i can’t, i didn’t know if—”

he shushes you, tucking your face into his chest. “i know, love. i know. i love you, too. we’re here now, we’re together. alive.”

you choke back a whimper, crying until you can no longer. as you shift back to look at him, you find that he's smiling. a thought hits you suddenly.

“where is yeonjun? taehyun?” you ask. he squeezes you once, pointing somewhere across the deck. following his finger, you find them: beaten down, weary, but breathing. you have never been a particularly religious person, but you think that something must be watching from above, providing you such unfair luck. they wave. you wave right back.

“we floated on top of furniture until a rescue boat found us,” he explains. “we were lucky. i was half dead when we were found.”

the thought punctures your chest, but he doesn’t let your thoughts run astray for long. “it’s okay, love. you couldn’t have done anything.”

“i know, but—”

“but nothing.” a gentle smile plays on his lips. “we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“yes,” you say, your expression reflecting his. “shall we still plan to flee?”

he grins something tired yet enthusiastic. “of course, beautiful. there's no one else i'd like to see the world with more than you.”

3k event masterlist | masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[yesimwriting]

hello! I was hoping for a Joel miller imagine where the reader gets hit on in a bar when she’s dating Joel and he sees this and confronts the guy and hits him because he’s aggressive and is all protective over the reader!

I love your writing and this would be amazing thank you xx

A/n first joel request,, slay

update: watched the new episode, bill and frank, still crying 

i feel like this gives post outbreak joel a little more bc of the physical protectiveness,, but i can't remember if there's much/any descriptions of like literal bars in the QZ,, i've only watched the show and i don't remember seeing details,, like ik there's alc/pills available, but actual bars??

idk it's possible i've missed it or forgot bc i have terrible memory

so enjoy my 'makeshift' bar concept as i try my best to deviate from canon as much as possible

not to shamelessly self promo,, but if you like this fic i have another joel fic with what i feel like is a more developed version of this dynamic (bc it’s longer and more internal monologue centered) here and i’m making a part 2 for it so if you like these vibes and want something similar, it’s there, it exists :) 

----

You're staring again, and trying your hardest to convince yourself that you're not. It's more than pointless, it's bordering on ridiculous.

Joel Miller is not some fleeting crush that’d fit somebody in grade school better than it’d fit you. Not anymore. You know what you are. You've had a talk. The kind of talk that you didn't think existed anymore in this world.

It wasn't exactly the rom-com 'what are we', but after a man Joel was dealing with got a little too friendly, it led to an argument. One you didn't fully understand, especially since Tess practically lived by his side.

Don't pretend, you might come off as all innocent, but you're too smart to be that naive. Men like that only have one intention.

And that had rightfully infuriated you, because after weeks of lingering touches that could be justified with a few words but never were and all the goddamn looks, he had no right to lecture you about another man's intentions with you. His intentions don't matter because that has no affect on me and who I am. Why the fuck does it even matter?

Why does it matter? It had been this subtle scoff of a response that made you take a step back. That made your back brush against the wall of his apartment. Because I don't want other men like that lookin' at you, let alone speaking to you.

The world stopped spinning on its axis and all the air preparing to leave your lungs was trapped with no where to go. Too many implications. 'Other men like that', the inclusion of himself in men that had those intentions. Maybe even more importantly, the implication that he’s some sort of exception.

 Even more deafening, your response: Well maybe I wouldn't speak to them if you didn't entertain ev--

The rest of your sentence, whatever it would have been, was lost to his mouth on yours. A snapping of tension that took its time fizzling down to something less consuming. Something that allowed you both to talk enough to make it clear that Joel was yours and you were his.

It wasn't a magical snapping into place like it might have been in a world without the outbreak. In some ways, it added a new layer of hesitance, and in other ways it propelled you forward. There are growing pains with anything new, and the whole relationship thing is definitely new to you. Especially in this world.

If only you could get past staring. Maybe after Joel secures the whiskey-bourbon-hybrid whatever they're passing as alcohol these days from a less than trustworthy trading contact, you'll get buzzed enough to graduate to handholding, or at the very least, you'll be able to do something besides sit there.

You're starting to feel insane. How is making out easier than the small things? Maybe the setting is more at fault here than you. In the outside world, any form of attachment could easily be twisted into weakness. It’s likely best that you keep some distance from Joel here, especially with the way other men keep looking over at the two of you. 

It’s not like you’re never awkward about the little things when confined safely between the walls of Joel’s place, that’s slowly but surely starting to feel like it’s at least partially yours, as well. But the way you get in public is something else entirely. It’s probably for the best. There are already too many eyes on you. 

Like the guy with red hair that glints oddly in the yellow light of the stranger’s building. He’s swaying slightly, a dark looking glass in his hand that he’s yet to release in the entire time you’ve been here. Every time one of his friends leaves him, his gaze returns to yours. 

Your skin crawls each time, but you keep your expression as stoic as possible. Joel’s getting better at trusting you, better at letting you serve as a sort of backup in the way that Tess usually would. You know that if it came down to it, the man that keeps looking at you wouldn’t be an actual issue, and you know Tess wouldn’t let it get to her. 

Ugh. Another thing you want to get yourself to stop doing. Comparison. It’s ugly and so insignificant. Tess didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms when you first showed up, but you get that. And eventually she warmed a little. You think she’d still trade you for a few ration cards, but she doesn’t hate you. She’s, at the very least, no longer skeptical of you. The other day you caught her hiding a smile over a joke you made.

But it’s hard not to compare. They were the closest thing either of them had to a support system for years before you showed up, and you know that they’ve been together casually. Always casual. Joel stressed that part, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to know, especially now. 

You bury the thoughts the way you often do and turn your attention back to Joel. Back to staring. At least you’re consistent.

A man peaks out of the closet that seems to be the source of all the alcohol. He gestures vaguely in your direction. “That’s us,” Joel says, voice flat, “Wait here, I’ll be back.” 

Nodding as if to dismiss your own thoughts, you beg your mind to not create imaginary problems by reading into him telling you to stay. He’s walking a few feet away to get some boxes, it’s not the rejection insecurity is making it out to be. “I’ll hold down the fort, keep away trouble.” 

Joel blinks, turning his head in your direction briefly. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, which is more of a reaction than he likes to give when in these kinds of places. He shifts his hand casually, his fingers brushing against yours briefly as he stands. The gesture is small but immediately dislodges the lump in your chest. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It’s little more than a whisper, but there’s something hidden beneath the roughness of his tone. A pinch of lighthearted humor that’s only visible to you. 

It eases you even further. Joel turns away, moving behind the long table serving as a sort of bar counter. You tap your fingers against the surface without much thought, taking a second to absorb the easiness of it all. It’s rare that getting anything require so little. You don’t think anything’s ever come as easy as sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool. 

“So...” You blink, posture straightening as your eyes flit to the source of the sound. “Guard dog finally left you alone, princess?” 

Okay. Ew. Of course it’s the guy that’s been staring you down since you first sat down. You have to fight to not let your nose wrinkle. There’s no good in reacting, in escalating the situation. “Not a guard dog.” 

You hope that it’ll be enough to show that you’re not interested. “Aw, not feelin’ too friendly, baby.” Ew. You’re torn between cussing him out or actually punching him. Neither is an actual option. Places like these are a minefield and you refuse to be the one to set off a series of explosions. “Maybe you’ll cheer up after a drink, could get you one.” 

Turning your head, you take a breath before replying. “I have enough friends.” The stranger is clearly apart of a group. You don’t know if you could call them all friends, you’re not sure there’s enough casual trust in the world left for genuine friend groups. But they’re at least acquaintances, or work associates, or maybe they met here, equally inebriated enough to accept each other. It doesn’t matter, the point is they were chatting up a storm before he decided to wander over here and bother you. “And it looks like you do, too.” 

“Fine,” he relents too quickly, “Let’s not be friends, then.” His hand shoots forward, landing firmly--and disgustingly--on your waist. “Let’s be something else.” 

You’re unsure if you’re more repulsed by his hand on you or how terrible that line was. Your own hand clasps his, pushing and pulling in an attempt to create a space. He’s relentless, even when your nails start clawing at him. “If you want to keep your hand, I suggest getting off of me.” 

He blinks at your threat and then grins, flashing a smile that’s missing teeth. And then he laughs. A cold chuckle that makes its way beneath your skin. “God, I like them feisty.” 

Shoving your fingers under his, you manage to pry him off of you. Your foot moves, heels smashing into his toes as subtly as possible. “And I like them when they know how to fuck off.” 

His smile broadens, a cynical undertone to the look that makes it worse than before. “Oh, darling,” his hand finds your arm, tugging you forward, “You’re gonna pay for that.” 

“Pay for what?” Relief washes through you before you’ve even fully registered the familiar, even timber of Joel’s voice. He’s speaking in a lower tone than usual, an icy rage that you can feel in your bones and it’s not even directed at you. “Touching what’s not yours, ‘cause you’re the only one doing that.” 

There’s probably something you should say. A subtle warning to not go beyond scaring off the man that is clearly incapable of respecting a woman’s autonomy outside of another man’s claim over her. To not take it too far because it’s not worth it. Because you have it under control. Relatively.

Instead, you’re silent as the man releases you. He takes his time assessing Joel. The stranger is physically smaller and Joel does have that edge that only comes from someone that’s lost enough to be dangerous to anyone threatening what’s left. 

The man holds his hands up in defense, his glass sitting precariously between his thumb and pointer finger. “Easy, man.” You don’t even have to look at Joel to know that that was the wrong thing to say. “I didn’t mean any harm, if you set the price right, I’d be--” 

The rest of the proposition is taken care of by Joel’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw. You hear the audible crack before your mind can make the connection between Joel’s quick movement and the man’s silence. 

Holy shit. Joel didn’t just throw a punch, he threw a punch meant to shatter bone. He barely glances at you, and you’re too focused on the fact that Joel’s standing there, completely fine like he didn’t exert enough force to knock over a grown man. You blink as Joel extends the arm he’s been using to hold the small case. 

You’re too shocked to do more than take the box. The implication of why he’d hand you the box while still standing there doesn’t settle until Joel’s throwing another punch. Each hit is more committed than the last, even when the stranger’s knees give in and he collapses. 

Yeah, there’s definitely something you should say. Now. Like right now. You’d never ask him to hit anybody once, let alone do whatever he’s doing now. But words like ‘stop’ and ‘okay, think he gets it’ all jam themselves so far down your throat, you wouldn’t be able to pry them out with a wrench. 

All you can do is watch. It’s the kind of morbid fascination that reminds you of what it felt like to drive a little slower when passing a car wreck. You’re rooted in place by a realization that’s always been there at the back of your mind, an implied awareness. Joel’s more than just prone to violence when he needs to be. He’s angry. 

It should scare you. Terrify you. Your stillness should be some byproduct of that. But it’s not. Joe’s not a danger to you, he’s a danger for you. 

It’s a level of protectiveness you never thought you’d experience. Your chest feels warm. You hope you’re not messed up enough to consider this some grand display of love. However, there’s a vulnerability in the violence you can’t deny. You’re in a public place, the kind of morally questionable people that are far from above exploiting vulnerability. And yet here he is, announcing an undeniable attachment. 

Joel finishes, chest heaving and hands still curled into fists. The low light makes the thin layer of sweat on his skin seem like he’s practically glowing. His knuckles are already evidently split and swirling in distinct shades of blue and red. You’re mesmerized. 

“You can’t do that shit here.” 

That’s it. The only reprimand. In the world of before, he would have gotten the cops called on him. He would have gone to jail. 

Joel looks up, mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to fuck off. He then looks at you, gestures with a tilt of his head for you to follow, and walks forward. 

You try not to think of what it must look like when you follow, quickening your steps to get closer to him after you’re out of focus. When you reach the door, Joel pulls it open with one hand and reaches for your fingers with the other. 

----

The way your eyebrows draw together when you’re examining an injury is different than the way they pull together for anything else. It’s too focused to be concerned and too concerned to be focused. 

Joel could stare at that expression for longer than he’d ever admit to. He could concentrate on that little line above your forehead and forget about everything else. “I’m fine,” he mutters, knowing that there’s no real point. You’ll do what you’re going to do when it comes to these kinds of things.

You nod absentmindedly, another small sign that you’re not as here as you normally odd. “It’d be awfully sad if you died of something as small as non-fungal infection.” 

He swallows, minding that look behind your eye. Things are still normal, you’ve yet to show any sign of rejection. He kept your fingers locked practically the entire way here and you let him. Never pulled away. 

It’s not like he needs to apologize. Joel did nothing wrong. He even gave you a minute to handle the situation, but the man was relentless. The kind of asshole that takes advantage of a world with little order to prey on women. Joel would do it again. And again. And again. There are no regrets there.

You’re not naive. You know what you signed up for when you accepted him. He’s never hid that from you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always had a pension for forgiveness, a pinch of empathy the world hasn’t managed to snuff. 

“You’re dramatic, anyone ever tell you that?” 

A touch of a smile pulls on the corner of your mouth. “Hm. Think I’ve heard that once or twice from this one guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, cute, but not really my type.” 

Joel smiles, a partial laugh escaping him. “Really?” 

Turning over his hand with a gentleness he still finds difficult to understand, you press a quick kiss to his palm. You move back into your previous position so quickly it almost feels bashful. “I think you know the answer.” You flip his hand so that his knuckles face you again and go back to cleaning them. “You know, you didn’t have to...I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do that.” 

Joel can’t help his partial smile at that. Like there was ever any doubt. “I know,” he manages, “You’re not that.” 

It takes a second for you to understand what he’s implying. That you’re not like him. Yes, you get mad and you have nothing against putting people in their place, but you don’t like hurting people. Your lips part awkwardly, like you want to say he’s not that either, but you can’t. He just proved it to the both of you. 

“Nothing wrong with being like that,” you say, all too casual, “So don’t say it like it’s this big thing.” There is no end to the level of understanding you offer him. He doesn’t deserve it, he never will. “And you’re not like that in the way you mean. That asshole was, you’re not.” 

Joel lets out a low breath. Of course, even this you’d find a way to reframe. “You’d think so.” 

“I’m right.” It’s a quick reply, and the exact kind of response he expected. “You’re not a shitty person just because you beat up some guy or any of the reasons you’re thinking. New world, new morals. Accept it.” 

Your lips pull together into what’s almost a pout in your determination. Always so sure when it comes to him. “Mhm,” he breathes, watching your surprise at his compliancy. You know something’s coming, but not what. Your awareness does little to help you when Joel twists your hand in his pushes you back against the couch. “And what about you?” 

He hasn’t grabbed your hands yet, but you stay still, eyes trained on him. “I am a lot meaner than you think I am.” 

He tilts his head down to hide his amused expression. Your version of mean is fighting back. “You want to prove it?”

[that-ari-blogger]

What Secrets Lie In Mystacor's Shadows?

So, it has been noted many, many times that She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is a series about trauma. And usually, this takes the form of overcoming conditioning and pre-programmed responses. But there is another aspect of the trauma that is less obvious.

Adora suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), not from the war or the Horde, but from Shadow Weaver. This is examined in the topic of this post, In The Shadows Of Mystacor.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

I'm going to start by taking a look at the bath sequence. It shows two things. One: Adora is paranoid and brings a sword to a place in which she should feel safe. Two: Shadow weaver is just messing with her.

That's what's happening here, this is how Shadow Weaver acts. Her stated motive here is bringing Adora back to the Horde, and her preferred method is psychological. She tries to scare Adora into returning, she tries to convince Glimmer and Bow that their friend is unreliable. And she tries to convince Adora that her friends are giving up on her. She's trying to isolate her prey.

Shadow Weaver doesn't have to be a physical threat to be intimidating. She's intelligent, and manipulative. Her power comes from her patience, and her drive, her understanding. She doesn't have to be present to have an impact.

"I saw her shadow on the floor"

A shadow is a reflection, of sorts. It is a sign that there is someone there, not detailed, but enough to be sure. Shadow Weaver is very much here, but its her shadow. You see the impact she has had, more than you see her.

There's even the transition at the end, as the shot of Adora fades into a much closer and larger Shadow Weaver, showing their connection and power dynamic with all the subtlety of a crocodile in a steakhouse.

Despite receiving its name in 1980, Post-traumatic Stress Disorder is one of the oldest mental health problems afflicting humanity. It is a response to fear and/or pain that is designed to avoid the same situation again.

Shakespeare famously wrote a character from Henry IV, Hotspur, with what would now be diagnosed as PTSD. There is a whole speech on it in part 1, which I highly recommend you look up. But Cambridge University, the article Shakespeare And Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, gives another description from the bard of the phenomenon:

"Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!" (A Midsummer Night's Dream)

In essence, PTSD has many forms and symptoms, but most revolve around sensory processing and instinctual reactions.

Notice how Adora shows both in this episode. She mistrusts her senses about Shadow Weaver, and immediately goes into a fighting position when snuck up on by Glimmer and Bow.

The point I am making is that this is an episode about Shadow Weaver as much as it is about Adora, and a lot about her can be inferred from Adora's reactions to everything.

"Pull it together, Adora. There's no way shadow weaver can be here."

Again, notice how Adora's shadow is the spy, the influence. Again, Shadow weaver is here, not in person, but through Adora's trauma.

The most stressful scene in this episode is Adora, alone, in a room, taunted by her own thoughts, or rather, thoughts Shadow Weaver has put in her head.

It is almost more comforting when we finally see Shadow Weaver. She becomes a tangible problem, one Adora can talk to, one Adora can physically fight.

I've mentioned Shadow Weaver's shadows before in how they frame a shot, but that was in relation to Catra, notice the difference in how they interact with Adora. With Catra, the shadows cover her up, and corrupt her, they look painful, like claws that scratch specifically at her eyes. With Adora, the shadows encircle her, they compress her, they trap here. The imagery in this shot is reminiscent, at least to me, of fingers clasping shut around Adora to reach for her and grasp her, to control her.

"I could give you Etheria, we could rule the world together."

Here we finally get Shadow Weaver's actual motivation. She doesn't align herself with any faction, she wants control. She offers Adora the world not out of benevolence, but because Adora is the one who can give the world to Shadow Weaver, and all she has to do is manipulate Adora's perceptions to get what she wants.

I do not like Shadow Weaver.

Previous - Next

[romanarose]

Awakening: Melatonin

Frankie Morales x Benjamin Miller

Awakening Series masterlist

Summary: After the events of the group sex (detailed in the masterlist above) Frankie had been distant from Benny, not ready to admit his feelings for Ben. On a camping trip, they can't help but fall into each others arms.

Warnings and content: Anal sex, anal fingers, m/m, blowjob, balls sucking, love confessions, sexual repression, not the most correct termonoligy (Frankie and Santi largely use gay as the same as bisexual/lgbt/queer. They are old men so give them grace.) Internalized homophobia (not a lot, Frankie is just struggling). Aftercare <3 fishben bickering, Miller teasing.

A/N its been. 5 months since i updated lololololol IM SORRY!!! But! I had such bad writers block with how to get them together without just repeating the same stuff as Boys of Summer, but I DID IT!

I know this is just FishBen, not reader so you dont gotta read it when i now ur here for group sex, but next chapter will be the grand finale

ONLY ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT!

**************

“Fish. Hey. Catfish. Frankiiiiiiiiieeee”

“Oh my god, what?”

“I’m fucking cold.”

Frankie sighed loud enough that Ben could hear him in the next tent. The group had gone camping: Frankie, Benny, Pope, Will and you, and when you and Santi offered to set everyone’s tents up in order to let everyone start swimming, he should’ve been suspicious. Granted, he was suspicious. Suspicious they you and Santi wanted to fuck in the tent, not that the two of you had set Frankie’s tent up next to Benny’s. Assholes. You probably did fuck though.

“Of course you’re cold, you were swimming until fucking 10 pm. I fucking told you to start drying off while there was still sun out but you-”

“Oh my god, Fish, live a little.”

This is what simultaneously drove him insane and endeared Ben to him. Ben was a trained soldier: smart, capable, bright. ‘A one in a million talent’, as Will had said… but when he was out of the military, away from Pope’s insane missions and not in the ring, Benny had no impulse control. He chased his next high constantly, never being concerned with the outcome; something he could usually talk his way out of, like he was trying to now. Benny’s excitement for life and thrill at trying something new was contagious, and was the reason they were in this position right now.

Months ago, Pope had approached him, Benny and Will about helping him fulfill a fantasy of his wife’s; being dicked down by all of them at once. What began as a mission to pleasure you and you alone had morphed into something different, a shift in the group dynamics that scared the fuck out of Frankie. The sex was fantastic, you were beautiful and the energy in the room was one of raw sexuality and free love. He supposed he started it. It wasn’t like Benny had done anything to Frankie that Frankie didn’t want. Benny had sucked him off before in the scenario of a threesome with other women, that wasn't new. Benny was bisexual, and a mouth was a mouth so Frankie had been happy to indulge in the sloppy blowjob that ensued between both of your wet mouths… but it was Frankie who had gotten on his knees and kissed Benny, right there in front of the people they loved.

He simply hadn’t been able to take it anymore. The boy was a golden god, sharp but boyish features, devastating blue eyes, and mouth with many talents in and out of the bedroom. He admired so much about Benny, he was his best friend… but he was just supposed to be a friend. The kiss, the way Ben laid beside him when Frankie was still inside you and whispered sweet nothings, the way Frankie cared for Ben after the orgy had ended… none of that was supposed to happen. In the ensuing months, Frankie started withdrawing from Ben, made even more uncomfortable by the seeming romance brewing between Santi, you and Will; something you had all yet to label but were taking step by step. He was pretty sure Will had snuck into yours and Santi’s tent already. 

Frankie’s feeling for Benny were hard to ignore, but he was fucking trying. It was apparently bad enough that Santi had confronted him about it, telling Frankie to just talk to Ben and figure it out, but Frankie had insisted he wasn’t gay.

“C’mon, man, I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. Benny fucking worships you and you used to laugh at every stupid ass joke he made, now you just look at him longingly like a sexually repressed victorian woman.”

“I’m not gay, Pope. Just ‘cuz everyone else suddenly decided they were, doesn’t mean I am.”

Pope had looked a little hurt at that, slightly uncomfortable with being called gay just yet. “Frank, you were kissing him and-”

“So what!” Frankie had thrown his hands up. “It was the heat of the moment, doesn’t make me magically gay. You didn’t become gay when you got a dick up your ass!”

He was looking increasingly hurt at Frankie’s comments, but also obviously concerned at Frankie suppressing this. “No, I’m gay because I’ve always been gay, Benny just helped me explore that, and I think you should-”

“Oh fuck off”

Frankie stormed out after that. He later apologized, of course, and tried to be better around Ben. Benny hadn’t pushed for anything more, treating him like normal and no one had brough up group sex again so many things could go back to normal… but it’s been awfully fucking hard with Benny shirtless all day at the beach in his goddamn speedo.

“Fiiiiiiish”

“Wuh-uh-uh-uuuuht?!” Frankie whined.

“Can I sleep in your tent? Please? I’m fucking freezing.”

“Get another blanket”

“I have all my blankets!”

He wanted to say no, to tell him to fuck off and be more responsible… but watching Benny shiver by the fire early had tugged at Frankie’s heart, making him sympathetic. He could practically here his teeth chattering in his tent. “Fucking fine, but bring all your blankets. I’m cold as balls too.” whose idea was it to swim past labor day? Just because it was Florida doesn’t mean they should tempt fate.

Benny practically scampered inside Frankie’s tent, a broad grin on his face. “Thank you thank you thank you thank!”

Intending on Benny using his own blankets and just sharing the body heat of the tent, that went out the window when he saw his hair was still damp. “Jesus Ben, you’re gonna get a fucking cold, get your ass in here.” Frankie lifted up his blankets to allow Benny inside. Ben, for his part, kept a respectful distance. To Benny’s credit, he’d always been careful with Frankie, never pushing him to deal with this side of himself and never pushing for exploration with him. “For fucks sake, I won’t bite.” Frankie scooted up next to Benny, feeling his cold skin. He was sympathetic to Benny’s plight. 

Gladly, Benny took the opportunity to cuddle right up to Frankie, sharing in his warmth. It was nice, Frankie had to admit. They laid there for a while, their arms pressed up against each other being the only skin to skin contact Frankie’s received other than quick fucks from tinder.

Of course Ben had to start talking. “I’ve missed this.”

Frankie sighed again. Lots of sighing today. “Can we not talk about it?”

“Okay.” A pause. “I can leave, if that’s what you want.”

He thought about the options. Did he want that? Did he want Ben to leave when he felt so goddamn right? “No, Ben, of course that’s not what I want. I just want things to go back to normal. For us to go back to sharing a tent without it feelings weird.”

Benny turned to look at Frankie, but Frankie’s eyes stayed trained on the darkness of the tent. “It can go back to that. We never have to talk about it again, we can just go back to normal-”

“But we can’t!” Frankie whisper-shouted. “We can’t go back after I kissed you, I kissed you. All those other times it was you blowing me I could justify because you made the move, but I did this, it was me, what am I supposed to think of that?”

Benny seemed to think on that for a while, chewing over his words before speaking. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Frankie.”

“But it does, because…” Frankie scrubbed his face, groaning. “Because it meant something. You-... ugh… you mean something… to me…”

Another, longer, silence. “What do I mean to you, Frankie? You don’t gotta answer but… maybe we could start there?”

Damn him, he was good at this. The intense darkness of their tent made for a more conducive environment than the harshlights and confronting words of Santi’s home when Santiago had tried, Benny’s calming voice and open ended questions allowing him to think, to speak clearly and with less pressure.

“I can go first, if that’s easier.” Benny offered.

“Yeah, yeah that might be nice.”

Benny didn’t need any time, it seemed like he had thought through this before. “You are my anchor, Frankie. You are… the thing that keeps me grounded. You remind me a lot of Will, in a way, and you’re the only person he’d probably approve of.” Ben gave a small chuckle. “He’s very picky, but… it’s clear the way you care for me. It’s in the way you wrap my hands before a fight and the way you tell me to get out of the goddamn water” Frankie felt a playful nudge. “And how you let me sleep in your tent when I’m freezing my ass off. You care about me, anyone can see it, and I like to think everyone can see how much I care about you. When the helicopter went down, it was you I ran too, your name I called, you I pulled out…”

“I remember…”

“You make me want to be better. You make me want to take better care of myself to lighten your load. You make me happy.”

Frankie was ready. “You know that song, you are my sunshine?” He wanted until he felt Ben nod… when did Frankie lay his head on Ben’s shoulder? “I heard it the other day and thought of you. Everything else gets really… it's gonna be hard to put into words but that’s the main thing. You are my sunshine. You make my days better, especially in recovery. I’ll be having a hard day and you won’t even know and you’ll just brighten it up. I just want to- fuck I just want to take care of you. You say you want to lighten my load but I enjoy it. I like seeing your smile when I bring you food, I like wrapping your hands correctly because I know it’ll help you and protect you. I like it because I like- fucking shit” He had started crying before he knew his eyes were watering, trying to choke it all back. “I love you, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Benny took a moment to process those words, the confession… before oh-so carefully taking Frankie’s face in his beat-up hands. Gentle, he guided Frankie to look at him. The night wasn’t too dark, but still bright enough to make out vague traces of Benny’s face he loved so much and was struck by how his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. “We can take this slow, Fish. I know Santi jumped into it, but we can take it step by step. Or not at all, but… if you’re ready to admit you love me, I think you're ready for something. And for the record, I love you too. Always have, always will.”

He was doing this. He could do this. Benny would match his pace as he always had, he could take it slow… but right now, he was ready. With Benny beside him… it all seemed so much less scary. “Can you… can you kiss me?”

“Oh baby…” Benny sighed out in relief. “I’ll always kiss you.”

It was desperate, needy, teeth and lips and tongue and in a clamor to release the years of repression between them both, Frankie moaning into Benny’s open mouth.

“You’ll wake them.” Benny said with no real intent to hush his lover. 

“Oh please, Will climbed into their tent an hour ago.” Frankie fisted his hands into Benny’s shirt, yanking the boy towards him. “Fuck’n need you.”

“Always needed you, Frankie.” Benny muttered between heavy kisses, turning his body so he was half laying on Frankie. “Always will.”

Frankie’s hands found Benny’s hips, pressing him down on him so he could feel both bulges between them, and the way Ben rutted against him was electric, shooting to the very core of him and circulating through his body. “Fuck’n desperate.” Frankie murmured in Ben’s ear.

Benny chuckled. “Says the one grinding me on him.”

“Oh my god, you never stop talk’n, do yuh” 

But Ben could feel Frankie’s smile against his skin as they further pressed into each other, a desperate need for each other’s closeness.

“You wanna do this here?”

“God yes, need you.”

“We can take it slow, take it at your pace.”

“This is my pace, I always- of fuuuuck-” Frankie grabbed the meat of Ben’s ass in his sweats. “I always fuck on the first date.”

Kissing down his neck, Benny made sure to mark up Frankie’s neck. Everyone would know who he belonged to now. “Oh, are we dating now?” He teased.

Frankie’s voice was practically a whine. “Don’t fucking play with me, I can’t fucking take it anymore”

He stopped the motions, the heat of the moment cooling for just a moment while Benny forced Frankie to focus on him, only him. “Won’t play with you, promise. I’m yours.”

“Yours…”

It wasn’t long until both pants were shucked off (shirts remaining on for warmth, a blanket covering over them), Frankie fingering his wet fingers into Ben’s asshole.

“Can’t fucking wait to feel you” He muttered to the blonde, wriggling his body further down. “Gotta taste you, first.” Frankie wasn’t sure where to go first. “I’ve never sucked dick before…”

Benny smiled up at him encouragingly. “We don’t gotta worry about that today.”

“But I wanna…” Frankie’s large wet eyes glanced at him from his position between Ben’s legs. “Wanna make you feel as good as I can, Benjamin.” He tentatively wrapped his free hand around Ben’s cock, stick and hard and dripping for him. “Can I just… take you in my mouth, and you control the pace?”

Ben wasn’t sure how much control he was gonna have with two of Frankie’s long fingers in his ass making him pant and moan already, but he agreed, entangling his hands into Frankie’s soft curls as the older man lowered his mouth on Ben’s length. He took it slow, setting a steady pace but not pushing Frankie further than halfway down him. They could work on that later; they could spend the rest of their lives familiarizing themselves with each other's bodies, learning and growing together. Tonight was simplistic.

“Just like that, doing so good Fransisco… oh god doing so good” Benny moaned for him, the cold of the night long forgotten in the wet heat of Frankie’s mouth. His plush lips looked magnificent stretched out around his dick and the way Frank looked up at him as his fingers pumped Ben might be his favorite sight in the world. Frankie, for his part, was in fucking heaven. This felt right, this felt so fucking right and Frankie felt like he could spent his life sucking and licking on every inch of Ben’s body, and let out a whine when Ben pulled him off. Frankie moved further down, taking Ben’s balls in his mouth as Ben spoke.

“Gonna cum if you keep going like that, want us to cum together.”

“Wanna taste you in my mouth” His mouth joined his fingers, licking at Benny’s used hole.

“Seems like you got a whole lot of me in your mouth, Frank.”

Frankie groaned, frustrated. “Need more. Can’t get enough of you.” He lapped at the pale skin, only bits of him the speedo covered, the taste of river water and sweat dancing on his tongue.

“Francsco, look at me.” Ben called to him, and when Frankie looked up, lips detaching from his ass, Ben took his face in his hands and pulled him up for a kiss. “I know you’re making up for lost time, but we got the rest of our lives. I want to feel you inside me, I want to cum with you.”

Frankie nodded, obliging. “You ready? I know we don’t got lube, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You opened me up, and theres lot fo spit” he chuckled. “I’m ready.”

With a deep breath, holding onto Benny’s shoulder, Frankie slowly and carefully slid his cock into Benny’s gapping hole and fuck, it felt… it felt… “You feel like home…”

He didn’t try to fit all of himself in Ben; he was aware his dick was massive and without lube, it wasn’t worth potentially hurting Ben just to bottom out. It started out to deserate, so needy, a desire that just had to be fulfilled but melded into something softer. They had the rest of their lives… tonight could be sensual and slow. Frankie fucked into his new lover, Benny’s head tossing around on the pillow as theirs limps and lips entangled, Frankie chasing Benny’s mouth every time Bne’s pleasure became too might.

“Feel so goddamn good Frank, can’t wait to spend my life like this.”

Frankie kissed his nose. “Can’t wait to spend my life making you smile” He took Ben’s dick back in his hands, jerking him as he pumped into his ass. “Can you cum for me? I can’t hold on much longer, been wait’n too long.”

“Y-yes, yes Francsco, I wanna come with you, please?”

“Don’t gotta beg, just lemme see it, lemme see you cum, I’m right behind you, I promise.”

Benny complied, his body writhing as warm cum shot out from his cock. “F-fucking love you.”

“Good boy, baby” Frankie praised, jerking Ben’s pulsing length. “Look so beautiful cumming in my hand, gonna-fuckinghell-gonna fill up this perfect assohmygod” Frankie’s voice sputtered and hips stuttered as he filled up Benny’s warm hole with his cum, fucking him full. “Good boy…” One final time as Frankie slumped onto Ben’s body and into hsi awaiting arms as he carefully slid out. They laid there for a month, panting as they came down from their respective highs, a wide grin on Ben’s blissed out face.

Once he felt like his legs wouldn’t give out, Frankie a breath and pushed his body up to go get something to clean Ben off, but was surprised when Benny desperately wrapped his arms around Frankie’s body. 

“Don’t go, please?”

Frankie managed to lift up enough to look into Ben’s glowing blue eyes in the dark. “I’m just getting a towel, Ben. I’m not going anywhere…”

The worry of Ben’s face subsided just a little. “I just… I don’t want this to be like last time…” Last time, Frankie didn’t talk to Ben for months.

“It won’t, I promise. Can I clean you up?”

Benny acquiesced, and Frankie wriggled on his pants and left the tent, coming back with a damp towel and some of their waters and trail mix. Tender and soft, Frankie wiped his cum out of Benny’s leaking hole and Ben’s cum off the boys stomach, skin exposed by his ridden-up shirt. “Here.” Frankie made sure Benny had some of the trail mix and drank some water, then did the same himself. When Frankie was certain Ben was taken care of, he redressed him, making sure he was nice and warm. “I ain’t gonna leave you this time, Ben. I’m with you, now.”

Just as Benny was about to nod off, exhausted and lulled to sleep by Frankie playing with his hair, they heard Will from the next tent. Santi and your tent, actually. “Fucking FINALLY!”

The 5 of them burst out in laughter, Frankie nuzzling his blushing face in Ben’s firm chest but smiling still. “Oh my fucking god”

Ben called out to his brother. “How much of that shit did you hear?”

Santi spoke now. “All of it.”

Your turn. “It was a very sweet love confession”

Frankie lifted his face. “So you heard all of it.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly quite.”

Turning to Frankie, Ben shrugged. “Well, we weren’t”

Frankie playfully nudged him.

“So yes, we heard you eating his ass.” Santi teased, followed the distinct sound of either you or Will smacking him. “Ow! Hey, All I’m saying is the recent developments are gonna make the next ORGY wayyyyy more interesting.”

***************

THEY ARE BAAAAAAAAACCCKK!!!!

Thanks for all your patience!

@kittyofalltrades @bit-dodgy-innit @milkymoon2483 @luciannadraven33 @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @cocodiem @imwaytooobsessedwithpedro @twistedboxy @juneknight @angelbabyyy99 @marshmallow--3 @ahookedheroespureheart @kandik @moonknightly @storyarcscribe @itspdameronthings @lou-la-lou @axshadows @saintbedelia @lucianadraven32 @your-voice-is-mellifluousuous @nana90azevedo @luciferiorbxtch @djarinluvr @aretha170 @mystinky-butt @uglie-hoe @sirenphrynne @sammierae-16 @thismessthatsm @luciannadraven33 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @cocodiem @gogh-with-the-flow @paintlavillered @tiny-raccon @luciferiorbxtch @feltonswifesworld87 @whitearmsredhands @pimosworld @mrscadilllac @i-wanna-be-your-muse @violentdelightsandviolentends @lunar-ghoulie @meveispunk @missdictatorme @itspdameronthings @luciferiorbxtch @lonelyisamyw-0love @poeedameronn @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @luke-o-lophus @the-soulofdevil-reads @thepowerthismanhasoverme @miraclesabound @gogh-with-the-flow @simps-central @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @ssuperficialspacecadett @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @broken-arrow-ambassador @thedreadandthefugitivemind

@casa-boiardi @littlevenicebitch @caelumcvre

sorry if i missed anyone!!!

lmk if you wanna be tagged for the next part!!!

[riseofamoonycake]

Luna~ Maybe this is a Halloween request... Idk, but hear me out:

SCIENCE CREW X WITCH READER!!!

Platonic, romantic, one-shots, headcanons, drabbles... Anything! I just love this dynamic just like I love Gomez x Morticia.

Scientist x Witch is simply>>> ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤍🩷🩵🩶♥️❣️💓💕💖💝💞💗💘💟❤️‍🔥

Drink water, eat right, take care of yourself and remember that you are wonderful and much loved <3

And I'm sorry for sending so many asks T v T

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH-

SCIENCE CREW X WITCH READER - HCS

At first time, all the Science Crew doesn't know how to really behave with you: for a long time science and witchcraft have been considered similar and the members of the group do not have good memories for this, so they may keep you slightly at a distance or simply not knowing how to react in your presence. It's up to you and your nature to choose whether to get closer or remain distant, but know that as the Science Crew gets to know you, their prejudices and fears will fall one after the other, or in any case they will change their minds. They are not stupid and have good hearts, and so are you; so there is every possibility to improve interactions and relationships.

Galileo Galilei

Galileo is by nature quite silent and shy, so initially he looks at you almost with suspicion, even if he doesn't harbor anger or annoyance towards you: it's simply his way of doing things, he needs time to let go. However, when grandfather Galileo realizes that you both had to bear the torment of Inquisition or had to fight with its ghost, his ways gradually become softer and he is able to sit next to you right away, and start talking to you about what you have experienced. If you have fears and traumas regarding what the Inquisition has done, he is the right person to vent to. And with which to torment those nice inquisitors.

After that, get ready for lots of nights spent staring at the stars and planets and talking about the universe; if your abilities allow you to recreate a miniature but complete solar system, which can be studied and investigated in every corner, you will literally never get rid of grandpa Galileo. Now that he has eternity ahead of him and can study and experiment as much as he want with galaxies, no one has the right to stop him. GO GALILEO, GO!

Albert Einstein + Isaac Newton

They are the two with their heads in the clouds who take a liking to you quite quickly, also because, even if they don't show it right away, they are very curious to see your powers; so it's no surprise if they start asking you more and more questions and to show off your skills to them. Albert is the most direct and passionate in this matter, while Isaac is calmer and almost hesitant; but just a look at their faces is enough to understand they both can't wait to see this witch at work.

The questions that follow are exhausting, because every little detail is investigated and asked, and I can't even imagine how many times you have to repeat your spells; but it is certainly a quite funny moment, both for their reactions, involved and enthusiastic (or scared? Even if for a little while?), and because they then start talking to each other about what they have seen and end up ignoring you, completely absorbed from their calculations (your spells make them fill pages and pages of notes) and conversations that reach late into the night, if not the next morning. More than once someone from the group finds all three asleep together, obviously leaning against the poor Newton. Thank you for your sacrifice, Isaac.

As with Galileo, it is now difficult for you to keep them away from you.

Marie Curie + Alfred Nobel

No one will be surprised if I say that Alfred is so kind and sweet that he is the first to approach you, followed closely by Marie: the father and mother you never had, you lost too soon or you didn't even think you could want, that's it, you have found them.

Alfred always welcomes you with a smile and a warm word, and Marie is no less affectionate and thoughtful; you are so young, yet you have proven yourself to be so powerful. It's not easy to manage everything, and even if you are strong, knowing that you can count on adults who are able to take care of you and willing to do so is a lot. In this family of scientists who, once the first mistrust has been overcome, welcomes you with all the madness and love you deserve, no one will object if you take Alfred and Marie as role models or safe refuges to go to; you are part of the crew now too, they won't leave you behind.

In terms of interest, then, both are not very far from Einstein and Newton, only more restrained: they observe everything, take notes, push you to give your best, and as far as they can they look for a way to increase your powers. The days in the laboratory experimenting are always fun, slightly more chaotic with Marie than with Alfred, but certainly positive for the heart and mood. Now the question is one: who will spoil who more, you with your powers capable of create everything, or them with all the gifts and little thoughts they will give you?

Thomas Edison

This gentleman is immediately struck by your skills, literally speechless… but he doesn't show it. In fact, he even acts like a know-it-all and a superior man, telling you that it's easy for you to reach certain goals since you have magic on your side! Not like him and the others, who have to try and study and experiment for years and years! The headaches that this man gives you are countless, simply… YES, he gives you a lot of them. Even if deep down he greatly respects you and envies your skills and the confidence with which you govern your powers, and spends his nights writing down observations… and also thoughts about you as a person.

In fact, at a certain point he starts to oppose you for no real reason, just for the sake of teasing you and making you lose your temper: it's his way of showing interest in you, if he were neutral towards you he would ignore you. He can't do it, he has to make you at least a little angry, it gives him too much fun… and let's be honest, if he were completely indifferent to you, you wouldn't be so upset about it; and at this point, to put him in his place and show which of the two has power, you can clearly push him against the wall, grab his curls and kiss him to keep him quiet, because that's what he wants and asks for, or make him scream by showing off some harmless spell against him. GO GO, TAME THAT BRAT, the only thing he can do next is… thank you for doing it.

Nikola Tesla

Well, now that you have a grandparent, two parents, a boyfriend, two supportive uncles… we're missing the friend: and that's why we're bringing Tesla into the picture. He is the quietest of all as soon as he meets you, but also the most unpredictable: and in fact after a second you find him around you, intent on studying your appearance, your aura, your voice, your posture and even the way you breathe. The next moment, more or less, an avalanche of questions pours over you, as well as comments of all sorts: why do you have these powers?, since when?, does this hurt?, and if I do this?, can you do it again? And you can't help but always please him: there is something that makes you smile without limits every time you look at Tesla, an air of complicity and friendliness that pushes you to let go and satisfy his every request, and to work together to him. Especially this: together with him you work like never before, on yourself and your abilities, on the world around you, on your mutual abilities. His extraordinary mind opens up so many possibilities for growth and he is happy to help you achieve the best, to make you become a better, more confident and skilled you. With Tesla you work hard, always and constantly, but you also get countless results, even on a human level; so much so that in the end you could become so linked by a relationship of friendship and solidarity that Tesla could even go so far as to ask you to be your best man when you and Edison get married, even if it then goes into crisis, because at this point who will be the Thomas's best man?

Just enjoy this family. Just love them all.

[shellshooked]

Can u plz do more of the Zelda movie au? I really like it and would like to see like maybe a documentary comic about the filming and are the actors for link and Zelda dating or is it just them as characters? (u don’t have to actually draw that if u don’t see this or u don’t want to)

im so late replying to this but i have SOOO many ideas on the zelda movie au!! let me share some lore hehe

So you know the spiderman actor and his love interest actress dating curse? how every actor that has played spiderman ends up dating the actress for mj / gwen Stacy? i like to think it's a similar trend with the zelink actors, except not all of them are dating. Botw / totk zelink DEFINETLY and the actors like to keep the details of their relationship private, but Link is NOT shy about how head over heels he is for zelda

Skyward sword zelink? you can never tell. it's the type of dynamic where Twitter stans are dying to know and interviewers always ask them about it but they both dodge the question successfully each time. They could be besties. They could be secretly married. Nobody knows.

Now, oot zelink are not dating, but in my head they're like Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutcherson. Ride or die besties, and they're the biggest oot zelink shippers you'll ever find.

Tp zelink aren't necessarily dating, perhaps some tension (?) however i like to think that their dynamic is more a trio one with midna's actress, who's best friends with zelda and they both playfully bully link

You know who else bullies link? oot ganondorf's actor. Irl he's actually in super good relations with every cast member and probably the warmest kindest most solid dude you'll ever meet but in every interview, every red carpet, every con event he always pretends like oot link is a nuisance and that he's only doing this because he's getting paid. When the Wind waker releases, he's obviously cast again (because duh, same ganondorf, so he's also in the Twilight Princess movie), and he takes care of link and tetra very well on set and makes sure they're always comfortable as child actors, all while he acts to be this super evil guy on camera. I love this duality, I feel like he would be so chill to talk to

In a way, I feel like the major cast from the franchise all know each other one way or another whether they're friends or just professional colleagues, they all relate to each other in some way. There's always a playful competition between botw and ss zelink actors on which pairing is the best, tp link's actor always jokingly disses wind waker for its seemingly childish approach while ww link insists his movie has the better soundtrack.

And now I'm rambling, and I definetly did not mean to dump this all on your ask omg I'm so sorry but this au transpires so much fun to me it makes me silly

[italoniponic]

Long Live the Brother | Kingscholar brothers

Synopsis: Since Cheka was born, Falena became more aware of the fact that he wouldn’t live forever. Whenever he falls asleep in his most stressful days, he has this strange nightmare about a gorge and a stampede. As years pass by, the dream has gained more details to its story. Cheka is in danger and Leona is close to Falena, but he can’t help him — because he doesn’t want to.

Falena needs to do something about this premonition. As little as it seems to be.

kingscholar brothers / angst with hopeful ending / Lion King references / minor tamashina mina setting / ft. mention of ocs / 4,5k words / Masterlist

Notes: It’s been a while since I last talked about doing this fic but it’s finally here, folks. *sighs in tiredness* well, I asked people to vote for a type of ending so it took me a long time to write it all and come to a conclusion that felt… proper. Like, there’s room for good things to come, certainly. Hope you enjoy it!

Long Live the Brother

Falena knows he won’t live forever. It seems kind of obvious, especially when it comes to Afterglow Savannah’s oldest teaching: “we are part of the cycle of life.” It’s part of the birth-to-death cycle. Helping others in life and giving life to nature itself when one dies. To become grass, to be a spirit in the stars.

Falena thought about this a lot, especially on some extraordinary occasions in his life: the birth of Leona, the strong illness of their father and, even more strongly, on the birth of Cheka.

The kingdom’s people — among servants, guards and subjects — got used to the charismatic image of Falena. To them, the then-young king was brave and imposing, his strong smile shining brighter than the sunlight on the golden savannah. And it wasn’t a lie at all.

But there were things that troubled Falena’s mind many times. Shadows that have haunted him since the crown was placed on his head.

He was so young at the time and the books he had read during his education weren’t enough to guide his journey in the real world, where brilliant theories could fail at the first unpredictable element of nature. His father was also too debilitated to give any advice. Sometimes he barely recognized where he was in his own room.

Falena could only thank Heavens for having Maisha by his side, she being his most precious support all these years.

The couple had ruled together since they got married. They hit and missed all the obstacles in life together. Maisha was the only confidant that Falena could truly let go of his saddest thoughts and worries. She didn’t demand from him any perfection of his royalty. Maisha would let him just talk to her and it was those moments that made him happiest.

That had been their dynamic since they met at a diplomatic ball a long time ago. The then-prince purposely hid himself from Kifaji just to show the stars to the princess who befriended him.

And it was a mutual, strong feeling. Maisha wouldn’t trade Falena for anyone. Her love was true, overcoming any circumstances and problems they encountered along the way. Proof of this was the birth of Cheka. 

It was an unforgettable day. The kingdom celebrated it as if it were the sunrise after a long period of darkness, the rain after a long period of drought. Both of them were so happy with their little cub. Falena thought of Cheka as the light in his difficult life as king. Unfortunately, with the King’s health worsening, Falena found himself again thinking about life and death.

The shadows gained strength and that’s when the nightmares began.

It wasn’t constant dreams. They appeared mainly after a long and stressful day. When everything seemed about to fall apart, when the difficulties of the kingdom weighed on Falena’s shoulders.

It started simply with him lost in a crowd. People were running over each other, everyone was confused and frightened — and he was being slaughtered by all of them, trampled underfoot.

Then it switched to something else. Falena heard Cheka’s screams and desperately ran to save him. Sometimes he managed to get the little boy to a safe place on the rocks. Other times, they didn’t survive. But in either scenario, Falena would lose his life.

No matter what he did or how hard he tried, everything or only his life slipped through his hands. His son’s screams would turn to tears as Falena collapsed into his own unconscious sleep. It was tortuous. He wanted to answer his little one, to say that everything would be fine — but in what voice? With what kind of force?

As time passed, a new character came to his dreams: Leona. 

He almost always stood aside, just watching the scene unfold in front of him. But sometimes it was he who first warned him of the danger that Cheka was in, and with this, Falena ended up finding himself in the midst of that frightened crowd.

Whenever he woke up from these nightmares, Falena usually took a deep breath and tried to comfort himself in the fact that if something happened to him, Leona could take care of Cheka and Maisha in his place. Without a doubt, he would leave the kingdom safely in the hands of his younger brother. 

There was no other person Falena wouldn’t trust with his own life and that of the people he loved most.

Then, at a certain point, that nightmare repeated itself.

Falena had managed to lead Cheka to the rocks, away from the tumultuous crowd where he could be safer. But he himself fell among the stampede again. In a last effort, Falena jumped up and clung to a high rock.

Relief washed over his face when he saw Leona on top of that very stone, safe enough to pull him away from danger.

“Leona...! Brother! Help me!,” Falena pleaded.

But Leona only gave a contemptuous smile in response. With all the calmness in the world, he crouched down and dug his nails into the knuckles of Falena’s hands, making him scream in pain. 

  “Long live the king,” then Leona gave a long and dangerous smile like he had never given before, looking deep into his older brother’s eyes.

Falena felt afraid of the shade of green in Leona’s eyes. Green in the shade of poison, pure burning sulfur. He wasn’t his brother. Leona wasn’t like that! In front of him was just the picture others painted of him.

Falena heard so many times from the servants that this was who his brother was going to become. A corrupt, envious boy who would bring drought and disgrace to the kingdom. It couldn’t be! Leona wasn’t like that. He would never hurt Cheka, nor anyone. 

Or would he? 

Suddenly the pain in his hands had stopped. The distance between them increased. Was Falena falling? Leona no longer held him. He was watching his fall with a dark, victorious look. A scream was heard in the distance. Falena has never heard the word “no” pronounced so painfully before.

He wasn’t sure if it was coming out of his own mouth because the voice he was hearing was from Cheka. But Falena kept falling until he finally hit the ground and thousands of feet passed over him. The pain of being trampled on was nothing compared to his heart being shattered inside.

Falena didn’t want the crown if it meant leaving his son and wife alone. He never wanted to. 

Before he knew it, he had already left his brother once. He didn’t want to leave him again. 

His voice grew faint before the noise of the stampede above him. Both when he was young and when observing his kingdom, it was the only time when the people’s voice surpassed his light. What began with the servants losing patience with the young second prince, turned into real complaints and fear with his magic.

Falena didn’t know what to say to them. His brother was young, that was all. But as Leona seemed to worsen in behavior, Falena lost the basis to defend him. And with the accumulation of royal responsibilities, he lost sense of time.

One day, Leona was already a full-fledged teenager who didn’t have the slightest motivation to do anything. The chess that Falena taught him with great joy became a game that his brother played alone — because he had no one by his side and no one wanted to be near him. Leona acted as if he were a stranger in the palace, a being who didn’t belong there.

But he was part of the cycle, he was a vital member of the family. Falena still held that truth in his heart. At the end of the day, he didn’t have more time to bring him back? Was their bond already broken beyond repair?

What would be left of all this would be for Leona to let him fall over the abyss of death, more than content to see the color of his eyes shine for one last time? 

“Dad!”

Then Falena woke up. He was alive after all. His heart was pounding hard enough to be sure of it. The sun shone brighter than ever through the office window. He should have fallen asleep unintentionally. His rest time has been getting worse lately. Everywhere he went he had a problem to solve, and if he ever stopped to rest, he felt guilty for it.

But there was Cheka holding his arm tightly, jumping endlessly with excitement. His eyes let out sparks of joy. It was almost nostalgic — at one point, in a room full of books, another boy called his brother to take a break from his studies and talk to him a little bit.

“Dad! Uncle Leona arrived with friends!,” the little prince announced happily. “Can Naru and I play with them? Can we?”

Seeing Cheka smiling gave some cheer to Falena’s poor suffering heart, though the mention of his brother couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“Go with Monti and Zakki to talk to your uncle. I... I’m going soon.” 

“Okay!”

“Ah! Cheka!”

The boy stopped in his tracks when his father called his name, his orange hair with yellow edges swirling like rays of midday sun. He was the perfect blend of his parents, a gift from Heavens to them. Falena took him in his lap and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, son. Be careful, okay?,” he asked. His voice was a little hoarse.

“I love you too, dad!,” Cheka kissed his father’s cheek. “And don't worry! I’ll be with uncle Leona.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of...”

Maisha entered at the right moment when Cheka ran out of the office. She had overheard part of the conversation. And her worry only worsened when she saw her husband’s forlorn countenance. 

Falena held his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t believe what he’d just thought about his own brother. His stomach felt heavy and empty at the same time. He was feeling bad in so many different ways that he didn’t even know where to start. His thoughts collided like an onslaught of hyenas, tearing at his flesh and gnawing at his bones.

“It was that nightmare again?” 

The desolate king felt his wife’s hand massaging his shoulder, conveying comfort and solace. Falena raised his eyes to Maisha, her presence always welcomed on any occasion.

She went around the chair where her husband sat to be closer to him, and he held her waist, resting his head on her belly as he did at the time when she was pregnant with their precious son. His hair of a strong and intense orange cascaded down, confusing itself with the dress of the finest fabric that his queen wore. 

Maisha caressed Falena’s head, patiently waiting for him to find words to express himself.

She never rushed or pressured him. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. Few queens in the world could say that they loved their husband so much that they wouldn’t mind supporting them unconditionally as Maisha had done for a long time.

They never changed, they just got stronger together. Maisha had the same long, naturally slightly grayish-beige hair with strong yellow tips and the kind, wise caramel-colored eyes she had when she was young. The eyes Falena most wanted to face at the moment.

The time that passed wasn’t as long as it felt. For Falena, it seemed like an eternity before he told Maisha every single thing that happened in his nightmare. When the story came to an end, husband and wife stared at each other in deep silence. 

“I failed Leona... terribly,” Falena sighed. “I’d let them say what they wanted of him…”

“Falena, dear. You always defended him the best you could, I know that. Leona... actually, you two are very complicated. All this palace’s life is. What they subjected to a fifteen year old and a five year old boy is unforgivable,” Maisha said.

“But there’s nothing else we can do.”

The woman bit her lip. She understood the feeling well, those shadows that haunted her husband. That’s what she was most afraid of, too. She had known Leona for a long time and, luckily, he came to respect her more than anyone in his life. 

However, respect was still too little to meet him in the desert and drive him back home. Maisha didn’t just want to be Leona’s sister-in-law. She wanted to be his older sister. But he despised his own brother by blood, so what would she — as the family’s outsider — needed to do wrong to fall into the same bad graces?

“What can you offer a man who has everything but wants nothing?,” Maisha suddenly thought out loud. 

And Falena grasped this thought as if it were dry leaves that the wind brought in the afternoon. The royal spiritual adviser, Chinaza, once said that those said leaves were messages from the Kings of the Past — and in reality, the old baboon wasn’t so far from the truth.

With the words of his wife in mind, the king began to think calmly about everything. Over the years, he offered Leona various kinds of gifts. Books, chess boards, expensive items of clothing, dinners with his favorite meats and everything else he had at his disposal to give to his precious brother. It wasn’t just charity. He knew Leona deserved it all.

But it must have looked fake in the young man’s eyes. Deep down — and the nightmare didn’t help this feeling — Leona should despise all these gestures. 

It felt like Falena was patching up the past, as if all they had been through was an old tapestry that just needed extra thread.

“What is the one thing that a man who despises all things, because he feels himself to be despised, most wants?,” Falena asked back as he got up and looked out the window.

They were at the highest point of the palace, from where they could see the whole kingdom and everything that the light could touch. Maisha rested her head on Falena’s shoulder and he leaned on her equally, both with their gaze lost in the horizon.

“I have no idea, my love,” the wife replied.

“I think I know what to do... well, I think” Falena swallowed hard. “It’s not much and I honestly don’t know how much Leona will like or understand it…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our father used to say that diplomatic apologies require more than an emotional and well-crafted text. That’s not what touches people. It’s the process, the small steps you take along the way. If you never cross the desert, you will never come home.”

“Alas, you ramble a lot sometimes,” Maisha said but began to smile as she saw her husband’s face recover its grace. “Will you start with the small steps then?”

Falena took a deep breath, filling himself with courage. He would. 

Better late than never.

If anything, Leona’s patience could be more succinctly described as a worn-out tapestry. 

It had interesting embroidered drawings, making smooth lines on thick thread and had the colors of the sunset. In the old days, it had impressive strength. But he couldn’t say the same in the present though. A lion cub had snatched the edge and began to tear it apart, leaving bristles exposed and easy to fray.

Which settled Jack to be the only one — by their side at the moment — who was actually concerned about the dorm leader wanting to rip apart his own nephew running around him in a fit of pure childish energy. 

Meanwhile, Kalim was distracted by all the beautiful landscapes around them in the huge palace. Naru, the lioness-friend of the little prince, was explaining everything to him — and on certain occasions, she would take a look at her best friend and smile at him having fun. 

But, perhaps, what was doing more harm to Leona’s nerves was the indescribable delight in which Lilia and Vil were watching them near the balcony. They both had different kinds of smiles but seemed equally amused by his look of distress.

Was that Leona’s penance for being himself in the NRC? Or were they joining life’s queue to piss him off?

“Cheka!,” suddenly a powerful voice made its entrance. 

“Dad!” 

Leona had his chair turned away from the entrance, but as he turned around, he was for a very brief moment happy with his brother’s arrival. All to get Cheka away from him, especially. 

He then took a look at the colleagues he brought along and observed their reactions of respect and admiration at the arrival of the king. He wasn’t particularly impressed himself. 

Falena might be the most imposing “Lion King” in all of Afterglow Savannah’s history but Leona would always see him as his annoyingly enthusiastic older brother.

“Dear friends!,” Falena greeted the boys with a smile. “Could you let me steal Leona for a moment?”

This was such a surprise that the second prince turned his head back.

“Oh, we don’t mind, Your Majesty,” Vil spoke for the group, smiling politely.

Leona rolled his eyes. It was like he was being handed over like a pesky stray cat off someone’s backyard. 

Jack was thinking of a form to add any type of positive comments — to at least take that very impression out of the room — but he remained silent as the dorm leader assured him in a simple hand gesture that it wasn’t necessary. 

Falena noticed this as his brother stood up. Every one of them had their own opinions on Leona. Well, mixed opinions it seemed. Personally, he would like to know how his little brother was doing at Night Raven College — but he would have to wait a bit longer to hear about Leona’s school adventures. 

Falena waved a goodbye to Cheka and Naru, leaving them in the hands of their caretakers, the meerkat-man chamberlain Monti and the warthog-man cook — who also acted as the little prince’s personal aide — Zakki, and the remaining boys. 

Then the brothers left the balcony and walked through the halls in complete silence. No one dared disturb their course. Even a falling leaf could be heard in the distance.

After a few minutes of walking beside his brother without facing him, Leona eventually realized that they were walking through more and more empty corridors inside the palace. Places he almost forgot existed. It seemed that they had crossed the entire construction when Falena opened for him a door hidden behind a large dark red wall-tapestry.

Behind the secret passage, there was a large field that was part of the royal estate but remained in the shadow of the towers and higher floors. Further away, Leona recognized a part of the field with a large tree as the marking for the Cemetery of the Kings of the Past. 

“Why did you bring me here?,” he finally spoke to his brother, although he had a confused frown on his brows.

“It's a quiet, peaceful place,” Falena said. “Because it’s the Royal Cemetery, anyone who does not consider here an inhospitable place certainly knows that it is sacred so even servants and guards would never think of looking for a secret passage or opening the door.” 

“So what?” 

“I wish you could find rest here.”

Because Leona had a tremendously surprised expression, Falena added quickly:

“N-no! I’m not talking to you to rest forever here! No way! Please don’t even think...!,” then he took a deep breath to recompose himself. “What I mean, Leona, is that here it will be much easier to hide from the palace than in your room. Cheka is terribly afraid of those hallways, even if he won’t admit it.”

It was Leona’s turn to take a deep breath and facepalm, bewildered by that whole situation. He had not confused Falena’s words — though, come to think of it, it would indeed be a strange thing to say normally — and remained in the dark as to why he was being introduced to that place.

“Are you letting me stay here? Is that it?,” Leona questioned.

“Yes. Consider it my holiday gift.”

“Have you... gone insane? Is the crown so heavy that you hit your head on the floor one of these days?”

Falena bit his tongue, trying not to be discouraged in his convictions, nor to let himself be contaminated by the acidity of his brother’s words.

Leona could be an excellent diplomat when he wanted. Emphasis on “when he wanted”. But what was occurring at the present moment was no disaster of etiquette. It was how Leona usually talked to his older brother. 

Sarcasm and irony were always at their peak. Boredom dictated the harmony of his voice. And, above all, resentment oozed through the thorniest sentences like burning sulfur. 

Falena could feel it more than ever. They weren’t just brothers who couldn’t get along like normal families had. There was a large scar between them, completely exposed and fragile. 

There was no point in pressing mere band-aids there, hoping to disappear with the cut. Something needed to be done to improve the healing process and not allow inflammations. It would be painful and difficult. However, wasting time was no longer on Falena’s mind. If he were going to stop the blood, he should do it now.

It was then Leona felt something different when Falena looked up at him. 

Anyone who might have had the chance to observe them — however deserted the place was — might have seen the reflection of the king’s normally radiant countenance. However, only his young brother was close enough to understand that it wasn’t his usual glow.

“I gave you many gifts and allowed you to do whatever you wanted in a clumsy and vain hope that... “Falena sighed but kept going. “...things could be arranged. But it’s not that simple. In fact, by trying to please you, I was making the situation worse. But Leona...!”

His voice grew stronger, pouring out all its honesty like good rain in the midst of drought and desolation.

“I don’t know what to do, that’s the truth! Maybe I’ll never know. If our father was still well, I could try to take his advice... but all this damage is already done. You walk in and out of here with your head held high but with a terrible feeling in your heart. Like this it’s not even your home.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You don’t know how I feel,” Leona looked away, annoyed.

“Of course I don’t know! You don’t tell me!”

So Leona turned to Falena again, torn between putting the matter aside or contesting it in the adrenaline rush that awoke in his heart. Actually, he wasn’t sure what to answer. And as if Falena could finally after all those years read his little brother’s thoughts, he smiled softly.

“Talk about it when you feel the time has come. It doesn’t even have to be with me, if you don’t want to. For now, a place of silence and comfort is all I can indicate to you.”

“Indicate?”

“Yeah. Because you are still the Prince of the Savannah. You have rights like any of our bloodline,” Falena touched Leona’s shoulder and looked deep into his brother’s green eyes. “You can come here whenever you want. You always could.”

A strong breeze passed by the brothers but they didn’t move even a flinch. Small leaves of various colors, dust and the familiar smell of the savannah continued on its way, as if it were a ghost of one of the Kings of the Past who wanted to spy on the strange scene unfolding there on sacred territory.

Gently, Falena’s hand left Leona and joined his other hand. He wasn’t feeling cowed at least. On the contrary, he was satisfied for the first time with an action he did. His smile didn’t waver.

“Well, if you want to take a break, I’ll let your friends know and…”

“Falena,” Leona called.

He mirrored his older brother’s expression with his words. For a moment, Leona felt like a child again. Not in the sense of feeling small and powerless. But, as it was in the old days. The good times when things were in their place and Falena still had time to afford to teach him to play chess.

“Thanks. Or something like that.”

Leona stared at a distant spot in the landscape, not looking directly into Falena’s eyes. 

He didn’t feel ready yet for that type of situation and had doubts about his brother’s intentions. He never thought he would say that, but hanging out with his classmates and holding his own patience seemed much easier than dealing with the scars of the past.

But something inside him knew that Falena understood what he was doing. It could be a part that Leona hid from his own peripheral vision on purpose, almost always to the point of completely forgetting its existence. Yet it was still there inside him.

“But I’ll have to leave it for another time. I have to lead a pack of warthogs’ backsides to a festival, remember?,” Leona retorted, going back to the exit. “Later. Who knows.”

Falena let out a laugh that made his brother stop for a moment. He looked like he was going to comment on something but then gave up.

“Well, always feel welcome. And I’ll be watching it all from somewhere. Above all: have fun, Leona!”

And then, Falena gave the biggest smile Leona had ever seen before. Perhaps it wasn't just an impression that his aura of majesty was different. It wasn’t like it got any worse, though. 

It was as if an immense weight had left Falena’s shoulders and he rejuvenated like the dawn sun as he reached for his little brother’s step. They continued without saying anything on the way back, following the path in a very rare and comfortable silence. 

It was the first step towards a new ending.

Falena also felt a different energy coming from Leona and his gaze accompanied him throughout the visit, questioning within himself how people couldn’t even see the resplendent light coming from Leona. Or maybe they did — it was his final conclusion — and they didn’t know what to make of it.

But Falena knew. And he felt a deep joy to have a younger brother like Leona. Smart and strategic, able to stand on his own two feet, courageous. Even friendly — although the boy didn’t like to admit it. 

  For the first time in a long time, Falena could have a peaceful night of starry dreams. He never had that nightmare again. He was dreaming of a bright future ahead. Some moment in time when Leona could feel happy doing whatever he wanted. Where Cheka would be a wonderful king and Maisha would still be there by his side.

And Falena would live long to see all this.

Special notes: Uh, I haven’t actually watched anything from the Tamashina Mina event so I don’t even know if they acknowledge Falena’s presence at some point. But this is what I think happened. And I feel particularly relieved about writing this story bc I love Falena due to my memories of Mufasa. I don’t think canon will ever prove me wrong but even so, this is the version of good ol’ Falena that I love the most <3 Thank you for the attention!

[burningvelvet]

A very long analysis on Heathcliff, his relationships, and his origins: or, how Wuthering Heights drove me insane :)

Links to my previous WH analysis (which aren't required to read this post!): 1) my post analyzing heathcliff & his relationships with cathy2.0/isabella/hareton / 2) smaller post analyzing heathcliff & the earnshaws in relation to theories about his parentage / 3) misc. heathcliff/cathy analysis

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On Heathcliff's origins, his mysteriousness, and his arrival to Wuthering Heights:

As I mention in that 2nd link, I think the theory of Heathcliff being Mr. Earnshaw's son is an interesting theory of conjecture because even if not true (and it probably isn't) it allows us to more deeply explore the generally accepted basis of the canon, which is that Heathcliff is not related to them, but nevertheless is still caught between the labels of "family" and "outsider," just like he would have been if he had indeed been a bastard, a step-child, or even more formally adopted. Under Mr. Earnshaw's wishes Heathcliff shares a room with the children, he is given equal gifts and clothes as them, and he is preferred over Hindley. And while he may not be in line to inherit legally, he ends up inheriting anyway, an idea which lends itself to the novels Joseph-approved theme of predeterminism/fate.

So I'm not dead-set on any singular interpretation or theory as to Heathcliff's role in the story or the details of his background. Much of his character is inherently mysterious: his race and age are unknown, his family history and origins are unknown, what he was doing for 3 years of Cathy's marriage and how he acquired his wealth are unknown, some of his feelings and motives are highly debatable (as I discussed in my post about his odd dynamics with Cathy 2.0, Isabella, & Hareton: https://www.tumblr.com/burningvelvet/738901817580290048/my-analysis-on-heathcliff-and-his-relationships), & whether English was his first language is also questioned (many people including myself have wondered at the line where we're told he "repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand," though it could have just been panicked child's speech).

Many academics have noted how Wuthering Heights follows various testaments of the Gothic literary tradition, not only by the involvement of death, violence, ghosts, etc., but also in the use of incestuous themes (whether literal or metaphorical) and the use of the Other in Heathcliff, aided by the mysteries of his origins and his racial ambiguity.

As for Heathcliff not revealing much about his childhood, I believe this part of it could be due to trauma as well as regular childhood amnesia. He may not remember anything. A lot of people don't have many memories from before the age of ~6 anyway — and I just looked it up— his real age is never given but he is believed to be around the same age than Cathy who was described as "hardly six years old." I had thought they were a little older for some reason. He's also said to have been "speaking gibberish" which I once considered may have been indicative of a foreign language and/or accent but now, because of his age and probable low background, it may have been due to his just being very young and maybe unsocialized and shy. It actually makes my heart ache when Nelly describes him :(

Here's an excerpt from chapter 3 describing Heathcliff's childhood:

"He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, and bid them all stand off, for he was nearly killed—he would not have such another walk for the three kingdoms.

'And at the end of it to be flighted to death!' he said, opening his great-coat, which he held bundled up in his arms. 'See here, wife! I was never so beaten with anything in my life: but you must 'en take it as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil.'"

We crowded round, and over Miss Cathy's head I had d peep at a dirty, ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk: indeed, its face looked older than Catherine's; yet when it was set on its feet, it only stared round, and repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad? The master tried to explain the matter; but he was really half dead with fatigue, and all that I could make out, amongst her scolding, was a tale of his seeing it starving, and houseless, and as good as dumb, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up and inquired for its owner. Not a soul knew to whom it belonged, he said; and his money and time being both limited, he thought it better to take it home with him at once, than run into vain expenses there: because he was determined he would not leave it as he found it. Well, the conclusion was, that my mistress grumbled herself calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash it, and give it clean things, and let it sleep with the children.

Hindley and Cathy contented themselves with looking and listening till peace was restored: then, both began searching their father's pockets for the presents he had promised them. The former was a boy of fourteen, but when he drew out what had been a fiddle, erushed to morsels in the great-coat, he blubbered aloud; and Cathy, when she learned the master had lost her whip in attending on the stranger, showed her humour by grinning and spitting at the stupid little thing; earning for her pains a sound blow from her father, to teach her cleaner manners. They entirely refused to have it in bed with them, or even in their room; and I had no more sense, so I put it on the landing of the stairs, hoping it might be gone on the morrow. By chance, or else attracted by hearing his voice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there he found it on quitting his chamber. Inquiries were made as to how it got there; I was obliged to confess, and in recompense for my cowardice and inhumanity was sent out of the house.

This was Heathcliff's first introduction to the family. On coming back a few days afterwards (for I did not consider my banishment perpetual), I found they had christened him 'Heathcliff': it was the name of a son who died in child-hood, and it has served him ever since, both for Christian and surname. Miss Cathy and he were now very thick; but Hindley hated him: and to say the truth I did the same; and we plagued and went on with him shamefully: for I wasn't reasonable enough to feel my injustice, and the mistress never put in a word on his behalf when she saw him wronged.

He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment: he would stand Hindley's blows without winking or shedding a tear, and my pinches moved him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by accident, and nobody was to blame. This endurance made old Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son persecuting the poor fatherless child, as he called him. He took to Heathcliff strangely, believing all he said (for that matter, he said precious little, and generally the truth), and petting him up far above Cathy, who was too mischievous and wayward for a favourite.

So, from the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house; and at Mrs. Earnshaw's death, which happened in less than two years after, the young master had learned to regard his father as an oppressor rather than a friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of his paren's affections and his privileges; and he grew bitter with brooding over these injuries. I sympathised a while; but when the children fell ill of the measles, and I had to tend them, and take on me the cares of a woman at once, I changed my idea. Heathcliff was dangerously sick; and while he lay at the worst he would have me constantly by his pillow: I suppose he felt I did a good deal for him, and he hadn't wit to guess that I was compelled to do it. However, I will say this, he was the quietest child that ever nurse watched over. The difference between him and the others forced me to be less partial. Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly: he was as uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble."

From this excerpt we see that Earnshaw 1) despite being racist toward Heathcliff, is also wildly protective of him - so much so that he kicks Nelly out of the house FOR DAYS for initially not allowing Heathcliff to sleep in his childrens room 2) Earnshaw doesn't like Cathy that much, and prefers Heathcliff over her; later when he dies he has a nice moment with her, but still asks her why she can't be a better child (lol) 3) Earnshaw did not name Heathcliff on his own accord but Heathcliff is named after Earnshaw's own son that died!!! And that says a lot; we're also never really told how Mrs. Earnshaw felt about him being named after her dead kid, or if she had a part in it or not, or if she grew to like Heathcliff too — she just dies soon after - however, I think we can all assume she always favored Hindley over Heathcliff, since we're told Hindley's jealousy grew after her death 4) Heathcliff is described by Earnshaw as a "gift from God" which I find kind of suspicious because Earnshaw struggled so much just to get him home... um, God had no part in that, Mr. - unless he's referring to the kids existence imo. At any rate, if Heathcliff isn't biologically related to Earnshaw, we're still led to have the sense that Heathcliff is sort of predestined to be there 5) Heathcliff was indeed a bit scraggly/unkempt when he arrived, but imo that doesn't mean he was necessarily a homeless orphan; if he did have a mother/family, they probably would have been living in harsh conditions anyway just by being impoverished, and if not, maybe he was just a bit dirty from wandering outside like normal kids do, and like he's so fond of doing anyway on the Moors later on - he could have just been playing outside when this white guy comes along and takes him under his coat! 6) Earnshaw says he asked around for the kids parents and felt obligated to take him on, though the kid was struggling... so yeah, regardless of if he's omitting other info or if he's his father or not, we can infer that he essentially kidnapped Heathcliff.

After re-reading this excerpt, I don't think it's as likely that Earnshaw had seen/known Heathcliff personally prior to his taking him home, but I still don't think any of this totally disproves the theory that Earnshaw could have been lying to Mrs. Earnshaw/omitting certain information.

Why was Mr. Earnshaw in Liverpool to begin with? I and many others often assume it was some sort of a business trip, and it probably was, but after re-reading the part where he leaves, I can't actually find anything to definitively confirm what he was actually there for. He could have been in Liverpool specifically to take Heathcliff with him. Another thing that doesn't make any sense is the fact that he walked all the way there alone: "I’m going to Liverpool today, what shall I bring you? You may choose what you like: only let it be little, for I shall walk there and back: sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!’"

He's then gone for 3 whole days. Meaning according to him, he walked 120 miles in 3 days, half of that while carrying/dragging a struggling small child, who he says he took because it would be his easiest option: "his money and time being both limited, he thought it better to take it home with him at once, than run into vain expenses there."

He's contradicting himself, because if he was so concerned about finances then he never would have taken on another child, as Mrs. Earnshaw immediately supplies (meaning if he was on a mission to retrieve Heathcliff, he didn't tell her): "Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad?" Ummmm you're telling me there isn't something a little suspicious or weird about any of this?!

And why would he be walking in the first place when he has horses — was he really so tight on money as to not want to support/feed them on a journey, or did he just not want to be recognized or attract attention, or did he not want to deal with a child riding on a horse for the first time? I assume carriages/wagons were out of the question for costs, and I know people walked a lot back then, especially in rural farmlands, but that is a very long journey as he himself says. What was so important? Did he even go to Liverpool at all? And why did he bundle Heathcliff up as if to hide him? To avoid suspicions about having a bastard child, etc.? And we're told Mrs. Earnshaw was expecting him home earlier, and we get no indication if she knew Mr. Earnshaw's plans or whereabouts.

And why does Mr. Earnshaw act so upbeat and nonchalant about all of this, when we're told he's usually really stern? Ie he supposedly treats Nelly well eg, telling her he'll bring her back fruits on his journey, but then he LOCKS HER OUT OF THE HOUSE FOR MULTIPLE DAYS for not following his orders about putting Heathcliff in the children's room on his first night there.

Where tf did she even go lol? Am I forgetting some part about her family having a nearby house? How far did she have to walk to get there, alone and unaccompanied as a young woman? Probably less than 120 miles in 3 days, but still! He's known Nelly her whole life, and he's supposedly known Heathcliff for a day (in which time Heathcliff has already led him into physical exhaustion), and yet he already prefers Heathcliff over her as well as his own children.

Even excusing Nelly being a narrator of debatable reliability, and being sometimes contradictory & biased against Heathcliff, Mr. Earnshaw's behavior still seems a bit outlandish and it makes sense that Mrs. Earnshaw would ask him if he had gone mad. I course, I may be looking too far into this, but how can I not?

Heathcliff's trauma, his relationship with Mr. Earnshaw, Earnshaw as kidnapper, and race:

I think Heathcliff is certainly severely traumatized. I'm not a psychologist but Nelly's line "hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble" is textbook childhood CPTSD, and it is partly due to Earnshaw indeed being a kidnapper with a white saviour/"white man's burden" complex.

I think the following quote by Nelly supports this kidnap view, in that she actually refers to him being kidnapped; Emily may also be encouraging us to speculate on even the most outlandish theories of his origins like Nelly does:

"‘A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,’ I continued, ‘if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that we've done washing, and combing, and sulking—tell me whether you don’t think yourself rather handsome? I'll tell you, I do. You're fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week’s income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!'"

Like in Charlotte's Jane Eyre, Emily also borrows taboo Romantic and Orientalist imagery and racializes the gothic Other figure, because this idea of the foreign/non-white body was a source of anxiety to a lot of white British Victorian readers. This is a popular concept in Gothic literary studies & a lot has been written on it, so I won't go into it too much.

Like Charlotte's Bertha Mason, Linton Heathcliff's identity as being mixed race is essential to his character — in the narrative, him being white-passing is supposed to relate to his identity being more Isabella/Linton (as also evidenced by his name) and less Heathcliff's, who is disappointed not to see his own resemblance in his son.

Since we seriously don't know Heathcliff's true origins, we can't ascertain his ethnicity (given his descriptions/epithets/Nelly's speculations, he is likely fully or part Roma, South-Asian, or African), and we can't tell if he or his family/mother were highborn, enslaved, or simply free, but we do know that slavery was still very active in England in the late 1700s when Heathcliff is a child, and his hometown Liverpool was the center of the slave trade, so connections to slavery either ancestrally or during his hiatus (a popular theory, explored in the book Heathcliff: the Lost Years by David Drum) are possible.

More evidence for the theory of Heathcliff having a previous history of child abuse and unknown early trauma, possibly relating to the slave trade (which doesn't necessarily discount the Earnshaw parentage theory either imo, and if anything may make it more likely if his reasoning for taking Heathcliff was that he wouldn't want his biological son enslaved) — is the portion where Nelly describes Heathcliff and how he initially took Hindley's abuse stoically:

". . . a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment: he would stand Hindley's blows without winking or shedding a tear, and my pinches moved him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by accident, and nobody was to blame. This endurance made old Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son persecuting the poor fatherless child, as he called him. He took to Heathcliff strangely . . ."

When Nelly adds that Earnshaw called Heathcliff "poor fatherless child," I see this as ironic whether Earnshaw is his biological father or not, since he is still the closest thing he has to any sort of "father figure" nominally, and symbolically in line with the view of Earnshaw as flawed micro-colonizer. In the act of standing up for Heathcliff over his own teenage son and future master of the house, he is basically acting as a pseudo-father preferring one son over another; for Hindley, the blow is deepened by Heathcliff not being Earnshaw's son in name.

For clarity's sake, whenever I refer to Mr. Earnshaw as Heathcliff's unofficially adoptive father or father figre, I do so sort of hesitatingly. Mr. Earnshaw/Heathcliff do not have a regular father/son dynamic; we're told that Heathcliff did not embrace but rather fought Mr. Earnshaw the entire 60 miles back to the Heights.

Surely the above may be hyperbole, but we must keep in mind that Mr. Earnshaw's gifts for Cathy/Hindley/Nelly were lost or destroyed in the process: most symbolically, Mr. Earnshaw's struggle to obtain Heathcliff led to Hindley's fiddle being broken, Cathy's whip being lost, and we're never told what happened to Nelly's gift of fruit, but we can assume it was lost or never got to be obtained as a result of his preoccupation.

Heathcliff's relationship with Mr. Earnshaw is complicated because of the racial power imbalance & as I said, Earnshaw having a white saviour complex & basically kidnapping Heathcliff despite (or so we're told) not fully knowing if Heathcliff had a family or not. Most important are Heathcliff's own feelings about the situation; Earnshaw's wild affection is clear.

We're told by Nelly's observations that Heathcliff clearly did not have a great love for Earnshaw: "I wondered often what my master saw to admire so much in the sullen boy; who never, to my recollection, repaid his indulgence by any sign of gratitude. He was not insolent to his benefactor, he was simply insensible; though knowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart, and conscious he had only to speak and all the house would be obliged to bend to his wishes."

When Mr. Earnshaw was dying, Heathcliff was sitting with Cathy who was singing to Earnshaw. When they realize Earnshaw has finally passed, Heathcliff seems to genuinely grieve as equally as Cathy (Hindley is at college at this time):

"The poor thing discovered her loss directly — she screamed out — 'Oh, he's dead, Heathcliff! he's dead!' And they both set up a heart-breaking cry." Later when Nelly returns from getting help: "I ran to the children's room: their door was ajar, I saw they had never lain down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer, and did not need me to console them. The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk . . ."

Yet we also know by Heathcliff's odd dynamics with Nelly and Hareton, and even by some of his behavior around Catherine I (who is the only person that most of us can agree he really loves), we can see that, probably due to trauma, Heathcliff does not know how to show affection "normally."

By his earlier disconnected reactions to Hindley's abuse, we can see that early on he had trouble reacting to negative emotions as well, which probably led him to his later emotional dysregulation & bursts of rage/frustration, which make complete sense in his situation and are why we can still often sympathize with him in his path of vengeance, even despite his abusiveness.

So we do not know the full extent of Heathcliff's feelings toward Mr. Earnshaw, and whether he truly had deep affection for him or somewhat resented him, but whatever his feelings were, they were clearly complex. As we all know, Heathcliff is capable of feeling very strongly, and when he does, he is usually vocal about it (see: literally most of his dialogue). He can't go 30 seconds without roasting someone lol. But he is oddly ambivalent and quiet about Earnshaw.

You could also (& countless academics have) argue that Earnshaw/the Earnshaw family is essentially a microcosm of colonization, Heathcliff is symbolically captured/enslaved by Mr. Earnshaw (which highlights how white saviourism is oxymoronic), and then actually becomes almost literally enslaved by Hindley later on.

On Heathcliff and Hindley:

Both are extremely flawed. Both are wildly in love with women who die from labor, both become abusive single fathers, both are defined by their grief and feelings of revenge, both want to kill each other all throughout the story, both actually try to do so to varying extents. Heathcliff saves Hareton from Hindley's negligence by catching him, Hindley saves Isabella from Heathcliff's abuse by tackling the latter (in what I think is one of the novels best sequences, Isabella's narration of the period of Heathcliff and Hindley's fighting and her escape). Heathcliff's bond with Hareton, like Hindley's bond with Isabella, is both manipulative and touching in turns. Ditto for their bonds to Nelly.

Many people believe Heathcliff had a role to play, directly or indirectly, in Hindley's death. Evidence for this: 1) teen Heathcliff wishes Hindley could drink himself to death but acknowledges doctor Kenneth says he won't: "‘It’s a pity he cannot kill himself with drink,’ observed Heathcliff, muttering an echo of curses back when the door was shut. ‘He’s doing his very utmost; but his constitution defies him. Mr. Kenneth says he would wager his mare that he’ll outlive any man on this side Gimmerton, and go to the grave a hoary sinner; unless some happy chance out of the common course befall him.’" 2) later, Kenneth remarks to Nelly that "He's barely twenty-seven, it seems; that's your own age: who would have thought you were born in one year?'" 3) Joseph once accused Heathcliff of attempting to murder Hindley during their fight ("And so ye've been murthering on him?") - in which Isabella said Heathcliff had to barely restrain himself from not killing Hindley. Joseph later adds suspicion to Hindley's death when, after Heathcliff explains to Nelly how Hindley had been suffering from the effects of alcoholism but died suddenly in the morning, Joseph "confirmed this statement, but muttered: "I'd rayther he'd goan hisseln for t' doctor! I sud ha' taen tent o' t' maister better nor him—and he warn't deead when I left, naught o' t' soart!'" (trans. from WH Reader's Guide site: "'I'd rather he'd gone himself for the doctor! I would have taken care of the master better than him—and he wasn't dead when I left, nothing of the sort!'"). So Heathcliff told Joseph to fetch Kenneth which left Heathcliff alone with Hindley, who was then dead when Joseph/Kenneth arrived.

My own theory is that Hindley probably choked on his own vomit (a common form of death by addiction) because of Heathcliff's description of he and Joseph finding Hindley "snorting like a horse; and there he was, laid over the settle: flaying and scalping would not have wakened him." It is after this that Heathcliff is alone with Hindley and he dies. Heathcliff can be seen as guilty through inaction imo, though he would justify it by saying he was letting nature take its course.

Heathcliff and Hindley take turns enslaving each other throughout the story. Hindley's seniority, legitimacy, and race give him advantages, while Heathcliff's early favoritism by Mr. Earnshaw and his later accrual of wealth, wit, and strength give him some advantages. We're told by Nelly (and she's biased, but she's the main source we have) that Hindley bullied Heathcliff immediately, to which Heathcliff weaponized Mr. Earnshaw in his favor, as evidenced by the horse scene.

If, when Hindley returned to become master of Wuthering Heights after Mr. Earnshaw's death, his wife Frances had taken a liking to Heathcliff, or if Hindley had simply matured in his time away — in other words, if Hindley had decided to grow up and let bygones be bygones — I wonder if Heathcliff would have done the same, and decided to be peaceful & not to continue their childhood rivalry.

The bulk of Heathcliff's lust for revenge really stems from Hindley's treatment of him after Mr. Earnshaw's death, when Hindley, as the new Mr. Earnshaw, really does follow through on that childhood promise during the horse scene to use his wealth/power/independence to render Heathcliff miserable, and to turn him out or keep him enslaved. Possibly at the beckoning of Frances (which I mention later,) Hindley succeeds in fulfilling this childish power fantasy, and this is partly what inspires Heathcliff to obtain the means of flipping the script and later rendering Hindley a weakened dependent.

Although Hindley is racist/absorbed his parents racism, note that Catherine was not/did not, and so Hindley's true hatred of Heathcliff imo is more motivated by jealousy/envy for his father's affection than it is anything else, & his own feelings of inadequacy & self-hatred which likely would have existed anyway & were just fuelled by being "usurped" in his father's affection.

I really blame Mr. (& Mrs., though we sadly have so little insight into her character) Earnshaw for Hindley/Heathcliff's rivalry, because I feel like we can assume Mrs. Earnshaw must have favored Hindley more when Mr. Earnshaw started favoring Heathcliff, considering Hindley's hatred increased after the grief from his mother's death, — and this favoritism & parental split is bound to deepen the split between their favorites.

Hindley's hatred of Heathcliff really increased after his father & then his wife's deaths (meaning he had prolonged complex grief), which I'm assuming compounded & brought back his feelings of his original grief for his mother, resulting in further hatred of Heathcliff who had nothing to do with any of it but whose arrival Hindley just subconsciously associated with his mother's illness/death & his father's emotional abandonment (which we could consider a mental death which took place before his physical death; imo Hindley's whole character is defined by grief).

To enhance their pseudo-brotherly rivalry, which some may say is reminiscent of Abel/Cain (especially if you believe the theory/opinion that Heathcliff murdered Hindley or was otherwise in any part to blame for his death), we again have the fact that Heathcliff was named after Hindley's dead brother.

Heathcliff is actually Heathcliff 2.0, and maybe it was Mr. Earnshaw's grief that led him to use Heathcliff 2.0 as a replacement child the way Hindley uses Mrs. Earnshaw 2.0 as a replacement mother.

All throughout the story we have people being named after each other and taking on each other's roles, ie the whole 1st/2nd generation parallels (we could extend it to be 1st/2nd/3rd since I've highlighted the narrative importance of Mr./Mrs. Earnshaw), Linton Heathcliff, Cathy 1.0/2.0. — but we know nothing about Heathcliff 1.0 other than that he died in childhood.

Was he Catherine's age, younger, or older? Did Catherine see Heathcliff as a replacement brother? Did Heathcliff 1.0 die before Catherine was born? Was he Hindley's age? Did Hindley already have grief/trauma from Heathcliff 1.0's death and resent Heathcliff 2.0 for usurping not only him, but his dead brother's place?

We're told that "the family" gave Heathcliff 2.0 his name, but I assume Mrs. Earnshaw and Hindley may not have been involved due to us never seeing that they care for him — and Joseph may have had a role in it, but he's also rarely thoughtful, and Nelly was gone — so could Cathy have suggested the name Heathcliff? (which brings to my mind Edward Rochester telling Jane Eyre to "give him his name" when he proposes to her, asking her to call him "Edward" — this would be poetic of Catherine/Heathcliff's relationship).

The meaning of the names Heathcliff/Hindley are very similar; they also share the same initials, syllable count, and the "ee" sound. Heathcliff is a combination of "heath" (a synonym for "moor"; what he and Cathy love to roave on) and "cliff." In meaning, apparently (according to some sources on Ancestry.com) Hindley is a habitational name from hind 'hind, female deer' and lēah 'woodland clearing' — which is basically another way of saying heath/moor. So there is a lot of similarity in their names, and this tainted brotherly theme, both of which must have been intentional.

Regardless of whether Heathcliff & Hindley are foster brothers or half-brothers, this naming choice is still a sign that Heathcliff was predestined to be part of the family, and lends itself to the other themes of predeterminism in that Heathcliff ends up becoming the master of the Heights after Hindley the way he would have if he were his biological brother.

Mr. Earnshaw telling Hindley he'd bring him back any gift he chose, and then returning with that gift having been broken by Heathcliff, are ample reasons to explain the hatred that moody 14-year-old Hindley immediately feels for him, who was about half his age and therefore an impractical playmate. He is more like a new sibling, and like an older sibling, Hindley is horrified at being overshadowed by the family's new addition. Since we don't know whether Hindley knew or was close to Heathcliff 1.0, we can hesitantly assume he may have been upset by the naming.

On Heathcliff, Hindley, and Frances:

I would like to briefly touch more on Hindley's wife's death (so closely followed by his fathers death) bringing up feelings of his mothers death. Hindley's wife Frances Earnshaw is the second Mrs. Earnshaw and she only comes to the house right after Mr. Earnshaw dies. I believe Hindley parallels his father, Frances parallels his mother (so like many men, he metaphorically "married his mother"), and that Frances also has some similarities to Heathcliff.

Frances has an unknown origin story and Hindley keeps her background from his father on purpose, and this could have been intended to parallel the first Mr. Earnshaw from possibly keeping Heathcliff's origins vague: "What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us: probably, she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely have kept the union from his father."

Frances also immediately dislikes Heathcliff... just like Hindley's mother, the first Mrs. Earnshaw, did: "Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors: she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad?"

We don't know why Frances dislikes Heathcliff, but it wouldn't be a stretch to assume it has to do with his race & status, because it is only after her disapproval that Hindley banishes Heathcliff to the role of a servant/slave, we can assume. We can also assume Frances disliked Heathcliff from the beginning, since we're never told that she took a liking to him like she initially does with Catherine; we are only ever told she dislikes him:

"She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning. Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish, Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, evincing a dislike to Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy. He drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the farm."

It is after the last quote that we learn Cathy and Heathcliff become increasingly "feral" outdoors, as Heathcliff is forced to toil in outdoor labor, and Cathy insists on keeping him company while he's at it. At this point they are both essentially orphaned, and then neglected and abandoned by Hindley and Frances, the new Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw, who take on the roles of the former Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw, who were similarly neglectful and emotionally abandoning to their children.

On Cathy and Heathcliff:

In the beginning, Lockwood reads this diary entry from Catherine I which proves the prior analysis in that she compares Mr. Earnshaw 1.0 to Mr. Earnshaw 2.0 (Hindley):

""An awful Sunday,' commenced the paragraph beneath. 'I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute — his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious – H. and I are going to rebel — we took our initiatory step this evening."

Notice how in the death of Mr. Earnshaw and then under the tyranny of Hindley (Mr. Earnshaw 2.0), Cathy and Heathcliff are often sharing each other's emotions, and their bond is very twin-like. They both cry & grieve in their room in unison after Earnshaw dies, and although Heathcliff is the one primarily sentenced to torment by Hindley, Cathy doesn't abandon him to it and instead often keeps him company in his punishment, recalling when she was younger and her father would try to keep Heathcliff away from her to punish her.

Even when Cathy does sort of abandon Heathcliff to marry Edgar, in her speech after Heathcliff leaves, she says that her plan was to use her control over Edgar to benefit Heathcliff, so she really never intended to abandon him at all. Abandonment, attachment issues, separation, loss, grief, being torn away from someone/somewhere/something, are all major themes in this story, often expressed by familial and more often filial experiences.

Cathy and Heathcliff's relationship basically embodies all these themes the most poignantly, in that Heathcliff abandons her because he thinks she's abandoning him and he can't bear it and would rather leave than be left; then as soon as he returns, Cathy ends up actually physically abandoning him by dying! And later on, her ghost taunts him (I believe most of us can take the ghost plot as canon & not hallucinatory considering how many characters attest to it), and he once again returns to her like he did before.

Their whole relationship is about overcoming obstacles to separation, and being determined to retain their attachment as an act of defiance (even if it means defying life, death, physics, etc.) — this is why they're considered the most romantic couple in literature even despite their awful behavior most of the time, because in writing/literary pedagogy as a general rule it is almost always the goal of romantic leads to overcome obstacles which separate them from their lover, – and Heathcliff and Cathy take this goal to a new level by overcoming not only their childhood punishments of separation from one another, but overcoming the impossible obstacles of LIFE AND DEATH to reunite in the spirit realm where no one can separate them again — not even God.

Both Catherine and Heathcliff say that they know they won't go to heaven; God literally doesn't want them, and he has abandoned them, and this is the ultimate abandonment/seperation. Thus, all they have in the universe is each other — and if their relationship didn't work in life, they're determined to make it work in death!

Some final thoughts on Mr. Earnshaw and the making of Heathcliff:

Due to all of my previous explanations, I consider Mr. Earnshaw a possibly well-intentioned man but who ultimately failed all of his children (along with Mrs. Earnshaw) by 1) emotionally neglecting/abandoning Catherine because she was a "bad child" & acted more boyish than Hindley, 2) emotionally neglecting/abandoning Hindley in favor of Heathcliff (and maybe it was partly because Hindley was becoming a moody teenager and Heathcliff was comparatively younger/easier to handle bc of his trauma-induced subdued nature, but whatever his reasoning, it had disastrous consequences), 3) emotionally neglecting Heathcliff too by not being involved enough in his integration with the family & not checking in on him and Hindley, 4) straight up just not being that involved to begin with and not seeming to teach his children anything, hence why they're all bratty and grow up to be deeply maladjusted.

Notice how Nelly's motivational speeches to Heathcliff, and her taking care of him when he was sick, have an extraordinary affect on him, meaning Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw probably didn't show him even half as much attention or real affection. Like most English fathers at the time, Earnshaw thought his job as father/master was to merely provide provisions, leave the children with the women to be actually raised, and be done with it. The most unique thing he does in his life, and indeed his whole role in the story, is bringing home Heathcliff.

Maybe most importantly, I also just realized that Earnshaw kidnapping Heathcliff parallels Heathcliff kidnapping his own son after Isabella dies (and also him kidnapping his daughter-in-law Cathy II), and while this narrative parallel works if Earnshaw is merely Heathcliff's adoptive father, it also could be working to suggest that Earnshaw was his biological father, knew Heathcliff's mother had died, and so went back for him and took him by force. If Heathcliff's mother had recently died (or been separated from him), this would have compounded his trauma of being taken by Earnshaw, and this would have furthered his childhood memory loss, which could be another reason why I don't think Heathcliff remembers very much about his origins.

Heathcliff has much in common with Frankenstein's creaure. Yet, he is essentially a self-made man, his own creator and creature. We are even led to think of him as inhuman, as Isabella suggests with her referring to him as such and even calling him vampiric. And he does bear a lot of similarity to John Polidori's Lord Ruthven, from the first vampire novel The Vampyre (a Byronic tale, based on Byron's short story Augustus Darvell). Heathcliff's canonically mysterious origins and mysterious hiatus are necessary to his character; like Isabella and Nelly, we're supposed to question him and form our own opinions on the matter.

[temtamtom]

I’d love to hear if you have any headcanons around rome and his boys <3

Ouhh,,, I'm so normal about this family bro I swear,,,

I tend to flip-flop between making Rome their father or their grandfather. I usually go with the father route, but I do have AUs and storylines where he's their Nonno :)

(In addition to the point above, a plus-side of Rome being their dad is Romano gets to call him "Babbo". I also like calling him "Babbo Roma")

Romano looks the most like Rome. It's more apparent when you compare him to Rome's younger self when he didn't have as much muscle or stubble. I like to think they have a bust of his head in their shared apartment and, upon first glance, other nations often mistake it for a statue of Romano.

I mentioned this in a previous post but Romano and Rome share the same name. For the sake of simplicity, however, people usually call him Romulus.

Rome is 165 cm, Romano is also 165 cm, Feliciano is 170 cm, and Seborga is 178 cm. Romulus is very impressed with Sebby's height, and always compliments him on it. One of his favorite compliments is telling him he would make a great centurion with the right training (at which point the twins have to cut in and say no their baby brother will NOT be a soldier of any kind, thank you)

Rome is definitely very protective over his boys, which I'm sure is something their partners enjoy dealing with. I have fun imagining what his reaction would be to various partners/ships.

In the case of GerIta/ItaGer, I wouldn't be surprised if Romulus demanded Feliciano break up with Ludwig as soon as he found out he was German (as if Feliciano would listen) kdhfkj

I talked about this headcanon on my main blog (in Italian, though), but I'll bring it up here too. Rome usually spoke to his boys in some form of Latin, but he began learning Italian when Seborga joined the family. The kid was probably around 3-4 years old when Rome first met him and obviously didn't speak a lick of Latin.

Now onto some more serious stuff:

Rome lived past 476 AD. The last time Romano and Feliciano saw him was around 546, when Romulus sent them out of the city at the tail-end of a devastating siege on Rome during the Gothic Wars. They were separated to increase the chance of one child surviving- one heading north and the other heading south to their respective territories. Whether he survived past that is unclear to many nations. Some claim they spotted him in various places throughout Europe, a husk of the man he once was. Others believe he lived in hiding in the Byzantine Empire. No one is certain about what happened to him, and his ghost has a difficult time remembering what happened after the Gothic Wars.

This is deserving of its own more analytical/detailed post, but here are my two cents on what their relationship/dynamic looks like (in my mind). Though Rome loved his boys deeply, and the brothers loved him in return, life was not always peachy. There were certainly a lot of expectations put on their shoulders from a very young age. Rome had spent his entire life building an empire and a legacy, something he wanted to live on through his descendants, namely Romano. The firstborn, the fighter, and the one who commanded attention easily. The one who looked and acted the most like Rome did in his own youth. Under the right guidance, he could be shaped into a leader. However, this meant the boy was often scrutinized heavily by those around him and judged more harshly than his twin. He wasn't respected as his own person and was merely seen as an extension of his father/grandfather. Feliciano, on the other hand, was on the "weaker" and "softer" side. Rome adored him and coddled him, treated him more gently than Romano, but he didn't really respect him, if that makes any sense? So Feliciano felt the need to compete and one-up his brother to prove his own worth, even if it caused the brothers to start fighting (physical altercations were not uncommon). Romulus didn't seem to notice these issues. How could he when he was often away from home? In his eyes, his family was doing just fine. They seemed like two happy kids whenever he was around, and any fight that broke out between the twins was often chalked up to "brothers will be brothers"/"boys will be boys". These familial issues went completely unchecked for most of the boys' lives, and it wasn't until more modern times that they started to reflect on their childhood and its impact. Not all was doom and gloom in their childhoods ofc, but there were certainly quite a few issues. Like I said, this probably needs its own post kjfdgk

[candyhoiic]

Edit: I added some more details at the beginning

Beginning Notes:

Welcome back to my rambles of what it might look like if Adam and Lilith switched places in Hazbin Hotel!

In my last post, I described how I pictured their dynamic in Eden might have played out in the beginning, and then how the additional presence of Lucifer would affect their relationship.

For this post, I'm simply going to start where I left off! So, for the ease of access, I'll be linking my previous and first post of this series at the end of this post. Just in case you want to check them out or need a quick refresher!

TW: minor suggestive content, I describe their sex life in general but it's not graphic. I'm not writing smut lol sorry

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Okay so little recap!

As I said before, their relationship was at its healthiest after they accepted Lucifer offer to act as a buffer for them during sexual intercourse. With him at first simply talking them through it, and then from there he would gradually start to non-invasively touch them- with their consent of course.

He would use these touches to help promote cooperation between the two. So, they would work together towards their shared completion instead of fighting one another for dominance. Although after a while these touches would become more teasing as their relationship expanded. Lucifer not only trying to guide them with his touches but also excite them as well as to satiate his own curiosities.

After all, Lucifer had never laid with another despite knowing of sex. As he never really had the need given the main purpose of such acts were to reproduce which seraphim didn't have to worry about. If they needed more seraphim, they would simply be created.

However, he found himself wanting to have a sexual connection with Lilith and Adam. Not because he wanted to reproduce- obviously, but because it made him feel closer to them. To him it was yet another way he could express his care for them. Besides he also learned firsthand how pleasurable the act could be for all parties involved when done correctly.

Their newfound cooperation in their sex life transferred to other aspects of their life as well. With Adam and Lilith forming a special connection. Now it wasn't the traditional relationship you expect of a husband and wife, but it was undeniably what worked best for them. While Lucifer acted more like a more traditional romantic partner, Adam and Lilith acted more like friends for the most part.

Although they crossed the line of mere friendship a long time ago with them both being sexually involved with one another. However, even 'friends with benefits' wasn't the right term for their relationship. There were too many feelings between them. They had too much of a connection with each other to be just that. After all, they were literally made for each other.

So, while they weren't exactly in love with each other, they did love one another in their own way. Slowly, learning there were other ways to love someone. Lucifer helping them to understand love wasn't a purely romantic concept, it could be platonic or somewhere in between. And so, with experimentation, they slowly but surely found a balance they were comfortable with. The two gradually coming to terms with their relationship.

They accepted it wasn't ever going to be 'normal' and made peace with neither of them being the dominant one. They allowed themselves to actually relax in each other's presence and simply enjoy exploring their expanding relationship. It was a process to figure out their boundaries and expectations for one another, and of course they were setbacks at time. But it paid off with the two of them being able to hang out without needing Lucifer to act as a buffer.

They learned to not only stand one another but enjoy it. One way they spent time together was preforming duets together. With Adam's skill at playing practically any instrument and Lilith's gorgeous singing voice, they were able to produce such sweet melodies together. During one of these times, their eyes would meet, and both would be shocked to see the soft look the other directed their way.

It was the type of look Lucifer would give them when they did something particularly endearing. It was the same look they would also give him at times, but it was never a look they gave one another. Still neither broke eye contact as they carried on with their current song, hardly noticing as they grew closer to one another. Their steps follow the rhythm of their duet with both of them softly swaying to and from each step.

They weren't exactly sure what they were doing- later they would call it dancing. And that would be the first time they actually named something together without arguing.

Regardless, neither one of them were eager to break whatever spell fell over them. So, they continued to dance. Their bodies move harmoniously with one another and yet neither lead the other. They were free to move however they liked with only the beat commanding them to stay in time with one another. Their dancing slowly guides them ever closer as matching smiles light up their faces.

They don't stop moving towards one another until their chest to chest. At one point, Adam's instrument had gone slack in his hand while he sang the last bit of the song with Lilith. His voice wasn't nearly as smooth as the others, but neither seemed to care as their voices were still able to pleasantly melt together. Neither voice overpowering the other as their voices tempered off together signaling the end of the song.

Still neither made a move to step back. Their eyes still locked, blue skies meeting the soft browns of earth. Two very different colors and yet no one could deny they belong together. Neither knows who started to lean in first, but the next moment, their lips brushed softly together. Clumsily melding together in a sweet unhurried manner as they simply appreciated the warmth that ran through them at the contact. And soon their arms would encircle one another in a gentle embrace as they continued to kiss. Not to procreate, not for dominance, simply because they wanted to.

Their kisses would remain innocent while they slowly lowered to the ground with the soft grass cradling their intertwined bodies. It was there they would stay cuddling each other as they continued to exchange kisses until their lips were both pink and puffy. Eventually, they would go back to singing. This time a different melody as they laid side by side, and that's how the rest of their day was spent until Lucifer came back to them.

The seraphim returns from Heaven to the sight of both his beloveds sleeping soundly. Their forms still pressed against one another in a lover's embrace.

There would be other incidents, where Lilith and Adam would spend time alone simply appreciating each other's presence. Although those times were slowly becoming less and less as Lucifer seemed to leave for heaven less. Not that neither of them were complaining! While they both may now be able to actually stand each other without him, that didn't mean they cared for the seraphim any less. He was as much of a part of their relationship as either of them were no matter what anyone else thought.

They didn't care if it wasn't in god's plan for it to be Adam, Lilith, and Lucifer because they decided that's exactly how it was supposed to be in their book...

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Any possible consequences of this decision were far from any of their minds. Blinded by their happiness, the three grew careless and slowly heaven grew suspicious. Sera noted Lucifer's absence, and it didn't sit right with her. Naturally, she brought her concerns to the other seraphim and eventually the archangels were also paying closer attention to Lucifer spending more time in Eden. It got to the point, he was there more than he was in heaven, and while they should have been glad he was taking his duties so seriously, no one could deny it was odd.

However, it was Sera who discovered exactly what was keeping Lucifer away. While the others were content to simply wait for Lucifer to return for answers, she was too worried. She just knew something was wrong, and fearing the worst she took it upon herself to use an unauthorized all seeing orb to check on her fellow seraphim. She was in no way expecting the image which greeted her. She had expected to see Lucifer, not Adam or Lilith, and certainly not any of them in such a scandalous position.

In her shocked state she continued watching, hoping that she was wrong. Hoping the situation playing out before her would somehow right itself, but there was no way that anything could fix what she was seeing. The three of them were in the middle of being intimate. There was no point in denying it now, and so once her brain finally caught up with her, she immediately vanquished the orb.

She knew she wasn't meant to watch such sinful behavior, she also knew she had not had permission to use the orb in the first place. However, she couldn't simply just let this continue. So, she rushed off to group up the other seraphim, which led to them going to the archangels. The gathered angels swiftly came to the decision that Sera and two other seraphim would visit Eden immediately. They were to confirm what Sera saw and talk to the three before bringing Lucifer back with them so they could decide on his punishment.

When they arrived at Eden, the three they were looking for had just finished their activity, but still it was easy to see that Sera had indeed seen correctly. The fact that Lucifer was still not fully robed yet, making that as clear as day. However, Sera still gave them a chance to deny the accusation. She secretly hoped they would, but to her growing horror Lucifer did not; Adam and Lilith followed suit.

Instead of any of them expressing even an ounce of guilt over their wrongdoing they argued they had done nothing wrong. They even expressed they all loved one another. That was the final nail on the coffin. Sera had heard enough as well of the other seraphim, they asked Lucifer to come with them and he agreed. Although both of the first humans clearly didn't want him to. Both had even stepped in front of him as if attempting to shield him from the other angel's ire.

These poor souls Sera had thought. Just how much had he tainted them?

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Adam and Lilith could do nothing when Lucifer inevitably went with the other seraphim back to Heaven. The two of them holding each other in their shared worry with their other third. Whatever was happening didn't seem good at all. Both of them still felt bitter remembering how Sera had looked at them as if there was something inherently wrong with them both. Although beneath the bitter resentment neither could deny they were also scared.

Would Sera replace them?

She had mentioned it before when they wouldn't procreate. And now that it was clear that she didn't approve of how they solved their initial problem, they were at fear once more that they would be replaced. However, it was out of their hands now so they simply continued to cling to one another as their thoughts turned to their shared worries over what would happen to Lucifer.

Sure neither of them were any more comfortable with the thought of being replaced as they had been, but at least they still had each other for now. Meanwhile the other was all alone in heaven going through who knows what. Guilt and worry were quick to fill their souls.

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While up in heaven, Lucifer wasn't feeling much better. However, he was less worried over his impending trial than he was for what would become of Adam and Lilith. He had been the one to propose the idea of getting involved with their love life. He didn't want them to be punished for something he suggested. Even if he was still unsure of what was so wrong with it to begin with. He had done his job and kept them happy.

Was it really so wrong that he had fallen for them along the way? How could something as pure as love be proclaimed as wrong?

He just didn't know.

Unfortunately, he seemed to be one of the minority who felt that way. At his trial, it was clear they had already made their judgment before it began. The angels who mattered were not swayed in the least by his defense. Even as some other angels sitting in on the court meeting voiced their own support over Lucifer.

The fight was lost before it began and he was sentenced to a human lifetime on Earth to reflect on his wrong doings. If he truly repented after his sentence was up then he would be allowed to come back to Heaven but until then he was not allowed in Heaven nor Eden. His wings would also be locked away into his body with him unable to call upon them for aid, and before the day was up, he fell.

The whole process wasn't as painful as one would think. In fact, the angels had been disarmingly gentle. At most he felt discomfort when his wings were bound, he only felt slight pain when he fell even. His landing was softer than it should have been. He expected it was due to whatever little favor and connection he still had with Heaven that kept him from being harmed to the full amount.

However, nothing was able to soothe his worries over what would happen to Adam and Lilith. So, despite everything he began to search for Eden, his sentencing be damned. He would be reunited with them. He promised to watch after them and their happiness, and despite whatever Heaven might think, he was no liar.

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Time of heaven and time of Eden didn't exactly correlate so Adam and Lilith spent a whole week not hearing anything from Heaven. Not knowing of what became of Lucifer. At that time, the two barely slept or ate. They were only somewhat functional due to the other worrying over them, and reminding one another they had to stay strong for Lucifer. Although it seemed to be all for not when Sera and a new group of seraphim returned but no Lucifer.

Despite Adam's pride he openly wept knowing exactly what Lucifer's absence implied. He was gone. And while Lilith came to a similar conclusion she would not weep instead she openly glared at the approaching angels while hiding Adam's face in the crook of her neck. However, these angels still had the gall to sadly smile at them as if they were the ones in the wrong. As if they were both just a pair of misbehaving children.

Lilith did not care for the condescension one bit, but didn't speak out as she hushed her husband as best she could. She wasn't the most maternal being but she did her best.

Sera was the first to speak, explaining how everything was fine now. Adam's sadness seemed to transform into rage at her words as the man ripped his face away from Lilith's comforting form to also glare with teary eyes set ablaze. Immediately, asking for what had become of Lucifer, but any attempt for information about the other was shut down. Sera would clearly not divulge anything except that he wouldn't be able to further corrupt them anymore.

It was Lilith's turn to speak as she laughed with cold derision, arguing Lucifer had done no such thing, but Sera simply gave a patient smile. She wouldn't argue with either of them, but it was clear she didn't believe in Lucifer's innocence either.

Instead of further humoring either of them, she moved onto inform them that they had done nothing wrong and would not face any punishment. Explaining how the archangels had agreed it was only due to Lucifer's temptation that they were tricked to stray from god's path. As long as they continued to not partake from the fruit of good and evil they were allowed to stay. Then, she left along with the other seraphim.

Adam and Lilith both should have felt relief, but neither felt anything but cold. Both of them remained to cling to each other, joining together in solemn grief over what the angels had done to their other third.

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A/N:

One down to two go :)

Just to be clear Lucifer has fallen, but hasn't had the fall yet. Our boy was simply put in Heaven's version of a time out corner, but as we all know he will fall to Hell eventually just not yet.

Next time, I'll explain how Lilith and Adam cope with Lucifer's banishment and I'm hoping to also cover some more characters falling from grace hehe Eve will also probably make appearance in my next rambles too.

So, yeah I'm just about done covering the main points of what happened in Eden in my version of this Au.

Links:

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[misscammiedawn]

DID Representation in The Incredible Hulk (Part 2)

Continuing on from Part 1 in which I explained the background of the Banner System I wanted to discuss the marriage between Bruce Banner and Betty Talbot Ross-Banner and break down relationships between systems and singlets.

This is a topic that is tackled often in media and one that could be its own topic of focus within DID representation.

Some may have a complicated love triangle where a singlet is in love with two members of a system or have dynamics where members of a system love different partners and even stories involving introjects of loved ones who are treated as living memories.

The romance tropes and "split personality" tropes really do go hand in hand and for the most part those stories are not what I would consider DID representation as the trope exists to facilitate the story. The drama is often sourced from at least one party in the situation not understanding or consenting to the dynamics of the plurality at play or a member of a system attempting to actively sabotage the relationship.

Where I would start considering it moving out of trope territory and into representation territory is when the condition is treated as part of the reality of being in a relationship and something which has to be navigated as surely as any other life circumstance.

Today I'm going to talk about the romance in Hulk comics. Particularly surrounding the relationship between Joe Fixit and Betty Ross.

Since the very first issues in 1962 Betty Ross has known the man she was in love with was both Bruce Banner and Hulk. Bruce's DID may have been a curveball thrown at her down the line, as mentioned in part 1 it was not codified until the mid-80s, but it was never a secret. In the previous part of this essay I noted that Bruce did not have the strength within himself to accept his condition and he was emotionally distant and ran away from the people who loved him.

Bruce has the option of not dealing with his condition. Betty does not.

Hulk is a rare comic where it shows a hyperbolic reality of engaging in a relationship with someone who has a dissociative disorder. Betty and Banner do not have a good marriage. They show a lot of red flags, some more worrying than others. But they deal with those issues and thus they display them on the page well enough to have a conversation about it.

And that's why I wanted to highlight it.

Immortal Hulk #48 (Al Ewing - 2021)

In this issue Betty and Joe have just had a passion fueled reunion that lead to them enjoying some private time in a hotel room. The circumstances are complicated but she had walked out on Bruce earlier in the story. Betty has been trying to show him the imperfections in herself (physically represented by her Red Harpy form) and Bruce has been refusing to engage with the "monster" in the place of his wife.

Gamma tends to make physical that which lays under the surface. When Bruce looks away from Red Harpy he is truly looking away from viewing his wife as anything other than perfect.

Towards the end of the Immortal Hulk storyline Betty returned to the plot and found that Bruce was still "hiding" from her so she got close to Joe instead and the two proceed to have an adult conversation about their broken marriage and just where Joe fits in with it.

We'll cover Immortal Hulk 48 in more detail a little more later. It's one of my favorite comics of all time.

But before I continue I want to point out Joe and Betty's disagreement on whether this is cheating or not. "You married Banner" "You're a part of him" to paraphrase.

Relationship dynamics with systems come in a variety of different shapes and sizes. In writing this essay I have no intention of stating any version is better or worse than another and I recognize that different circumstances have different needs.

Many of my friends who I know from support communities hold Joe's view. That individual alters have the agency to consent to be included in relationships with the system or not. Others hold Betty's view, that to be in love with the system is to be in love with every part of the person, regardless of whether they were present enough to consent at the time the relationship began.

I am in Betty's camp. Some of my closest friends with DID are in Joe's. There are other camps. But there is one thing that I have seen discussed in every single support group I've been part of and it's that members of the system dating outside of a monogamous relationship without explicit consent is and will always be cheating. Emphasis on communication and consent.

Incredible Hulk 376 (Peter David - 1990)

I am polyamorous and our system considers all of us in each relationship, even if we understand that this ideal is not exactly easily integrated into a relationship. I'll not peel back the curtain but there's a lot of inner and external management that goes into that conceit. One of our partners explicitly has a relationship with all 5 of us, our other partners have a relationship with "us" that is less concerned about individual dynamics and neither version of this scenario is preferred over the other. Every relationship is different. Even if one of those relationships contains 5. Like everything with being in treatment, it's about being flexible, understanding, compromising and accommodating.

As noted above, Joe does not consider himself to be Bruce and so he does not feel like he has to honor Bruce's marriage. In the 80s run when Joe gains his name and acts as a Las Vegas enforcer he has a romance with a young woman named Marlo Chandler. Regretfully she is not overtly mentioned in Immortal Hulk #48 though Betty does bring up that Joe had a whole life in Vegas that he had hidden away from her. Marlo was part of that life.

In the tail end of the Vegas arc of comics Betty returns to Bruce's life after thinking him dead for over 6 months. Marlo shows up and is surprised to see Bruce, someone she was told was Joe's brother. Joe and Marlo's relationship was formed while Bruce was dormant and after he returned the cover story was that Bruce Bancroft was Joe Fixit's brother. Joe does not consider himself to be Bruce and so does not honor his marriage. As you see in the above page, everyone else involved does not see it the same way.

A highlight from this era is a few issues earlier where Betty and Joe have their first adult discussion. It's an absolute classic comic and is directly referenced in Immortal Hulk #48. Betty and Joe have great energy together and trust one another, though Joe fears her as the system's attachment to her leaves them feeling vulnerable and lowers the walls between alters. It's a shame that this was 4 issues before the forced fusion. I'd have loved to have seen more interactions between the pair.

Incredible Hulk #373 (Peter David - 1990)

Sidenote that issue has my favorite Hulk cover of all time.

They don't have a lot of time together but Betty and Joe had great chemistry in these comics, especially when compared to how Bruce treats her. The following pages are both from the same issue:

Incredible Hulk #374 (Peter David - 1990)

Bruce does love Betty but he hates himself more than he loves her and she long has to deal with him putting up walls and keeping a distance. Where Banner fears the "monster" he becomes, in no canon does Betty ever fear any incarnation of Hulk.

She does however resent being coddled. Her father was overly protective of her because her mother died, her first husband, Glenn Talbot, was overly protective of her and now Bruce has picked up that sin. She hates being treated as helpless.

For sake of clarity and addressing the "early installment weirdness" I'll note that it wasn't until Byrne's run in the 80s that Betty gained a backbone. During the 80s period of comics Byrne and David codified her as a fierce and strong-willed woman and that characterization has remained with her ever since.

The reason Bruce is so temperamental about the woman he loves and why all the Hulk's, even Devil, are typically so good to her is...

Well...

Incredible Hulk #377 (Peter David - 1991)

I'll let that speak for itself.

The Vegas arc is not the only time that Bruce has seemingly died and been content to let his wife think he is deceased.

Bruce's emotional distance from Betty is another all too real depiction of traumatized adults who are not managing their symptoms. Trauma in all forms remains with a person and steers their behavior. In the extreme this can lead to phobias and mildly it can lead to avoidance.

Bruce is constantly driven to avoid pain. He is depressed, self-loathing and withdrawn and no matter how much he pulls away he is unable to secure for himself a sense of comfort and security. When he withdraws from his wife he is indulging in a maladaptive coping mechanism that tells him that he will be hurt if he gets closer to her.

A quote from Bruce in Immortal Hulk #14 "Betty... I know. I should have... called someone. But I--I wasn't ready. It's like I knew that in my gut. I couldn't face it. I've learned to trust feelings like that. They protect me."

Joe, who is emotionally removed from the source of their trauma, does not live in terror of the memories that haunt the rest of the system. Bruce may have repressed memories of his father's worst deeds (and the fact that he, himself, murdered the man) but he still feels the terror that is attached to love.

Devil overtly spells it out during the Immortal Hulk storyline by saying "Deep down inside. He's still that kid. A little kid who can't imagine love without pain." which is sadly an all too true reality for many suffering with DID. We don't need to be child alters to still be eternally living through events that happened decades ago.

In the Immortal Hulk storyline Bruce spent months estranged from her and when he got back to her she ended up caught in crossfire and died herself, only to awaken the gamma in her blood and be resurrected as Red Harpy.

There's a lot of Comics stuff there about Betty's mutate forms (Harpy and Red She-Hulk) and how gamma mutation is psychological in how it presents. All that is needed to be known is that Betty simmers with a silent fury. She has been treated as a trophy her entire life, protected and sheltered by her military general father, all but traded as a dowry to one of her father's loyal men, Glenn Talbot, and then long suffering as Bruce Banner's wife.

Even her Red She-Hulk form was forcibly taken away against her wishes by Bruce "for her own good".

Immortal Hulk #14 (Al Ewing - 2019)

For this reason after she is killed again, her latest gamma mutation draws out a feathered and fanged harpy, something she entirely identifies as with no shame, represented by her instant and intentional transformations between forms. Her catchphrase is "this is ME."

Bruce cannot accept this is the person he married. Joe actively admires and encourages her self-acceptance.

Here's a page where Bruce escapes from a conversation that he himself initiated because he cannot stand to face an imperfect version of Betty:

Immortal Hulk #22 (Al Ewing - 2019)

This all comes to a head when Betty approaches Joe and asks to speak to her husband and after switching out, Bruce feels cornered enough to lash out and demand to speak to his wife. Betty, realizing Bruce will never accept this side of her leaves.

Which brings us back to the hotel room after she reunites with Joe.

The argument breaks out when Betty scornfully notes that if Bruce objected to them being together then he should come out and say it himself, knowing full well that he will continue withdrawing and hiding from her.

Joe admits that Bruce isn't there because he's in hell. There's a very long and interesting explanation to that which is entirely literal.

But the point is that he allowed their reunion and passionate evening to persist without saying that. It clues Betty in to the fact that Joe may be better at hiding it and may be better at smooth talking than the system's host is but he is just as avoidant.

She does not take it well.

Immortal Hulk #48 (Al Ewing - 2021)

But here's the part that really solidifies these two as a pair of grown-ups.

Joe admits to his fuck-up, offers some additional vulnerability (Betty herself refuses to believe Joe is capable of vulnerability and lashes out at him for attempting to emotionally manipulate her) by confessing to his origins as a child's idea of a man.

The little bits of truth about the condition that spill out during this conversation truly show how much empathy Ewing put into depicting DID as accurately as he could for a comic about world breaking atomic beasts. "If I wanted to lie, I coulda said I didn't remember. We usually don't" and "I... we, All of us. The whole damn system... We're messed up" are lines which feel like they could come up during a conversation on these topics.

I cannot even tally the amount of guilt we feel in discussions where we know our brain should be retaining the information and that we want to remember and be clear but we can't. The hardest part is to not just lean on the condition as an excuse or out for many of the valid discussions that come up when navigating a relationship.

At the end of the day the only way to manage these troubled waters is with trust and communication, same as any other relationship.

Joe gives that a try, even.

Immortal Hulk #48 (Al Ewing - 2021)

DID is a hidden illness. It's denial disease. It is sourced from a level of emotional agony that is too present, too constant and too inescapable. It's why, until the age of the internet where ability to recognize symptoms without medical guidance due to knowledge and resources being widespread, the average age of diagnosis is 30 despite symptoms being prevalent from childhood.

Relationships with disordered systems are difficult. When an adult has a trauma response that causes them to dissociate, hide and reject sources of pain and conflict they will inevitably fail to communicate and cause additional friction in a relationship.

Joe here makes his absolute best attempt to bridge that gap. He accepts his failings. Admits fault and attempts to communicate with honesty and vulnerability.

I do not know where Banner/Ross' marriage will go in the future. There's a lot of hurt there. It won't be smoothed over with a single conversation. It won't be healed until Bruce is able to be present in the conversation.

But my heavens this is the most mature discussion I have ever seen on the topic in fiction. Bruce is the personification of the phrase "Hurt people hurt people.", he doesn't mean it. None of the system truly means it (well... sometimes they mean it. They have anger issues after all) but they want to try and be better. Joe does, anyway.

And the sad fact is that sometimes that can be too little, too late.

Betty leaves after the above page. A hopeful person can claim that she was summoned by Dr. Strange's magical call for champions but it doesn't matter. She decides she has seen everything the Banner System has to offer and needs some time for herself.

I look forward to seeing if we ever get a follow-up to this. It's been 2/3 years.

And that brings me to the end of this little detour.

I'll likely be back with more Hulk talk in the future. There are a lot of storylines to cover. But for now, thank you for reading my little squee on this particular comic book relationship. It means a great deal to me.

If you enjoyed my little ramble about DID representation please consider checking out my Media, Myself and I tag. Otherwise, thank you for reading.

Oh and buy Immortal Hulk. It's legitimately one of the best comic runs of all time.