#and how growing up in the shadow of that grief shaped him as a person

[blujayonthewing]

just realized something about ambrose and his relationship to his parents that I would LOVE to CHEW ON but he exists in limbo and I don't have the outlets oTL

[theoutcastedartist]

Do yo have a story or au for Macaques shadow in your drawings? Because if so I hope we get to hear it and if not there’s so much potential!

OOO I INDEED DO!

There's still a lot I'm tryna figure out for the shadow (like yknow... a NAME jfhajaj)

Also my head is a mess rn so if some of the wording is weird, that's why haha ANYWAY

In my Anathema AU, it is an ancient evil that had been sealed away in the stone that Six Ears first emerges from. One that almost no one, except a handful up in heaven, know the existence of.

Since Six Eared Macaque emerged, it has been (albeit very, VERY slowly over the course of centuries) trying to take control of his body. The shadow being takes on many shapes and forms, the "Smoke Monster" is simply one of many. The entity only ever appears to macaque, unless macaque is using supposed "kaiju form"

And so is this fucking guy, who for the life of me I CANNOT figure out what his name is, besides the Demon King of Havoc referring to him in the show as "Grandpa Qian" I think (correct me if I'm wrong, I've only seen the first 14 episodes of the show 💀)

In Anathema AU, Demon King of Havoc and Grandpa Qian have no association with each other. DKH simply wants to take over the mountain that Old Chief Monkey & Macaque reside on to further spread his forces and territory (to which he succeeds in running the monkeys of the mountain and takes Six Ears as a prisoner for 700 years.)

This is the form that appears most often to Macaque. For now we'll refer to the entity as "Qian" until I either figure out a name for the entity or learn what this dude's name in particular actually is lol

Qian is manipulative and messes with Mac's head a lot, slowly chipping away at his will in hopes of making him vulnerable enough to fully possess him one day.

The color of Macaque's fur is usually a pretty good indicator of how far along Qian's possession of him is. The darker his fur is, the closer Qian is to his goal of being in full control.

At times he'll so much as twist reality in Macaque's head for his own goals. As a result, Six Ears to keep to himself a lot of the time distrusting everyone and everything around him. The only other person he ever felt comfortable being around was Old Chief Monkey, who Six Ears viewed as a grandfatherly figure.

Old Chief Monkey knew there was something up with Six Ears (yknow besides being born from a rock lol), but could never figure out what it was. Regardless, he truly cared for him as if he were his own flesh and blood. The loss of Six Ears during the DKH invasion of the mountain filled him with so much grief, which he still feels to this day.

Sun Wukong didn't even know of the entity trying to slowly possess Macaque, not during all their years of friendship, not during all their years of rivalry, and not in reconciliation did he know about it.

Before the two monkeys ever met, Macaque had long since given up on trying to get rid of Qian. Even if his resolve against Qian hadn't wavered after centinues of being in chains and scorn from both regular mortals and other demons, it's not like the shadowy entity would just let Macaque mention anything about it (at least not explicitly)

SWK had figured this entire time that Macaque's darkening fur had to do with his shadow powers growing. MK (along with his friends) believe something else is going on with our fav fruity goth monkey

...but Qian will not let go of this vessel so easily.

[marcspectrr]

I just wanna talk about the color symbolism in moon knight for hours okay.

Throughout the entire show, it's Steven who wears dark colors, and it seems to contradict his character at first. With black symbolizing things like power, death, mystery, and grief, it doesn't initially match up with his presence on screen -- not to mention that it's the color in opposition to white (which is Marc's whole thing that I'll get to in a second).

Power, but Steven feels powerless against his 'sleep disorder'.

Death, but he's not the one surrounded by it, not really.

Mystery, but Marc is the one the audience is unsure about, the one figuratively and literally hiding in the shadows.

Grief, but he's supposed to have the "happy, simple, normal life".

So. Then you further consider the symbolism behind black, when it represents simplicity, sophistication, comfort and strength, more specifically strong-willed when pairing it with a personality type.

Simplicity, because at first glance, Steven is the one who has the simple life. He's meant to, that was the whole point of him, not only to Marc but for the story, to have something so mundane be juxtaposed against his alter's life.

Sophistication, even though it can sometimes counter simplicity (as it's supposed to, in this case), because even if Steven seems to be a bit of a mess at first, when you boil it down, he does have sophisticated facets. He has refined knowledge on complicated subjects and ways of the world (Egyptology, poetry, etc.) -- though not directly cultivated through experience, at least not to his awareness.

Comfort, because, as much as it goes without say, his 'purpose' is comfort, at first. He has the soft edges to make up for Marc's rough ones, he is the one sought out when the anguish becomes too much to handle. He is the very opposite of the majority of what Marc received in his life.

Strength, because without getting too emotional lol, with comfort comes strength, as it balances out the pain. Steven is the one who's helped Marc through the worst moments of his life, ("You saved me. I survived because I knew I wasn't alone. You were always there, alive, full of hope."). Through everything, Steven is the one who gives Marc these little shoves to keep going, sometimes without even noticing, steadily pushing him along and keeping him whole. Marc sees Steven as all the things he can't see in himself, the most notable thing being strong, I think, because of all of this ^.

The color black itself is necessary for all colors to have depth. -> By being shown wearing it and/or mixing with Marc's lighter hues when they're co-conscious, Steven gives Marc his depth/all the qualities he can't and won't allow himself to have.

Now. For Marc. He is shown always wearing lighter colors and if we're focusing on white, depending on the culture, white is linked to things like purity, innocence and peace. Once again, it seems contrary to Marc's character.

Purity, but he loses it once he loses his brother, really. Enlisting in the Marine Corps, becoming a mercenary, becoming a weapon for Khonshu, all of it contaminates him with unrelenting guilt.

Innocence, but he loses that too at a young age, mostly through the abuse he endured growing up, then further wiped away with his work as a mercenary, etc.

Peace, I mean...need I explain this one? Marc Spector and peace? Nah. The moment he's given the opportunity, he denies it, selflessly, almost like he doesn't know how to exist in it.

Now it gets better. White is also tied to things like new beginnings, cleanliness and isolation.

New beginnings, because we're seeing the end of Marc's dichotomy with Steven. Their lives are no longer these separate paths, instead they're beginning to bleed into each other, the walls crumbling down. Marc is beginning to learn to embrace his fractured mind, to see what keeping the wall up was doing to Steven, etc. (Also, one symbol for new beginnings being a crescent moon, the very shape pressed against Marc's chest whenever he's fulfilling his servitude agdjfjfk)

Cleanliness, because childhood discipline, military background, never 'settling down' from his work, etc. We've seen his setup in the storage unit and his "I can't believe you live in this frickin' mess" in Steven's flat, I think it's fair to say he's an organized guy, almost rigidly so. Additionally, this color can allude to him carrying the cold and sterile environment of his past with mental institutions with him, unable to shake those particular traumas.

Isolation, because of his tendency, his impulse, to detach himself from the world. His dad turns a blind eye to the abuse so Marc begins to pull away, eventually running away from home. Layla cares and becomes close, too close, so close he fears she might see the things he can no longer hide, along with being in the line of fire with Khonshu, so he sends her divorce papers (without signing them, yes, it's IMPORTANT) and essentially ghosts her -- runs away from the next thing he ever got to a home :'(. Steven is the one he's been isolating himself from for the longest (that's a whole other rant). Isolating also coincides with hiding and when you think about it, white is the hardest color to hide behind (think, black is absorption and white is reflection).

My main point; I will never get over how this show flips certain symbolic archetypes on their heads. Less obvious is always better! Every shot is so visually layered it physically hurts lol. It's unspeakably nice, too, to watch something where you can tell the people who worked on it actually cared about it :') (funny how this is a marvel project huh)

Alright. If you made it through this post and would like to further fall down this color rabbit hole, feast your eyes on this and this, courtesy of @sparklingbinjuice @blipityblopityyy and @mrcspectr

[hythlodaes]

time tethered together

emile x estinien - 1.2k words set the night before they meet vidofnir / ARR patch + DRG quest spoilers. 

There’s something about the way the world blurs at night. The distant canopy of trees reduces down to shifting shapes against the star studded sky, looming shadows that don’t have to mean anything—not the weight of tomorrow, the enormity of the task before them, or the grief that each day bears, with scarcely the time to dwell on it. 

And the night carries a chill of its own, Dravania no less cold even in the absence of snow. Emile clutches his cloak around his shoulders as he shifts closer to the fire, eyes stinging with exhaustion even as he keeps himself awake. There are moments, just like this, when he feels like he can catch his breath. It feels like he’s the only person alive in the world, a ghost of himself no less, but still, despite the waning darkness and the lost hours of sleep, there is the smallest chance of respite. 

He takes this time, because after everything he’s gone through, after everyone he’s lost, his resolve only strengthens. 

There is no choice but to keep going. 

He isn’t alone tonight, though. His attention snaps at the telltale sound of approaching footsteps, and he looks up to see the tall figure of Estinien cut through the shadows. There’s a softness about him like this, with his long hair pulled into a loose ponytail, missing the jagged edges of his armor. It's still a sight that Emile’s growing used to—he hadn’t realized how much he relied on the distance Estinien’s helmet created between them until it came off. 

Meeting his gaze is an entirely different matter he needs to get used to. 

“The Warrior of Light forsakes an opportunity to rest,” Estinien says, his voice quiet as he sits beside him. 

“It happens on occasion.”

“I don’t imagine you have many such occasions.”

And Emile lets out the barest laugh. “No, not quite.”

He knows better than to read any concern into the exchange. After their last confrontation, their working relationship stands on shaky ground. Whatever part of Emile lingered on those first meetings, whatever stayed with him all this time, still isn’t sure what to make of him now. 

He turns his gaze back to the blurry line of trees in the distance. “Why are you awake?”

“Nidhogg stirs,” comes the answer. 

There’s no need to explain. It’s enough. 

And they’re silent for a long moment, the flames cracking before them, the air humming around them. Emile closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the river that flows through Tailfeather, and he finds it more comfortable than he should, perhaps too tired to perceive any awkwardness between them. 

But then— “You hide it well from Master Alphinaud.” 

Emile glances over at him, the warmth of the fire’s glow coloring his pale skin. “What?” 

“The weariness you carry with you,” Estinien answers. “Your demeanor changes the moment he’s near. The effort is worth naught, though. He still sees it.” 

I sense the many battles are beginning to take their toll. 

Emile presses his lips together, only able to keep Estinien’s gaze for a few seconds before he turns his attention down to his hands, still clutching the cloak around him. Words fail him, his own defenses rendered useless in the face of the truth, but Estinien clears his throat, and then after a moment—

“As do I.” 

A sharp feeling digs into Emile’s chest, but there’s no anger in his voice when he says, “You presume to understand.”

“I only observe.”

And it goes unspoken: I knew you before you were like this. 

“He’s young,” Emile murmurs. “He carries enough burdens, I will not add to them my own.”

“That you would protect him so.”

“He’s like a brother to me.”

Alphinaud is younger than Emile’s own sister, but what they’ve been through has bonded them in a way that isn’t easily shaken. The boy’s heart and courage, his character and his determination to do good, to help, is what often gives Emile the strength to keep going. 

“Have you known him long?”

Emile shakes his head. “Scarcely a year.”

There’s another long pause between them as Estinien seems to think this over, and then finally— “Much can happen in a year.”

There’s a question somewhere in the statement, but it bears the truth even if it feels like such a simple way to say it. Much does not describe everything that happened in those last days in Ul’dah, nor those last moments in the tunnels. Emile still burns with shame at the resentment he carried towards Minfilia at that time, and the regret he felt at the realization that he may never see her again. 

But it’s true for him and Estinien as well, isn’t it? From the Eye awakening once more, the first time two Azure Dragoons had been chosen, to the burning sound of Estinien’s voice—In you I thought I had found kindred. There's the memory of Alberic at Emile’s back, the power of Nidhogg called upon and used against him. They crossed lances in the snow, and then there was only the strange emptiness Emile felt in his absence. That they can sit here like this now, smoke billowing up from the fire and softening the edges around them, with something like peace settled between them— 

“Yes, much can change” he agrees. He finds this to be the extent at which he can speak on it, though. Instead he leans his weight closer to him and bumps their shoulders together, just for a second, just the briefest touch. “So you could stand to show Alphinaud a little kindness.” 

Estinien’s only response is the upturn of his lips, the beginnings of a smile shadowed by the flame’s flickering light. Emile’s gaze lingers on it, an unexpected warmth bleeding through his chest at the sight, and he turns his head away again—of all the monstrous things he’s faced in this realm, he finds his courage fail in this simple matter. 

“Perhaps I should take the chance to rest after all,” he says, and he stands, pulling his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. He makes himself look back at Estinien, who stays seated but nods his head at him. 

“Sleep well, Warrior of Light.”

Emile huffs. “Thank you, Azure Dragoon.”

“Ah, but that is a title we share.”

The air stills between them. They may be bound in this, but they still have yet to talk about it, and tonight is not the time. Whatever exists between them allows understanding, at least, and the tension in Estinien’s shoulders softens with a breath before he murmurs, “Goodnight, Emile.”

“Goodnight,” he returns. 

His exhaustion catches up with him as he returns to the hut, his body heavy as he settles in his bunk. It’s dark enough that he can only make out the faint outline of Alphinaud across the room, but the slow, even cadence of his breathing reassures him that he’s asleep. 

Perhaps he does see through Emile, but if he can be spared even the smallest amount of worry, Emile would bear anything. 

And maybe Estinien sees him for all that he is, but that feels like something else altogether. 

Strangely, it’s a comforting thought as he turns over, the light of the fire outside just a distant glow in the window, and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep—the phantom memory of Estinien’s smile the last thing on his mind. 

[meowww-ffxiv]

The Scions didn't get to talk to people who knew Liios before they did until Endwalker, since most of his close acquaintances and friends were in Thavnair or Old Sharlayan.

No less than three of them commented on how surprising it was that Liios was alone AND cheerful, though. They told Estinien, whom they all immediately & correctly clocked as someone especially close to Liios, that he used to be Ptolemy's shadow. Not in the sense that they were always in the same room, but rather that Liios was always nearby wherever Ptolemy was, and would be extremely worried and agitated if he caught wind of the slightest thing being wrong with his brother.

The brothers were so Normal now that Estinien found it hard to believe Liios Suvali had once been so...dependent...he supposed? On his younger relative. They went weeks or months without talking now, though if Liios was in town he always made every effort to personally visit Ptolemy.

But apparently it was bad. Firstly, it was creepy and suffocating. Erenville already blasted Liios about that on Ptolemy's behalf, and more than once. Secondly, it seemed patently obvious to anyone who knew the twins that if something happened to Ptolemy for real, Liios might never recover.

Some time after EW, the topic came up between him and Estinien. And Liios said, "I would not have cared, whatever happens to me. But Erenville was right that I put such a bewildering burden on Ptolemy with my-- my fears." He stopped, struggled with himself for another long moment, and then added, "When someone you care about is sick, to the point of near-death for so many years of your life together, a certain kind of terror becomes your constant companion. Some chimera between fear of loss and preemptive grief. It keeps large chunks of you frozen in place, neither capable of growing up nor moving on."

Liios paused again, searching for words to describe cracks and fault lines Estinien had never imagined would run so deep. Eventually, he said, "But it was me who housed the chimera, who fed it with my obsession and anxiety. Did you know Ptolemy used to think he owed me his life, for having consigned us both to exile in order to save him? It cut me to the core. He needn't have felt that way, nor be afraid to be upset with me. And he was. Something about me was poisoning our relationship, I thought. And so I-- I stopped. I stopped feeding the monster."

Phrased like that, it was very simple. Estinien asked Ptolemy, whose face softened at the reminder, and he told him it took Liios months and years. To break a decades-old habit. And he told him Liios said sorry. And he told him Liios said, "You are my brother. All that I've given you, I give freely. I am sorry I ever made you feel like anything was owed between us."

You could see the kind of person Liios used to be even now, if you paid a little attention. Estinien saw it in his pacing, in the way he cracked and spat fire and vehemence after Zenos stole his body in Garlemald, like old wounds splitting open, some kind of relapse.

But along those agitated fault lines were the shape of what Liios had forged of himself, to become. Not for himself so much -- he would have been far happier if he had, Estinien believed -- but to do right by those he loved. A broken leg, a broken arm, a chimera writhing under your skin, everything was bearable and could be borne for Ptolemy, or Estinien, or Alphinaud and Alisaie, or his friends.

In this, they were alike. Estinien had borne the dead on his back and not the living, in the years he was in Ishgard. But it was all the same things pressing down on their backs. Except Liios had smiled to hide it and Estinien had worn armor and kept his mouth shut to hide it.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Quick question sorry if this has been asked before: do you know any Johnlock fanfic where they’re extremely sensual? Like not just making love but just super methodically drawn out and slow and sweet?

Hi Nonny!!

Ahh, because of this ask, I went through my bookmarks to see if I have any listed with “sensuality” so that’s what this list is!! It definitely doesn’t have all of my fics because I have to go back through them and tag them, but in the meantime, enjoy what I started tagging a few months ago when you sent me this ask, LOL <3

As always, add your own fics here, Lovelies!!

SENSUALITY

See also:

Emotional Love Making || [MOBILE POST]

Emotional Love Making Pt. 2

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

The Glitch

I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.

Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild​ @owlf45​ and @cyber-phobia​ (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).

Content working for reference to infant death.

Please enjoy!

The city shut down for a typhoon warning.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up.  And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee.  Inko didn’t know how to feel.  Work would have been a good distraction.  But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much.  And it was already shaping up to be.  She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.  

Inko sat alone in the kitchen.  She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate.  Sickness set in fast.  The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away.  Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with.  She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom.  There was another trashcan in there anyway.

A sound stopped her.  From her office.  The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet.  Right as she walked past the door.

Please not this again…

She opened the door with her eyes closed.  Her mind conjured a familiar image.  A bedroom full of books and hero posters.  Bright colors and personal touches.  A child’s room.  Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office.  Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again.  She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though.  She didn’t bother to pick it up.

Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room.  She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet.  Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up.  Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.

Of course she knew today’s date by heart.  She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day.  Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories.  Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Fifteen years now, today.  With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came.  Thunder crashed outside.  It’s not fair!  Why is it still this hard after this long?  Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.

The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes.  Like she wasn’t really alone.  Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough.  She felt it watching her.  Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again.  Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable.  Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.

Rain started outside.  Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap.  The storm was getting closer.

Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind.  Maybe he’s going through this too.  She bit her lip bloody.  Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others.  Probably not though.  I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously.  Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.  

“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said.  “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity!  We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”

But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream.  Still did, years later.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was your loss too!  Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.  

“I don’t just want any baby!  I want Izuku!”

The lights went out.  The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going.  The rain stopped.

Power outage.  Inko sat up with a sniffle.  Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts.  Of course.  Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-

Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump.  Then another.  Lightning flashed outside at the same time.  It was right on top of her.

What?  I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-

Another crash.  It vibrated through her bones.  Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.

“I’m such an idiot…”  She went for her phone again.  For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said.  “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed.  “I hate being alone for weather like this…”

A new notification pinged.

[Mom]

Inko blinked rapidly.  The message remained.  All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that.  She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened.  No app or source was displayed.  Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.  

“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept.  In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room.  But she froze.

Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs.  Perfectly circular and glowing.  Watching her. She didn’t dare move.  

Another ping.  She looked without moving.

[I’m sorry]

“…  What?”

For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out.  They all came back at ounce.

Lights flickered.  Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside.  Multiple strikes laid on top of one another.  No relief.  Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo.  It shook the whole building.  Inko ran into the closet away from the window.  She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help.  Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.

A child’s scream.  She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature.  It came from every direction.  Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear.  She felt the charge in the air.  But she had to go out.  Her baby was crying for help.

She burst from the closet into the living room.  All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off.  The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it.  The storm was deafening.  It pounded through her head like a heartbeat.  The beats got faster.  The static flashes started to look like a face.  Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen.  The snow cleared for a single instant.  Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window.  She felt the heartbeat there too.

Then it stopped.  All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark.  The TV went completely cold in an instant.  Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something.  Anything.  The pulse. Warmth.  A burnt fuse or faulty wire.  But nothing.  The rain started again.

She pulled her hands back to her lap.  Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around.  Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago.  Inko combed the entire space for evidence.  An object knocked off the shelf.  A picture frame fallen from the wall.  The notifications.  Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall.  Still not a sign.  She even stepped outside her door to check the sky.  Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.

There was only one thing out of place.  Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open.  Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound.  The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.

“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.

She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time.  The first time he smiled at her.  Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play.  Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms.  Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon.  That was Izuku’s favorite.

Only she didn’t remember.  The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs.  Those were fantasies.  Daydreams of what could have been.  She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today.  It was his birthday after all.  They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow.  They always did.  

And she would be left with reality.  The silence.  The cold, still little hand between her fingers.  Soft cheeks without blush.  Eyes that never opened.  Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.  

But it was never over.  Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now.  All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once.  Just like this.

At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet.  Plenty of time for another breakdown.  Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud.  She sighed heavily into her sheets.  This sort of thing can’t be normal.  I should really try therapy again.

Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest.  Static electricity pricked her fingers.  With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore.  Izuku.  He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her.  She remembered it like it was now.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath.  The mattress warped as he sighed.

“We’ll be okay.  It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.

“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly.  “…  I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow.  For now, let me have this.

Izuku didn’t respond for a while.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.  Happy birthday.”

[rhaegxr]

𝐇𝐂; 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡, 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲

      So this has been a long time coming. I don’t remember if I’ve ever, in the almost 8 years of this blog existing, written about this together in one post. Yes, I’ve reblogged random theories/metas around but not something I’ve written myself, so here goes. ( And bear in mind that these will likely be altered/changed as the blog goes on, more info comes out, etc. )

Rhaegar is undoubtedly one of the most mysterious characters in ASOIAF not only because he was a private man, but because we have so little about him, and all from different perspectives. But I won’t focus much on that. I’ll focus more on Rhaegar himself, on his family, his origins, his circumstances, what was happening around him. It doesn’t take a psychologist to know all of those aspects shape a person, for the good or bad... And there was a LOT of bad even before he was born. 

❝ He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days. ❞

That quote I believe defines him not only figuratively, but literally, so I think it’s a good place to start. Even before he was born, Rhaegar’s very existence is based on prophecy. He was not the product of love but of a forced and later abusive union. During his birth, many died in a night that was supposed to bring back dragons from stone–And instead, HE was born, the ‘Last Dragon’. It was a night of sacrifice and grief and it would define his existence as much as the prophecy would. His mother, who was barely a woman ( a young teenager by our modern standards ), would suffer not only miscarriages in a loveless marriage, but she would be abused by her own brother. Who would also whore his way with whoever he fancied to her face, including her ladies. 

It’s tragedy and pain and sorrow everywhere, from the moment he was conceived. As a child, his intellect was praised by the maesters but he was an obsessive reader. This, I see, as yet another byproduct of his birth and surroundings, a survival method, maybe. I have no doubt that Rhaella adored him but Rhaegar was aware of something ‘wrong’ with his parents, his family, what others whispered and what his mother probably tried to shield him from ( something she took to the extreme with Viserys afterwards once she was more mature as a mother ) and failed. He took to the books not only for refuge or an escape but to look for answers of himself, of his life. 

Let’s try to dive into the mind of a bright child that’s not oblivious of his parents’ loveless marriage, and how the rest of his family died the night he was born. We see it in divorces: children feel themselves at blame one way or another for their parents separating, even if it’s not. What if little Rhaegar’s ‘shadow of Summerhall’ was exactly that–Guilt? Not only sadness or grief, but guilt for those people that died so that he could be born? And then he grows up to see that his parents don’t hold love for each other, so why and what was he born for? What did the rest of his family die for? He can’t protect his mother, he can’t appease his father, the things he likes ( books, music ) are not too fondly looked upon so he can’t even be himself. Who is he supposed to be, what is he supposed to do? 

And then in comes the prophecy, its words fitting almost too perfectly with the circumstances of his birth. Suddenly, all that sadness, all that sacrifice, seems to have a reason and he is an instrument to fulfilling that greater purpose. So he goes to the ruins of Summerhall, and possibly there he finds more pieces of those answers ( Ghost of High Heart? Other literal ghosts? Dreams? All are just as possible, I believe ). He comes back with heart breaking songs–Tragic stories of the past when the first Long Night happened or of the future where another comes? We know that it’s when he learned of the prophecy in books that he decided to become a warrior, believing that was part of the destiny he has to fulfill. He exchanged correspondence with Aemon on matters of the prophecy. The way I see it, when you come to discover the reason behind your very existence ( again, Rhaella and Aerys were forced to marry to birth the Prince that was Promised ), you either refuse and go against it or you embrace it, and he did the latter. 

Now this ‘shadow’ did more than just steer him down a search for answers of his fate and purpose, it also influenced other actions along with his personality, his emotions. 

❝ But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy. There was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense… Of doom. ❞

His melancholy I like to use as a veil for him, of sorts. Rhaegar I think does FEEL pretty strongly, he absorbs a lot of emotions around himself ( typical INFJ, Pisces trait yep ) and the melancholy, the ‘sadness’, is a result of them all mixing and consolidating together in him. It’s also a way for him to ‘deal’. For example, some other characters might default to a form of detachment to better process these emotions, to not be overwhelmed by them. Rhaegar’s default is that melancholy, which is then channeled through his creativity for music and his escapism in books. So when he is indeed overwhelmed, when the melancholy fails him ( say, when he’s very angry ), he becomes detached in the sense of an absence of emotion as a defense mechanism-He becomes cold, he burns cold. This fits in with Jaime’s own dream of how Rhaegar ‘burned with a cold light’. I might elaborate more on his emotions in another post. 

I do think Rhaegar has a subtle ( or maybe not so subtle ) Messiah complex triggered by his belief of the prophecy as being his purpose. He was loved by the smallfolk despite being melancholic and private, because he would often play for them on the streets, mingle with them, probably was involved in more than a few acts of charity, etc. When compared to his maddening father, he’s the perfect candidate for a future king, as even Tywin would later point out ( though we know his interests are beyond the good of the Seven Kingdoms but more personal ). I’ve always seen this complex as a little contradictory because the belief that he is some savior will drive him to do selfless things, sacrifice even himself, but at the same time; he’s robbing others of their own decisions in a way. But anyway, that’s beside this. 

These acts of selflessness, compassion, kindness, etc. may be another product of his birth, his upbringing and his guilt of it all. He overcompensates, he tries to redeem himself by being good or doing good acts that would justify those sacrifices and grief, justify his very existence. Again, that guilt might just yet be another reason why he embraces the prophecy so strongly, too. What more good can there be but to be a savior of the people, of the known world? It’s the ultimate ‘good’ act, and he has to strive to achieve it, to redeem his existence that was based on that prophecy, and on the deaths of his family as well as the abusive, loveless marriage of his parents. This fills him with purpose, determination, courage, the strength to make those decisions that might be looked upon negatively or have the possibility of dire consequences. 

But then comes indecision. Why? He was going to make changes during the Tourney but plans changed when Aerys decided to attend so okay, there was a legit reason to not go ahead with that. But then, again, we return to his birth, his childhood and prophecy. He marries, has a daughter and then conceives a child when the burning star is in the sky. There has been no impending Long Night, no real disaster to save the people from–Could it be he is only to father the PTWP? I won’t go into why he thinks there has to be a third head, or whether he really was expecting a ‘Visenya’, that’s another subject. Rhaegar, since he was a child, has been searching for answers and he is still as an adult, searching. So when the prophecy now also seems to fit the conception of a son, then he changes his interpretation to fit the circumstances. He is still in a way that savior, he still has that greater purpose to accomplish, but now with that change probably comes the desperation, because–What if he’s running out of time by not realizing this sooner? This could be a reason for his seeming ‘recklessness’ when going away with Lyanna, along with the fact that a bad winter returned following the year of the false spring ( during which the tourney took place and he met Lyanna ). Does this mean that his reason for going with her was purely prophetical? Not necessarily nope, though it could’ve been. But that’s another subject also. It’s very dependent on a Lyanna writer as well. 

I don’t think it was in Rhaegar to even ‘love’, in the purely romantic way we know of. To love someone, to want them, is selfish and is against what he thinks is his purpose in the way that he should do what’s best for all, not just for one. But not only this, he also didn’t see what love is like, he saw the contrary ( not hate, hate is not the opposite of love ). And maybe into play also comes that ‘shadow’ aka the guilt. Does he deserve to be loved? Does he deserve to love? There was a ‘sense of doom’ to him, a sense of ‘death’, of an ‘ending’, a ‘terrible fate’. Could he know he was going to die to fulfill his purpose? I don’t think he knew he was going to die in the Rebellion, but maybe after? Or was that sense of ‘doom’ a melancholy, a nostalgia for who he could’ve been but will not be, because he must fulfill the prophecy? A doom for his sacrifice, not literally but symbolically, by having to let go of his true self for that prophecy? Or maybe he simply was too focused on his fate to allow himself to be happy, to love. 

Does it mean he can’t love? Not at all. I am sure he loved the people, his friends ( as few as they were ), he loved his mother, his brother, his wife, his children, maybe even Lyanna in his way but let’s remember there are different types of love. Like those different types of love, Rhaegar, I believe, is such a complicated character because he can be contradictory in so many aspects yet simple in others. All these rhetorical questions I’m writing in this are just a sample of that, because I do not think there is just one ‘correct’ way to interpret him. There are different ways that have equal potential of being true, until we get actual facts from GRRM himself in the coming books, at least. And again, it’s also dependent on the RP partner and their own interpretations, since I am always open to explore pretty much any. 

But if you managed to read all the way down here ( thank youuuu!! ), this is pretty much the base upon which I build my portrayal of Rhaegar. Those unanswered questions and ‘what if’s I added are all possibilities for my take of him. His birth, his childhood and the prophecy are the three cornerstones that I tend to use when writing him–But, of course, as more info comes out or the more I write/develop/explore him, this might change. That’s the beauty of RP, isn’t it?

[sandayuswife]

Hello! First i want to say im so happy to found your acc since you're discussing the mentality state of the Kirigakure siblings, Sandayu and Hanzo too! 🤧

Sec, can i request you write a psychoanalysis on Genya? Hehe😊

I wish your studies more success!

@nich-u Thank you so much! <3 I'm glad that the content pleases you:) Since psychoanalyses base on mental health alone, I've decided to write a broader analysis this time. This is going to be VERY long, and so fun to write!

Fujibayashi Genya: Mental health & Personality Analysis

So, we'll start by taking a deep look into his childhood and mental health, and lastly analyze his personality using the five factor model and a few additional criteria. Let's begin :)

At the beginning of his route, Genya is introduced as a laid-back, lazy shinobi with inscrutable motives. Gradually, we figure more and more of his demeanor being a mask, which he uses both as a coping mechanism as well as means to keep his feelings and motivations behind a veil.

Later on, we find out that it was his love for Sakuya and death of their mother that has forced Genya to change drastically – which is where we will start our digging.

Childhood & Mental health

Judging from the small pieces of chapters in which we see the Fujibayashi twins and MC interact in the past, as well as Genya’s statements, it is clear that the twins were neglected, yet unlikely emotionally abused. Adding to the stability of their psyche in the earliest years was their close relationship, and thus ability to replace the emotional care they sought from their parents.

Coming to the first event that forces Genya to change - At a still very young age, he witnesses his mother's death during an attack on the village. Not only did she fall while protecting him, but also, those following were her last words:

Assuming that it was most likely Genya’s first time openly receiving emotional care from his mother, and that the chief did not seem to care about her death (simply disposed of the body, apparently), the causes of the event resulted in PSTD, which became chronic for the rest of his life (as it is a common occurrence with children).

A short time after that, we are shown that Genya proceeds to focus all of his care and attention on Sakuya: Trains with him, renounces his own needs to let his twin have more options, and even motivates MC to grow closer to Sakuya, although it was somewhere implied that he himself was 'drawn to her sunny smile'.

Being able to do so and direct positive energy at someone he loves has helped Genya to cope with the incident, although he could not tell a soul about his mother’s last words - The knowledge would hurt his twin, In Genya’s opinion. Having to speculate about such outcomes, think many steps ahead, keep his feelings behind a lock, and due to possible symptoms of PSTD, Genya has matured quickly; and it was more than visible in his behavior.

Next, we know that the Mitsuba have betrayed Fujibayashi village as the twins were approximately 10 years old. A while after that, they had to accomplish a special, long-term mission in order to become fully-pledged shinobi. Beside the fact that he himself has suffered from his own (disposing of bodies ‘as if they were worthless’), he noticed how much suffering Sakuya’s mission has caused his twin. He understood that his brother will only be able to cope with the trauma if he was to run from his feelings.

Being Sakuya’s ‘childhood hero’, as Sakuya himself has stated, Genya knew that if he were to express negative opinions and feelings toward the village, his twin would break his own resolve and agree with him. Thinking their fate unvoidable, Genya has made a choice to break their connection by being the opposite of what a shinobi should be, but still protect and support Sakuya from the shadows.

Personality

Now let’s take a look at Genya’s personality in general, since until now, we have been only focusing on his family.

I will be using the five factor model, which has a scoring system, to do so, although we have to keep in mind that his trauma and personal experiences play big roles in these traits:

1. Openness to experience

Low score. Genya prefers routine, and is wary of uncertainty and the unknown. I have mentioned at the beginning that Genya uses his laid-back lifestyle as a coping mechanism - Independence and space give him an opportunity to breathe. However, he generally does not run from his feelings and is well aware of who and what he cares about.

2. Conscientiousness

High score. He is aware of his actions and their consequences, and has a sense of responsibility, regardless of how much he claims not to do so. Genya exhibits goal-oriented behavior every time it truly matters (grumbling aside). His missions are organized and practically executed.

3. Extroversion

Mid score. Genya is an ambivert (neither an introvert nor extravert). He enjoys being alone, thinking and reflecting, just as much as he enjoys socializing and meeting new people.

4. Agreeableness

High score. Genya is co-operative, and willing to help others in times of need. He respects hardworking individuals, dislikes being involved in arguments, seeks internal and external state of peace. Levels of agreeableness tend to increase with age.

5. Neuroticism

Low score. Genya is able to remain calm in response to stressful situations, and view problems in proportion to their importance. As a result, he tends to worry about such problems to a lesser extent. Of course, this excludes extreme situations, like losing a loved one (in regard to his frustration in the route endings).

Since the model does not cover all that can be interpreted, let’s add a few more criteria:

6. Behavior

Genya tries to cover up many of his positive traits with a mask of a lazy, money-grubbing and disrespectful shinobi, as we all well know. Doing so leaves him more freedom, forces others to lower their expectations, and allows him to expectantly sidestep minor duties in case of an emergency. This, of, course, serves his goals and routines very well.

7. Morality

Genya has a deep understanding and a broad view of the world. He understands the role of each person, that every individual is shaped by the environment, and while he naturally opposes to being a shinobi, he does not proceed to immediately judge or dislike someone of his own kind, although doing otherwise would be a much easier task.

This could be explained by his world-view as well. He mentions that he is ‘like a bird in a cage’, and the same could most likely be said of all shinobi, in his opinion. Because he views the shadows as a place of grief, there is a chance he is less consumed by guilt for killing those who share his origins.

So, I've written a ton, and could write a ton more. There truly is so much more I could address, but I can always write a second part in case particular questions rise, so let me know:) Also, feel free to comment your opinion or something you would add!

Have a great day<3

-A

[karkatraejepsen]

thinking abt the fluidity of identity in black sails -

the way eleanor had to mold herself into someone hard and aggressive to gain the respect of the pirates of nassau, and then put on the persona of a respectable lady to gain the respect of woodes rogers. the way neither of those personas were ever completely authentic. the way she's both softer and harder than she had to act. the way vane was symbolic of her pirate identity and rogers was symbolic of her english identity. the way she could only fully be herself around max. the way max was the only one who ever saw her as she truly was, and the way she gave it all away because she was too scared of who she might be if not The Trade Boss Of Nassau. that maybe there was nothing left behind the mask. the way she completely gave herself over to her new persona as Woodes Rogers' Wife out of the same fear. The way she died without ever getting the chance to figure out who she really was without the weight of the future of nassau on her shoulders.

the way flint's sense of identity is almost a mirror of eleanor's, in reverse. the way he had to put on the face of a gentleman to fit into thomas' life, and the way he threw it all out when he lost him. the way captain flint was just as much of a mask as lieutenant mcgraw, the way he had to push down all his sorrow and grief and become someone else. the way he turned it into anger because he was left with no other choice. the way he constructed the persona of captain flint after he lost thomas and the way he buried himself in it after he lost miranda because there was no one left to dig him out. the way silver was the first person to fully understand flint in all his complexities because he was the only one with the same masks. the way flint was only able to truly figure out his identity after thomas was returned to him, free from the scrutiny of society, free from his all consuming anger and despair. the way he no longer had to be Lieutenant Mcgraw or Captain Flint and could simply be James.

the way silver built his multitude of masks and identities and personas out of nothing, crafted to hide from a past he could never dare to so much as look back upon. the way he learned to never trust anyone, never open up, never let himself be vulnerable. the way he joined the walrus crew out of a sense of self preservation, the way every decision he made, every action and every word, was calculated in order to benefit himself. the way everything about him was constantly shifting, the way he learned to insinuate himself into any possible situation. the way he slowly realized he needed the crew as much as they needed him. the way they forced him to let them take care of him, when in his whole life he had never had anyone take care of him. the way he was terrified to allow himself to be seen as weak. the way he came to trust them. the way he tried to gain flint's trust to benefit himself, but ended up trusting him just as much. the way he never meant to fall in love. the way the persona of Long John Silver was forced onto him, a story not of his making, the way he had to become someone else just when he was finally figuring out how to become himself. the way he could never open up about his past, not even to madi or flint, because he couldn't bear to think that it could define him. because he spent his whole life running from it. because his past isn't something that can be dissected, piece by piece, to build a picture of his identity. because he's crafted his identity with his own hands, every day of his life, and it is his.

the way max's identity has been constantly shifting her whole life, like sand, from slave to prostitute to brothel madame to proprietor. the way she can never fully leave behind everyone she was before, the way she can feel the identities she's built slipping through her fingers. the way she shaped her identity from nothing, the same way she built nassau from nothing. the way "none of it is real" but it's all she has. the way anne is the only real thing in her life. the way her lesbianism is the only solid part of her identity. the way all she wants is peace and stability because everything has been in flux her whole life. the way she's so convinced everyone will leave her eventually because she's never had any sense of stability. because she loved eleanor, and eleanor left. because she was so scared anne wod leave too that she had to cut the string first. the way she never stopped loving anne. the way anne never stopped loving her. the way anne gave her a sense of identity outside of nassau, and the way she gave anne a sense of identity outside of jack. the way her identity is a shifting thing, and anne is her harbor, her stability, just as she is anne's.

the way anne's identity has been inextricably tied to jack since she was 13. the way they were two halves of the same whole and two sides of the same coin. the way she latched onto him, formed herself around him like vines growing up the side of a house. the way being a Pirate and Jack Rackham's Partner gave her her sense of identity. the way she became strong and gruff and angry to avoid ever having to face what happened to her. the way she cut herself off from her past and her emotions because she couldn't allow herself to be weak. the way she never had the chance to realize she was a lesbian because she was surrounded by men and because of course she was in love with jack, how could she not be after what he saved her from? she owed him that much. the way she was terrified of her feelings for max, how they upended everything she thought she knew about herself. the way she couldn't help falling in love with max, the way her feelings and her identity existed "beyond choice". how the more time she spent with max, the more open she became, and how that openness was reflected physically. the way her hat no longer shadowed her eyes constantly. the way she held max's hand, something she never did with jack. the way she sat next to max while max bathed. the way she allowed herself to be tender. the way max represented safety and comfort, and the way anne learned to rely on her, just like silver learned to rely on his crew. the way max helped her realize that she didn't owe it to jack to be in love with him, that she would always love him but she could never be his wife. that she could create her own identity outside of him. that she had value and worth as an individual and not just as part of a matched set.

the way jack came from nothing and built his identity from nothing. the way his name matters more than anything else because that's the only thing he'll leave behind. the way he needs to make his mark so his existence is justified. the way he knows his family will be forgotten, but goddamn it if he will allow himself to come to the same fate. the way he clawed himself out of poverty, and the way the only option for someone like him to make a name for himself is piracy. the way the system was working against him from the second he was born. the way woodes rogers, who could simply write a book and earn his renown, could never understand his struggle. the way he didn't fit in even in nassau. the way other pirates, *real* pirates, were strong and masculine while he was weak and feminine. the way he latched onto vane because he was the strongest. the way he earned his place and vane's respect through his smarts and creativity, the way all he had was his mind and that was enough. the way anne was his strength. the way he and anne complemented each other. the way they were both outcasts: a masculine woman and a feminine man. the way they built their identities in concert, tangled them inextricably, because there was no one else. the way he let anne go because he truly wanted the best for her. the way he hit rock bottom over and over again and always came up swinging. the way all his work paid off in the end. the way his legacy and his identity were secured. the way "jack rackham and anne bonny" are names that have lived on for centuries.

the way black sails is all about how identity is constructed, how it shifts, how it's formed. identity is like sand, black sails argues. it forms itself around the tides. it can be built from nothing. it changes over time. it can be beaten down, smoothed over, or transformed into something completely new. but it cannot be destroyed.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

please. i can’t do this alone.

Titans 3.01

thoughts! thoughts! thoughts! some red hot thoughts!

SPOILERS ahead.

1. one episode in, and this season already looks set to give me everything i want. its abandonment of plot and storytelling conventions as it goes from one point to the next at breakneck speed; its cheerful bastardisation of iconic storylines from the comics; the ‘as-you-know-bob’ clunky exposition on one end and extremely restrained, subtle explorations of complex character dynamics on the other; endless shots of neon bleeding into black and blue corridors, shadows and silhouettes; my delight in seeing it celebrate and deconstruct the dark nolan-y batman aesthetic at the same time; my bafflement that it’s so fucking goddamn obsessed with the batfam when it’s supposed to be about the TITANS; kory just... saving every overburdened, clunky scene that she’s in by her sparkling charisma. just... *chef’s kiss*. muah. my show is back, in all its glory.

MY SHOW IS BACK, Y’ALL!

1.5. i mean... this show is so artful and weird and not afraid to go absolutely bonkers in exploring its characters’ psyche, but can just about barely stage a passable comic book fight when every tom dick and harry and their new streaming services can deliver ones that are far more exciting. i love this show with every atom of my body.

(there’s something to be said about rooting for the underdog as well. a pleasure in finding something to love about what other people dismiss. but! enough navel gazing! i have fictional characters’ navels to look at! metaphorically! and maybe literally!)

2. i expected jason’s death to come about pretty early in the season as soon as i heard rumours that red hood was showing up, but for it to happen in the first five minutes of the first episode... that’s a record. 

(well. “happen.” still don’t know what exactly went down there.)

2.25. GOD. jason is such a tortured and tragic character in this show, used and passed around by people with alleged good intentions, never really fitting in anywhere. he’s veritably bleeding vulnerability and the need to belong, the need to be known, and yet the tragedy is that his death proves that nobody in his life knew anything about him at all; that they only saw the flimsy walls he put up to protect his soft core, and thought that that was all there was. that they say they loved him, but blame him for his own death. 

dick is flabbergasted that jason can read, though we know from last season, from what jason revealed to rose, that he has a love for plays and music. barbara is quick to dismiss his actions as ‘impulsive’. bruce has no idea that his supposed son was building his own little chemistry lab right under his nose, and beyond that, no idea that jason needed structure, stability and validation beyond being left alone in a huge house with a treasure trove of dangerous weapons. kory thought his decision to fight the joker was from not learning and growing when the guy tried to kill himself last season and nobody apart from dick even tried to talk to him about it! did you consider that he might still be suicidal? especially after the titans admitted to having “given up” on him because he was just “too hard”?

2.5. the one thing that’s been consistent across all three seasons (so far) of the show is the unreliable narrator trope. there’s a reason why the characters’ dismissals of jason’s actions as impulsive is so repetitive; why jason’s death is a mystery dick feels compelled to solve. it’s a flailing attempt to know his brother much too late--but with red hood, maybe he gets a second chance, just like he got one with the titans. this is what jason’s arc has been building up to. this is ‘death in the family’ but more fucked up in some ways. it didn’t linger on the death because the death wasn’t the point. the joker isn’t the point. everything that came before it is.

this way it will also make perfect sense that the red hood’s main enemy becomes the titans rather than batman.

2.75. goodness knows what’s going on with jason’s little chemistry project. at first i thought he was immunising himself to joker gas or something, but maybe it’s what passes for lazarus pit juice in this universe? 

anyway, it’s pretty impressive that jason learnt all of that from a college chemistry textbook. STOP BRINGING UP THAT HE READ SOMETHING, DICK--

2.8. i’m glad that dick doesn’t immediately sink into self-loathing and guilt and tries to investigate jason’s death while also acknowledging how he failed him. it’s like he actually learned something from the last two years! 

anyway. more about dick later. 

3. oh how i love titans!bruce. a lot of characters had a lot of Opinions on his reaction to jason’s death in this episode, but again, i ask you to consider that they’re unreliable narrators, and this universe’s bruce is a product of how it shaped him. bruce wayne has become a phantom to himself--an artifice borne out of vigorous discipline and crushing self-denial. 

bruce has been batman for a very long time, and without a robin for much longer. (dick must be... in his early thirties? so he was robin for about, say, 10-12 years according to the timeline of the show. that still makes bruce pretty old when he took on his first robin.) things have... calcified (possibly parts of his brain). the personal cost and the collateral from the mission he’s taken up for most of his life is too much to countenance; it has to be a war, and war requires sacrifice. 

on some level bruce knows that’s a lie. he’s so goddamned alone. what’s he going to do? sit down and cry? who’s going to listen to him now? oh, is he going to just stop being batman? who’s going to stop gotham from consuming herself then? he’ll just have to forge ahead, do better next time, maybe he’ll be firmer with them, or kinder with them, or notice more things, or train them harder, or spend more time--

3.25. don’t get me wrong: titans!bruce is an asshole and a half. his roster of potential robins was honestly bone-chilling. the fact that there’s a twisted root of compassion makes it more disturbing. 

3.5. alfred’s dead! it must’ve been pretty recent, because i could’ve sworn that dick tried to call alfred in the very first episode of season 1, or at least considered calling him... 

what a devastating double-blow for bruce then, losing his father-figure and his, uh.... son-figure so close together.

4. i don’t know about barbara yet. i mean, i like her, but she had so much clunky expository dialogue to deliver this episode, and for an episode that was named after her, she only showed up halfway through it. but i like the weight of history behind her interactions with both bruce and dick and her compassion to bruce before he cruelly crossed a line. i also like the implication that she and dick have been in touch recently, and that she didn’t immediately try to guilt-trip dick about some perceived abandonment. it’d be too repetitive.

4.5. there’s also a sense that she ran interference for dick a lot whenever there was something Too Big and Emotional for him to confront directly, and i like and appreciate that character beat.

5. dick, my man! it really does feel like a substantial length of time has passed between the end of s2 and the beginning of s3... kory’s got a new costume, they’ve become celebrities in SF, working missions together, and dick’s actually smiling! genuinely enjoying his work and having fun with it for possibly the first time in the entire series! it’s really a far cry from the fractured, dysfunctional mess that they were at the end of the last season.

i just hope this doesn’t mean that they’ve magically reached a resolution off-screen to all of their fucked-upness from last season, and that the repercussions--for gar in particular--are actually addressed on screen. 

5.25. i mentioned this briefly above, but it really is so refreshing that dick doesn’t wallow in guilt and self-loathing after jason’s death; he acknowledges his and the titans’ failure, is able to admit to barbara honestly that he’s not doing great, and is actively trying to reach out to bruce to make sure he’s ok, is trying to investigate what made jason seek out the joker on his own, and is probably the only person not immediately buying that it was jason’s recklessness that got him killed. i love that dick is finally beginning to trust his instincts or just employ them at all after years of guilt and paranoia and self-loathing. we love some positive character growth!

5.5. another thing i love? the bruce-dick interactions on this show. every scene they’re in together is so fraught with tension, both of them holding themselves back, their emotions on a whipcord-tight leash. dick wants to reach out to bruce, is even somewhat familiar with this brand of denial in the wake of grief, but wants barbara to make the first move because he genuinely does not know how to get bruce to open up. his instincts are right, and wonderful, and genuine, but his expression has been smothered by years of trauma, emotional and physical self-discipline, and what i suspect is poorly treated mental illness. 

it takes a lot for him to finally explode at bruce at the end of the episode--in a way he hasn’t done even when his only opinion of bruce was ‘fuck him’--and it’s all the more startling for how subdued he’s been through the episode, how much he’s been holding back his emotions for bruce’s sake. love it.

5.75. it sort of hurts my heart to see the flying graysons poster in jason’s room. there are a few implications:

a) jason settled into dick’s old room despite living in a giant mansion with dozens of other rooms he could’ve used

b) he didn’t take down dick’s poster--not when he moved in and was idolising him, not when he moved out of the titans and was sort of hating him. i wonder if the reminder of what dick was before robin--that he was forged out of unspeakable tragedy--gave jason the connection to dick that he so desperately wanted in real life

c) dick moved right back into the room and slept on the bed that was now jason’s. grief can be so quiet and piecemeal sometimes.

6. i spy the beginnings of actual arcs for both gar and kory! i just hope that with the move to gotham their stories don’t fall to the wayside...

6.5. i’ve known tim drake for less than ten minutes but if anything were to happen to him i’d kill everybody 

7. this review has gone on for too long and i am tiRED. however, before i leave: i miss some of the dedication-to-aesthetic that titans season 1 used to have. remember how the first few episodes didn’t really feel like a superhero show but something out of gothic horror? there was something gorgeous and raw about that, about open landscapes and the road and creepy buildings looming up at the end of it. moving to titans tower in s2 really ruined a lot of that for me, given its ripped-from-architectural-digest aesthetic, all smooth and clean and artificial. 

i hope that we really explore gotham’s hellscape in interesting and innovative ways instead of camping out in the batcave all the time and indulging in the show’s unending love for long corridors, neon backlights and silhouettes.

8.....

9.  wait, fuck, HOW CAN I FORGET ABOUT HOT PSYCHIATRIST GUY (TM)??? NONE of you prepared me for his return! NONE OF YOU! i gasped! i got up and did a happy dance! 

listen, titans writers, if you’ve had a peek at my titans s3 wishlist, please go ahead and give the other items on the list a go too, thankyouverymuch.

[whump-town]

With Enough Time

No warnings

No pairings

Jessica was three years old when Haley was born and she was entirely underwhelmed by the squirming, worm-like creature her father handed her. Ugly, she surmised, after a single glance and the wrong shade of pink to ever be considered the playmate Jessica needed in her new best friend. Never mind the screaming. Jessica had never heard a thing scream so much in her life. Yet she felt mildly curious about this little thing her parents, at least, seemed to love.

She was seventeen when Aaron Hotchner walked meekly through their front door, head turned to the ground as Haley chirped along about nonsense. Again, she turned her nose to this new addition to her family. Snubbed the idea of this person she found entirely inadequate to play a role in her circus. His face a shadow of bruises new and old, dark eyes looking everywhere but her. And like their parents who had been enraptured with the wrinkled, mangled baby they loved so dearly Haley held tightly to the black and blue boy Jessica decided she didn’t like one bit.

But she does grow to love them.

Not before the age of fourteen for Haley. Between three and fourteen Jessica endures years of listening to her baby sister cry about every single thing. She ruins fishing with her deep sobs. For the worms cruelly impaled on hooks to die a sorrowful death either torn apart or drowned. For the fish having holes torn in their faces. Jessica just liked tossing the fish back but they couldn’t do that anymore because Haley would cry and cry and cry until they stopped. So Jessica shoved her down with force and a temper she’d not yet learned to control, chased her with mud-covered hands until Haley cried more. By fourteen the crying had stopped and they’d both started to become people, not yet adults but individuals with opinions and thoughts they liked to air. Bedtimes to stay up past whispering about the things they saw or how mad they were at an injustice they felt they’d suffered by their parents.

Jessica found a confidon, a best friend in that mangy little girl she’d only ever found mildly interesting. She learned to braid hair with Haley, the younger girl sitting in her lap for hours until Jessica had formed two uneven braids. She screamed herself hoarse fighting over t-shirts or pants Haley would swipe. Stole Haley’s shirt in return, envied the way she looked or how people talked to her versus the way they never seemed to notice Jessica. Cried in her furies over the nonsense fights they’d get into. Slammed doors in her face. Called her awful names.

All to stand as her protector that first day she saw Aaron Hotchner in their house. Her jaw set and her eyes never leaving him.

But she already loved Haley and it wasn’t all that hard to learn to love someone she loved.

He reminds her of the puppy Haley brought home when she was nine. A tiny thing that hadn’t lived for very long but would follow Haley everywhere she went. Whimpering outside her door at night because Roy forbade it sleeping in her bed and yet every morning when Roy left for work Haley would sneak it in. Swaddling its shivering form in her blankets and holding it to her chest like a baby. It was sick the entirety of its life, they took it to the vet but there was just nothing to be done. Haley managed to keep it alive for a year much to everyone’s dismay. She bottle-fed it when it couldn’t or simply wouldn’t eat. Took her socks and filled them with rice and corn to make heating pads she could pop in the microwave and tuck around it.

It still died but Haley gave it her all.

She didn’t cry when it happened. It was sort of strange. Jessica got up because she heard the commotion and followed her parents into Haley’s room. Greeted by the sight of the tiny puppy in a shoebox, wrapped in the blanket Haley always held him in. There wasn’t a tear in her eyes, she had already accepted its death a long time ago. Roy had hugged her, tried to soothe a sadness Haley knew wouldn’t subside just yet. She would cry some hours later, once they’d buried it, but only softly to herself.

And when Aaron Hotchner limped into their living room, extended a trembling hand to their father Jessica wondered just where Haley acquired her love for the doomed.

It hadn’t occurred to only Jessica that once again they might watch one of Haley’s muses die. Aaron already moved like a snuffed-out candle, whisps of smoke thinning out.

But it wasn’t Aaron that died.

Jessica gets a call from the hospital and feels the adrenaline flood her body, her breath held as she waits for impending doom. The last phone call Haley made was to her and she had been a mess, sobbing in a mix of frustration and fear. They’d all been thrilled when Aaron took the job that would station him home once again but none of them had the hindsight to know it would end them up in this position. Haley and Aaron divorced. A serial killer trying to kill them. As much as that scared Haley, she thought it would be Aaron. She knew her own life was in danger but she knew Aaron, she’d loved that man for over half their lives, and she knew his life was the one really in threat.

How long could he really live away from them? As it stood he’d stayed on the couch frequently, preferred it to his lonesome apartment. And Haley knew she should impart some heavy boundaries but she’d watch him pace the porch before ringing the doorbell. Fighting up a smile and the energy needed to make Jack feel safe, to make Jack think his dad was still the same. Happy and confident and ready for whatever extravagant play Jack’s little mind could come up with.

Not long.

That’s what she’d seen in the hospital, a long sleek black coffin and having to explain to Jack why daddy isn’t coming home this time. He didn’t have long.

They all thought that. He’d become reckless after the divorce. Haley knew that would only become exasperated by her and Jack’s distance.

And now one of them is dead, just like they knew would happen, and the other not in the state to make an identification.

Haley is strong but Jessica can’t imagine having to ask her to identify Aaron’s body. So, of course, she agrees to do it. She doesn’t want to do it either. She grew up with him and in every way that Haley was her baby sister Aaron had become her stupid kid brother. He’d tackled her in the backyard, the two of them fighting over something senseless. He was the first person she called when she got drunk at a college party and knew she was no longer safe. He’d cried in her arms when Jack was born. She loves him. He’d meant the world to her too.

“You son of bitch!”

Head supported by a mound of pillows, jet black hair against bright white, it’s Aaron they find. Not Haley. The beaten black and blue boy from her childhood with his sad unfocused eyes laying there held together by bandages and machines.

Aaron had come to them once beaten so badly he could hardly stand. Haley and their mother did what they could. Abiding by the one thing he’d asked of them before collapsing, eyes rolling into the back of his head and falling into Haley’s arms. No hospital. It had made Roy livid. Jessica had never seen him like that. By all means, Roy is a kind soft man. Jessica hadn’t even heard him curse until that day. Pacing back and forth and shaking his head, angered but knew better than to say anything. Couldn’t shout or speak his mind, not when Aaron laying so close. He was already in rough enough shape, he didn’t need Roy scaring him on top of it. A ragdoll. Roy had whispered his heated thoughts to Jessica, the boys just a damn ragdoll to that man. She never understood how Roy could love Aaron the way he did and yet become so angered with Aaron for things beyond his control.

He’s a ragdoll now.

Limp and dazed as Roy grabs him by throat, shaking him and screaming.

They’d come to identify his body. To take Haley home and console her because no one should lose their spouse that young. She’d still loved him. Maybe that’s how Jessica should have known this would end because Haley had sobbed when the papers went through. She’d been inconsolable and Roy had been glad.

He’d never really loved Aaron.

Not like they had.

Jack screams when Roy grabs Aaron, startled and still too confused to understand what’s happening. He sits up in his curl of blankets, swallowed by his father’s suit jacket still settled around his little body.

Roy is blind to it, succumbing to his rage and his grief. That his daughter should die and the little bastard who only ever made her cry should live. “You son of a bitch! You--” Roy hits him. Aaron’s hardly standing, eyes hooded as he stumbles to stay on his feet. He’s leaning over himself, shaking and crying but he doesn’t fight back. He just takes it.

“Stop it!” Jessica pushes her father back. Surprising them both with her strength. “Stop it!” She stands between the two of them, the line drawn and Roy won’t push through her. He won’t. “Leave,” she shouts and she knows she needs to lower her voice. To calm things back down but her own heart is racing and she’s not thinking all that clearly anymore. “Get out.” She meets Roy’s eyes one more time, watches him glance at Aaron before turning. Leaving. Storming out in a fury but leaving his chaos behind.

Aaron’s on the floor when she turns around. He’s laying there pale skin against the chilled tile. Dark eyes hooded and too disoriented to move. One trembling hand reaching out and the other curled around his ribs. “Sorry,” he whispers. Repeats himself again, whispering frantically to her. He pulls his bandaged hands up over his face, trying to protect himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His blood spills over the floor, smeared from his body’s struggle.

Jessica crouches down, covers his hand with her own. “Aaron,” she says. “Aaron, you’re okay.” He lays there on the floor, shivering under the lights. Jack screaming, wailing himself hoarse. Aaron’s too pale, bloodshot eyes empty.

It doesn’t seem entirely true to say she hasn’t come to simply identify him, as well.

[kentzarneki]

garden of loneliness —

pairing: prince aerin x irileth nightbloom (f!elf mc)

synopsis: aerin and irileth remember each other in their dreams, both good and bad until they meet again.

word count: 2.7k

song: war of hearts — ruelle

author’s note: yeah, this has been in my drafts for months like around when blades ended. and it changed from the original version i made, so enjoy this new one and happy epilogue day. (also you should definitely listen to the song)

tags: @bladesappreciationweek @zadiechoi @eugenehartmann @diamondskys @beaumontbash @diserrano @jaxmatsuo

i. 

Aerin was always a lonely child. 

Such was the life of a second child. Years spent being left out of your parent’s expectations and being taught that you’d only be needed as the last option. For the longest time, there’s nothing but darkness and the fear that maybe that’s all there is to life. Darkness, deep and inviting like the warm embers of a dying fire. Mesmerizing, but you stand still at the thought of getting burned. And fear, for most, it feels like nothing but a cold and lonely bed for your entire life. Like chills down your spine and nails down a chalkboard. 

However, that's not how it was for him. No, Aerin knew what his darkness was. He had spent years nurturing it like a mother would a child, he cared for it, loved it even. The cold abyss that pulsed where his heart should. His heart was a different shape than most. 

It was the imposing figure of his brother’s shadow and the heavyweight upon his head called the second prince’s crown. He knew this was this life, it’s what he was born into. Forever forced to play his role as the meek younger brother with a smile on his face. The spare prince. He could never be more than that, it’s what he was made to believe. 

So he played his role with care. A smile here and there, until the shadows came along. Shadows wrapped in velvet cloaks and wore masks of sinister smiles. Made of something like a dream come true created back when he still had dreams to spare. A Duke of the shadows granted him everything he could ever want - his own kingdom, a place he could finally belong. It awaited him beyond the realm, but to get there he needed to collect the keys.

He turned into a Grim Reaper of souls, ambition, and body. His reverse Midas touch, where everything he touched turned to the darkness. The hands that once wiped his tears stole lost souls and bid them into his desires. Which led him here, deep beneath the halls of a palace he grew up in. All the time he could see his father reigning proceedings of judgment over betrayers and criminals false though his mind, he wonders if his new cell had belonged to one of them. 

Often he finds his mind wandering like this, thoughts desperate to keep out of loneliness that crept in as reminders of his youth. On good days, his dreams take him back into the shadows. He dreams of a gilded throne, the blackened shadows of lost souls wander the palace as his subjects that live under the rule of his hand.

On bad days, he dreams of her. The parting kiss before his world, his lies would come crumbling down around them. She stood tall in his dreams, not faltering like the broken girl he had left behind. His words from that night echoed in his mind, “Until the stars align for us again…”.

She was the light. The single candle in the darkness, standing tall even in a broken house, the damaged windows blowing harsh air inside. Still never faltering, never bowing out. He took comfort in the fact she was out there, in the fact that her life had meaning. It brought him a sense of peace he never had before. The kind of peace that comes with love.

She was as beautiful as the flowers, in the garden he had grown up around. She stole the spotlight from the moon and held its light in her smile. She was everything he could ever want and more.

But not really, no. He knew the truth of what he wanted - what he was. The monster within, the one that seemed to tamed just from the flicker of her smile. He knew it would destroy her. 

He would destroy her. 

ii.

Irileth was always a loving child. 

It started with her parents, a love so deep for someone she had never known. Grief buried deep in her chest that acted like poisonous fertilizer to the flowers that had grown in her heart. It was a garden she had kept locked for most of her life despite her never-ending desire to be loved.

Which led to a young boy, the prince built from broken dreams to her door. His presence holding the key to what seemed like her salvation, a place to lay down all this love she’d been holding within herself. He was the empty chalice just begging to be overflowing with devotion, the only kind of devotion she couldn’t seem to give up.

Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking that it was real. Even a fraction of what he’d said, false charm hidden behind a stone in his chest. It had to be real. She thought back on his words, sickeningly sweet like raw syrup. She’d lapped up every word that dripped from his mouth like a dog, ravenous for something she’d never had. Love. The hungry, orphaned girl begging to be loved by the boy with everything. She took table scraps of his devotion and tokens of his affection all laced with dark deceit. 

Still, there’s love there. Mixed into his secrets and lies, not everything could be lost to the shadows and she’d go to war if she had to just to prove it. But, still, she’s holding onto hope that if she finds the right words she can save him. She could have saved him.

The memories find her in the dark, all of her nightmares trace back to him. The shadows singing in the air, something dark and twisted as if it was a melody to grant false serenity. There was no serenity in her dreams, nothing but shadows threatening to chase her from the dark places they’d hidden as they waited to strike. There was no serenity, but there was love. Love deep within her, it gripped her and told her heart that it was here to stay. 

Her words bounce around in her head, “Aerin, all I want is to be with you.”. 

And when she wakes tears are threatening to spill from her eyes, and she lets in a deep breath. It was the truest thing she’d ever meant because even this way he still looked like the boy she loved. But she needed to save him, save him from himself - or from the world who would never accept him like this. 

She took a timid step forward and he didn't do anything, but his eyes locked hard onto hers. His face is stoic as if he didn’t want to let any emotions show. The look of fear that filled her face when she first saw him like this - as a monster, it was stuck in his head. This wasn’t new. He always was a monster. Sickly grey, black veins stretching out as if to carve his skin into marble. Marble - what a perfect thing, easily carved into a sculpture. Something to turn into art, which is how she saw him even like this. 

“You’d still have me? Even as I am?” His voice whispers in her dreams. 

Every night, she watches as he’s dragged away to the dungeons below and wonders if she would ever see him again. His face was twisted with rage, as he pulled him away still when his eyes locked on hers, she could see the pain. His heartbreak.

In her daydreams. she sees him again. Hands touching his, her fingertips black to the touch as their skins touch. Her warm skin turning cold as a curse washes over her like waves on the shore, her skin the color as asphalt and veins like cracks in the pavement that hold a dark secret only she could home. 

She could have him. Sickly grey, broken, and bruised but all her’s. The spare prince that no one had wanted, the lost girl that no one had found could build a kingdom to tear the world to shreds. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to dive into the darkness that lived within him. Not yet.

And she left wondering, how do you let go of a love you were never able to experience? Maybe they were meant to be, maybe not in this life but the next. Because time is still passing by and she still thinks about him each time she looks up at the sky. It’s like she’s waiting to see him in the stars, where he’s more than just a memory in her heart and he’s right there in every passing face.

There’s no shadow that could ever replace him. 

iii.

The dungeon was always a lonely place.

The shadows sang in the air, something dark and twisted as if it was a melody to grant false serenity. There was no serenity down here, nothing but shadows threatening to chase her from the dark places they’d hidden as they waited to strike. There was no serenity, but there was love. Love deep within her, it gripped her and told her heart that it was here to stay. To stay for him.

So her feet carry her in, being here in person was nothing like her dreams. She hadn’t needed to ask where he was before going in. She’s told the poor king she needed closure. A small smile tugged at his lips when he heard this, he understood the feeling well.

She can hear his footsteps before she even rounds the corner, he’s pacing around like if he does it enough the endless time he spends trapped down her might cease to exist. But that wasn’t entirely the case, no, it was true he was much like a shark. Circling around its prey, constantly on the move because it didn’t know how to rest. The inevitable truth that slowing down, the resting, meant death.

“So you’ve finally come to see me?” 

His voice breaks through her thoughts, his eyes zoned on her like a hawk and even in the dark she could still see the dark brown glow in them of the boy that she loves. 

“Why?”

“Because I care about you.” It’s spoken like a fact, but only one of them knows it to be true. The heavy chains around his wrists remind him that what she says might not be entirely true. At least not to him.

“Still?”

“Yes.” She swallows hard, he watches the motion slowly. Watching for any signs of deception, he knew her well enough to see the sadness behind her eyes that seemed to grow deeper with every step she took near him. “You were - You are the only thing I wanted.” 

“No,” He shakes his head. “No. Not me.” His hands shake, downplayed rage paints his face. “I have always been this way. This dark, grey creature in the hollowed-out shell of a prince who never was.”

He was right. Whoever he was then, whoever he was pretending to be. That wasn’t him, not entirely. He’d always been dark. Always been corrupt, he loved the darkness so much you’d think his soul had been grown there. 

“You may not have loved who I truly was, but you loved me.” 

He speaks gently, words so compassionate you could almost forget they’d fallen out of the mouth from the same boy who’s betrayed her. 

“There’s a darkness in you.” Tender are the words that come from a boy who’s never known love, the boy who fought tooth and nail against the only one who had ever loved him. Loves him. “I don’t know how it got there, but I can feel it. You can set it free.”

If he was a fortress, then she was a glasshouse. So easy to look inside, to peer through a window, and know exactly what lies inside. He could practically see the way her heart beats for him, but he could also see how it hurts. 

Because while he looks on the inside, she’s focused on the view. Brown curls stuck to his forehead that her hands ache to push back, skin the color of ash that washes away the memory of his once rosy-toned cheeks. 

“Aerin, I am not like you.”

“You never were a good liar, Irileth.”

Their names slip from each other’s mouths like they’ve been holding in months, gliding off their tongues in such a charming tone they nearly missed the way they had flinched once one said it. The sting of betrayal spelled out both their names in one another’s mind. So she holds her tongue, knowing he’d never believe what she’d have to say to defend herself.

“I did not come all this way just to lose, but I won’t lose you either.”

“Haven’t you already?” 

The sound of shackles breaks the reprieve built around them, the air grows stale as it’s ripped from her lungs. Aerin lifts his hands slow, wrapping the bars that separated the two like a cavern. 

“Didn’t you lose me when you helped haul me into here?”

Shadows seemed to seep around her like the branching of a weeping willow, hiding her shame. 

“I had no choice.” 

“There’s always a choice, you chose this.”

“That is not fair. You chose this, over me.” Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, an unfortunate thing about her. The way her emotions threatened to spill over the floor and drown them both. “You did. This darkness.” 

The gesture is vague but her arms swing wide, another sign of the difference between them. She was free to move as she pleased. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does. I cannot change.”

“I'm not asking you to.” She knew he couldn’t, there was no longer a good bone in his body. There was never a place for one. 

“I cannot pretend like this darkness doesn’t live in you, and I also cannot pretend as if I can save you. There is no saving what was never lost.” He’d belong to the shadows since the day he’d arrived on their Earth. 

“But I will not be without you.” 

Her hand slips between the bars. A tap, tap of a metal key — once, then twice against a bar. She slips through the heavy door that had been keeping them apart, the final step that leads her to jump into the deep end.

“I will have a home beside you. In the shadows.”

Shackles slip-free, falling heavily against the floor. And all at once, he’s on her. Lips on lips, shuddering close against his skin, and eyes pressed shut just hard enough to try to remember what this had felt like before. When his skin was warm, gentle hands touched her cheek beside a moonlit river. 

Violent darkness creeping in on every corner, the shadows whisper sweet desires of a glorious promise land and the wind blows down her back like nails on a chalkboard.

That’s all there is at first, not the lack of light beside her lids but enveloping her through his kiss. Fear is freezing rain dripping down her back and drops shivers down her spine that he soothes away with a caress. Shadows flood her veins and her blood no longer flows crimson, inky dark lines dance down her skin like that of a predator. She is born again, born anew, his devilish grin traces over every onyx vein, scraping across her skin like branches on a tree. Shadows whipped and wrapped around them, holding them close and holding them together. A king with his queen.

There is a garden in their kingdom, there’s a single weeping willow tree with breaking branches that snap like bones in the night and it’s filled with thorns spread through the field threatening to prick anything that comes near. But under the tree there’s a single flower, it’s pale under the moonlight you could also miss the pink glimmer on it that matches Irileth’s skin. 

When the moon is full they take a stroll, thorns let them pass and the branches part as if it’s offering a welcoming hug back home. The King and Queen of Shadows stroll through whispering cries of poor, lost souls and listen to the haunting melodies creep into their bones under the touch of one another’s embrace.

They aren’t lonely anymore.

[novantinuum]

On the corrupted!Steven theory...

So, originally when I mused on this yesterday I was just playing around with random possibilities.

After combing the series for info about corruption, though, I’m mildly spooked at the increased potential for this to... perhaps be a thing? I’m not saying that this is what I for sure believe will happen- to be honest, I’m not even sure Crewniverse would go this direction at all- but just for funsies, let’s see what kind of “evidence” or “foreshadowing” exists that might support this potential story path in the context of canon.

(EDIT: 10/7/19 

I honestly no longer think this creature is a worm at all whatsoever, it’s either more akin to a horned caterpillar or potentially has limbs. Either way we can see so little right now that it’s hard to tell. I’m not editing the rest of this post because I want it to exist in its original form- but do keep this in mind reading the rest! XP)

1) The design of this worm creature.

Let’s start simple. Let’s start tangible. 

For future reference and simplicity, I will be henceforth be referring to this creature as... “Wormy Boi.”

So, let’s see what we’ve got here. I’m definitely not the first person to point out this fella’s pink nature, and the jarringly human-like nose they’ve got. (Compared to other corruptions, which have had distinctly non-humanoid features.) In the photo above, we also have Wormy Boi sporting glowing pink eyes, which then send out a flare of pink light/energy. So, seemingly a powerful entity.

If you watch the short segment before they sit upright, you’ll see that Wormy Boi is super, super big. They’re in the background, but BOY do they loom. The shadows cast upon them especially push that sense of size. They’ve also got a whole bunch of spikes on their back and framing their face.

So, then. What evidence could be made for this being a corrupted!Steven, as opposed to some other run-of-the-mill monster?

Steven Universe Future is a limited series, described as ‘tying up loose ends.” To me, as a viewer, it would make far more sense for the antagonists/conflicts to deal with big concepts that have already been established since there’s such a limited amount of time we have left with this world. Introducing a completely alien species in the last act of the show would feel offbeat from both a writing and a viewing perspective. Corruption- on the other hand- is something we don’t have full answers to yet.

We don’t see any gem, yes- but Steven’s gem is- of course- on his belly. If this theory were to be true, that would translate to the gem being on Wormy Boi’s underside, far out of our sight in this shot, due to how massive they are. As an addition to this, not showing the gem gives an air of mystery to this creature’s true nature- which makes it seem like there’s something surprising to discover here.

A corrupted diamond would surely be MASSIVE. Also, very powerful. The beam of pink light hints at Wormy Boi being quite a powerhouse.

The spikes on Wormy Boi’s back and around their face highly resemble rose thorns. We all know how much the Crewniverse loves their rose symbolism, and design wise, this aspect would make a lot of visual sense for a corrupted Steven. Running off of that:

The face/nose shape and the five horns on this creature’s head give off a very Steven-like silhouette. 

The nose, of course. The face has a very Steven-like shape to it, overall- although noticeably more angular and sharp. The mouth is reminiscent of the Watermelon Stevens’ mouths. And as for the horns, there’s five of them positioned equidistant around their face, just as Steven’s hair is always formed from five lil’ bumps at the same positions.

Okay, moving on.

(Read more under the cut!)

2) We do not yet understand the true nature of corruption.

“I guess it’ll take more than a kiss to heal damage from the Diamonds…” -Pearl, Monster Reunion

Corruption is still- bafflingly- a huge mystery. The Gems we’ve watched the CGs bubble since season one have been healed, yes, but there are still many gaps in our understanding of it. With Steven Universe Future’s promise to address some lingering story threads, it would make sense if corruption was on the plate for further discussion. So, what DO we know?

We know it’s something the Diamonds can do. Interestingly, it doesn’t seem to require all four diamonds. Three of them together were able to cause all the damage to Earth. There’s also no statement made that more than one Diamond is required to cause effects like that. 

In Legs From Here to Homeworld, Blue and Yellow Diamond weren’t actually aware the corruption was something they were capable of producing. They seemed to assume they obliterated the Gems on Earth. Corruption is then, even a mystery to them. That’s... odd, isn’t it?

Pearl states that it’s “something nearly impossible to describe.” Garnet goes further to say... “It’s sorta like... if MC Bear-Bear didn’t tear the fabric of his arm, but the fabric of his mind.”

"A sound… A song?” There’s a lot of association between corruption and music.

It causes Gems to lose touch with their usual forms, instead warping into a more outwardly "monstrous” version of themselves that appear to be “just a bundle of fight-or-flight reflexes and survival instincts.” As seen by Centipeetle in Monster Buddy and Monster Reunion, it appears as if corrupted Gems try to regenerate with their original forms if unbubbled, but are simply not in a state where they can maintain that.

As seen with Jasper in Earthlings, extreme emotional distress very much seems to speed up corruption’s effects. This is less of a stated fact and more of my read on that episode, but I believe it to be an important tidbit, especially since Garnet states that corruption’s damage is mental rather than physical, at least at its core. This can also be seen in Monster Reunion with how Centipeetle’s partial healing backfires when she remembers the trauma of being corrupted and reacts strongly.

Now, when it comes to healing corruption, Steven tries to heal Centipeetle himself, and does make some nice progress... helping her regain a hold on herself as he treats her with love and compassion and understanding... but it’s ultimately not a healing that can occur in isolation, helping her on his own. She needs more support before she can heal from this corruption to a state where she can truly be herself again.

And that eventually comes in the form of the other Diamonds. So, all four diamonds can help relieve the corruption if they help these Gems all together. 

3) How could this theory potentially fit into the story anyways, you nutter?

Well, here’s the part of this post where I make some broad conjectures. I honestly am shooting fish into a barrel here because again- we know barely anything about how corruption actually happened initially, and my thoughts are very jumbled. Please forgive me.

"I don’t really know how the corruption works. It’s like they’re sick. They don’t remember who they used to be.” -Steven, Gem Hunt

So, corruption seems to be a mental ailment of Gemkind, turned manifest. It also seems to have a deep connection to a Gem’s emotions, with Centipeetle growing smaller and slightly calmer upon feeling more secure in Steven’s presence, and corruption speeding up as Jasper grew more and more emotionally overwrought and self-deriding about herself. 

When it comes to the Diamonds and how they perhaps caused it originally- without fully realizing- we know that at least Blue and White have abilities focused on causing others to act in certain ways. Blue has sway over one’s emotions, and White has a knack for forcing her thoughts and self upon others. (I’m not sure how Yellow’s ability would play in here.) Mayhaps, mixed with their grief and guilt and anger, their power simply pressed all of that hurt emotion onto all the Gems on Earth in one whole fail swoop...? Tearing their minds in the process of it all?

The question I still have, though- is whether a single diamond could produce effects like this. And whether a diamond could turn that ability on themself.

Could Steven accidentally corrupt himself? Why might that happen?

Well, let’s look at our boy here. 

He’s got a wide circle of support at this time in canon, but notably, he’s notorious for bottling up his emotion and not letting others in to help him- instead dropping everything to help them with their problems. Just to name a few examples (a few):

The Test. He feels betrayed and hurt at the Gems for a moment about the way they’re babying him with the rigged test, but instead of admitting the hurt he feels about the scenario, bottles that up to help them feel more like good guardians.

Joy Ride. He opens up to the Cool Kids about deep, incredibly troubling stuff that’s long been on his mind, but he’s never once talked about it with his family.

Mindful Education. The perils of bottling one’s emotions is literally the whole plot of the episode. The kid has a full out sobbing breakdown while he’s plunging to his death. Connie gets through to him a little here, but later episodes show that the resolution we see here is merely the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Steven’s internal issues. 

Storm in the Room. Externally, Steven tries so hard to put on a guise of content and positivity, but once alone in Rose’s room feels safe enough to let the full brunt of his emotional trauma come out in an almost explosive manner. Geeze, get this kid some hugs. 

Gemcation. Steven actually fails bitterly on putting on his customary smile in this episode, simply because the weight of his problems have become such an impossible burden to him. When the other Gems are trying to help him open up, he isn’t immediately responsive to their efforts. 

What’s Your Problem? Amethyst spends the whole episode trying to cheer Steven up and find out how he’s doing, and instead Steven downplays his own feelings on the matter and ends up helping her sort out her own emotional issues.

So to sum: Many an Emotional Issue, a chronic tendency to avoid outwardly addressing said issues in favor of helping everyone else instead... and to avoid accepting other people’s help.

Even if he’s surrounded by all these people who love him, the fact of the matter is that Steven still feels as if he has to face his own inner demons alone.

Now, let’s look at the lil’ teasing synopsis that was given for Steven Universe Future:

“After saving the universe, Steven is still at it, tying up every loose end. But as he runs out of other people’s problems to solve, he’ll finally have to face his own.”

Blatantly sounds like we’re gonna finally get some addressing of Steven’s emotional state, now doesn’t it?

4) A concept on what could, theoretically happen

“Maybe… it IS a guy in a monster costume. I don’t mean literally, silly! What I mean is... there might be a conscious Gem still inside there, somewhere. What if the monster is turning back and forth into its original form? If it is, it might not be as corrupted as we think! There might still be a chance to save it!” -Steven, Gem Hunt

Suppose Steven- by some as-of-yet unknown means- ends up accidentally corrupting himself. His sorry emotional state only further amplifies the effects of this corruption, and makes it really hard to retain control. Wormy Boi as a form could be like... all his inner demons made manifest, a metaphoric mirror into his current mental state. But- as he is half-human- he’s not entirely unaware of what’s happening. Perhaps... as the quote above could be sneaky foreshadowing for... how he’s turning back and forth between this corrupted form and his normal form. 

He likely wouldn’t want everyone to see him like this, doesn’t want everyone to visibly know the sheer depth of how much he’s hurting. But just like the corrupted Gems were only able to be helped in community, with the support of the CGs and the Diamonds in preparing the fountain, Steven can’t fix this on his own. 

He can no longer face the dark alone.

At some point, everyone has to take a brave step. Reach out. Accept help. 

Steven’s helped so many people, and surely he deserves that same love and care in return, too.

And perhaps, when he’s eventually healed from this- and has gotten the opportunity to be open with his family and friends about the hurt he’s facing- he’ll be left with “corruption scars” as well. I think it’s an important thing to address, that no one goes through experiences like these without lingering effects. Stuff stays with you. Healing is not always linear. But life is a continuous journey, and with the support of people who love you surrounding, you too can make a change... can continue to live to the fullest at every moment possible.

I think the above would be a lovely moral for Steven Universe to tackle in its last run of episodes, no matter how they approach it- daft corruption theory or not.

Now, in the end- a reiteration. This is just a wild theory. I’m not trying to be any authoritative voice saying that this is for sure what will happen, because in reality I have no idea what Crewniverse is cooking. However, I do think it’s fun speculation, and I am kinda spooked at how well things fit. 

Whatever happens, I’m sure it will make me weep like a baby, though. Hoh boy. Grant me sanity in these coming months as we wait for answers.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 7

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. There is violence in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: *chants* BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF BRUCE FLUFF. *sings* they're ain't no big thing just show them a little swing. Beneficial Cucumber. Author's notes are spoilers without context at this point... Y'all-

My beta, @miscmarvelwritings . We make the best duo. I am her dumb of ass and she is my gay. I love her.

Tony was elbow-deep in a robot when I came out of the elevator, Peter holding up the spare part needed, hovering next to the engineer. Without preamble, I was directed to help and dutifully fulfilled Tony's requests. Nothing indicated that my evening stunt ever happened besides Pete's faint blush; I might as well have written it off to the tank top hugging the upper part of my body in all the right places.

I was disappointed, I won't lie to myself - I expected Tony to tease me at least a little bit, snark something vaguely lewd and move on. But the engineer was quiet today, eerily so, almost to the point where it seemed he was ignoring me on purpose. My pride didn't let me begin any of our usual banter so I frowned in silence, making the appearance of a very focused person. Bolts and screws - most interesting things in the world!

As usual, I clocked out first around eleven thirty, leaving Pete and Tony some time to discuss their secret science stuff. Usually I would be exhausted by this point which left little to no room for jealousy but that night, emotions hit me like a freight train and it took me every ounce of my willpower to head out to Bruce's for the inevitable "I'm disappointed in you/Fuck safely" round of brainwashing.

My brain kept returning to the downwards tilt of Tony's mouth and the somber mood around him. I hated seeing him so...unhappy and tense.

The moment I set step in Bruce's lab, I saw the man's back hunched over a tube, I felt the same energy coming from him. What a fucking day! The sigh that left my mouth was resigned. "Bruce?"

A couple of seconds passed before he turned. He attempted a smile but it didn't reach his eyes at all. "Hi, Princess."

I cocked my head in defeat. "If this is the part where you lecture me, let's get over it. Or even better, you say nothing and we carry on," I pursed my lips, inspecting my nails in favour of actually facing the scientist.

I heard the click-clack of his instruments being placed on the table and the soft taps of his shoes against the tiled floor. His arms reached around my shoulders before I could even attempt to pull away, one of his broad palms tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not mad, baby girl," He told me quietly.

I felt some of the tension dissipate, wrapped my arms around him, coming to a realization the man was all but melting into me.

"Just stay safe, alright? I don't want you to get hurt," With the same quiet tone, Bruce gently shushed my worries away. "If something is wrong, you can come to me. You know that, right?" He sounded painfully hopeful as he withdrew just enough to capture my face in his hands, forcing me to look him in the eye.

Something about the look in his eyes made my heart ache. I didn't have the heart to refuse, nor did I want to, so I nodded. Promptly, I was embraced yet again, his lips resting on the crown of my head, both of us swaying gently.

I've never wanted to cry so badly in my entire life.

"I'm a fuckin' mess, Bwucie, you haven't got a clue what you've gotten yourself into," I settled for a round of self-deprication instead. Bitter as it was, it was the barenaked truth.

"Then you're a beautiful mess," I could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. So I smiled, too, obscured by his lab coat.

As much as I didn't want to leave the embrace, like, ever, I had to get home before one o'clock - before mother went to bed, zonked out on Valium and Ambien from the endless supply closet courtesy of my dad. "M'hafta go home," I mumbled.

Bruce sighed deeply. "I'll grab one of Tony's cars and drive you," He went over to remove his lab coat as I gaped. "I'm a forty-five year old man, I can drive." He chuckled humorlessly.

"Tony won't mind?" I asked the first question that popped into my mind to attempt dispelling the awkward moment.

"Trust me, he won't mind at all," Bruce mumbled darkly. I wondered what's up with that but the immediate future for me was already planned out: I was really looking forward to going home, crawling into bed with my clothes on and having a good old fashioned cry.

We made quick work of locating a set of keys and peeling out of the garage in Tony's shiny Audi R8, tires squealing on the wet pavement. It had stopped raining sometime during my robot building but the city was still filled with puddles. I could smell the moist, decaying leaves through the tiny gap of the window, the city was drowning in autumn like I was drowning in my own cluelessness.

The adrenaline rush, the weight of Tony's foul mood, the grief and pleading that radiated off Bruce mixed into a horrendous cocktail of misery and pain. Too much pain for my little, weak, dumb heart to handle. And all these people out in the streets, dressed to the nines despite the disgusting weather - laughing, hugging and drunkenly giggling, it was like salt on my wounds, rubbing it in how much of a good time they were having.

"This your house?" Bruce pointed at the black, high gate of the entrance to my garage.

"Yeah, it's a bit much," I nodded absentmindedly, seeing Bruce's eyes bulge at the sheer size of my estate. My mother wouldn't settle for any less than the best so having a monstrously huge (for NYC) home was what she got. Dad just signed the checks.

Bruce hummed.

I made a face, reaching for his warm hand and giving it a squeeze. "Thanks, Bwucie," Smiling at him, I used up the last of my good mood to show the gratitude he deserved.

He pulled me into a tight hug right over the middle console. It wasn't comfortable by any means with the numerous buttons and switches poking at the soft of my stomach but there was nowhere else I'd rather be than in his arms during that moment. The breaths that left me felt like they were punched out of my chest cavity by steel-toed boots.

"Good night, Princess. Sweet dreams." He kissed my cheek, lingering just a tiny bit.

I did the same, rubbing softly against his stubble and giggling at the ticklish sensation. "Night night, Bwucie."

I waved at him again as I unlocked my front gates and watched him speed off from behind it, obscured by the shadows of the decorative trees growing right behind the fence.

Bruce's face had morphed into something akin to torment or suffering the moment I disappeared from his immediate eyesight and it baffled me to no extent. I ransacked my brain left and right, searching for a reason I might have inadvertently caused him to feel that way but found none. The only logical reason was that he was just lonely. He didn't have many friends from what I gathered and if judging by the proud tone in which he spoke of Will-Mr Davies today, he desperately needed some other company than his teammates. I wish I could have helped.

Mother was nowhere to be seen when I entered the house so a beeline for my bed was successful. The ugly, loud, dry-heaving sobs weren't in any shape or form attractive or acceptable to show to anybody but me so when they forced their way out of me, the pillow keeping me company. I cried as for everything that was happening to me as much as I sobbed because of the self-pity I was indulging in.

It was pathetic, really. My mother would scoff and my father... Well, he'd offer me to 'cheer up, throw a party, do normal teenager stuff'. The bottle of wine I kept in my closet was empty in no time: I justified that as a single lady in a big city, I was entitled to relax once in a while.

Who was I lying to? I downed a bottle in twenty minutes just so I could fall asleep and begone from all this bullshit for a while.

On Monday, I anonymously submitted the documents pertaining to Thompson's behaviour to the school board and to a local newspaper that was known to dabble in socialite gossip. Next day, an investigation was promptly launched and important-looking people started to appear in the hallways, going in and out of the principal's office. Flash was pulled out of class by two police officers: at this point, half the student population was unashamedly filming it on their smartphones, me included. With grim satisfaction, I sent the video directly to the group chat with an added message of "so long, fucker".

Steve didn't even remark on my profanity, just sent a thumbs up.

It really fuckin' blew up the next morning. The news was plastered across every paper, every social media site - "Midtown Principal's son arrested for grand theft auto and assault", "Midtown Principal Being Investigated for obstruction of education" and other ridiculous headlines that had me, Bucky and Natasha in shit-fits.

Flash returned to school on Wednesday accessorized with a pretty ankle monitor and a sullen frown. During lunch, he sat only with two of his closest minions instead of the chatty group he was usually seen with. Everybody avoided him like the bubonic plague, even teachers ignored him.

With the final bell, me and Pete went on to look for Happy outside the school territory.

I was spending nearly every evening at the tower either in Tony's or Bruce's lab or sandwiched between Wanda and Bucky on the couch, gossiping while TV shows mutely played in the background. I had found a second friend in the face of Winter Soldier who, much like me, spent a lot of his days occupied by the internet or in a general state of confusion. Bucky was charming, funny and very flamboyant. I enjoyed the no-nonsense attitude and zero fucks that he gave the world in general.

The moment I stepped on the other side of the gate, I immediately knew something was wrong. Peter squirmed uncomfortably beside me, looking frantically in every direction, trying to spot Happy's car in vain.

"Ay, Parker," The familiar obnoxious voice of Peter's bully reached our ears. "You wanna tell me how you got your grubby little hands on that file?"

Thompson had brought back up with him, the idiot that he was. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the fence while five older boys surrounded us in a tight circle.

"Leave us alone, Flash, you're already in trouble," Peter tried reasoning with the bully meanwhile I... I was searching for a cleaner, dryer spot to dump my $1500 bag onto in preparation for the inevitable. I was no stranger to swinging my arm - as a frequent house party guest, I've had to fend off enough unwelcome advances. I've been told I have a mean, mean right hook.

"Bold of you to assume Peter would actually steal something," I stated in a bored tone once my bag was out of the way and Pete was standing securely behind me. I wasn't afraid of Flash, mostly because I knew he'd step back for the fear of retaliation from my family was usually too much.

"Oh, look at that, the weirdo is talking," Thompson mocked, getting up and standing right in front of my face. "You know, I don't get why the likes of you have to go to school with us, normal people. See, Peter here might be a little wimp but at least he won't shoot up the whole school one day because his daddy didn't love him enough," Thompson decided to test his luck. To finish his epic tirade with a flourish, he spat on the ground next to me.

I snorted. "Wow, that's an awful lot of smart words for someone as dumb as a doorknob," I shook my head in disdain. "Look, either you go now or I'll sue you so far up your ass, you'll be sucking dick in prison just to get something to fill your stomach with." And wow, that comeback was really, really good. I was proud of myself.

I saw pure rage mar Thompson's already ugly face into something demonic and ducked at the last moment, feeling the blunt sting of his knuckles connect with my left cheekbone. Reflectively I swung, too, decking him straight in the nose with all the rage and despair that was burning deeply inside of me at that time.

I heard gasps all around me as the students whispered, shouted and cheered at Thompson's confused form hitting the ground. He held his face and his palms were stained a deep crimson; I felt something warm on my face, copper in my mouth.

"Does anybody want some of that, too?" My tone was icy. I shrugged off the hand that landed on my shoulder, glaring down one of the boys who came with Thompson.

"Shit, cops, RUN!" One of the students suddenly shouted and just like that, both me and Flash were surrounded only by a handful of students who had filmed the entire incident on camera. God bless technology!

"Uh, I think you're bleeding," Pete timidly remarked from behind me, hand still awkwardly outstretched towards me. He cast a guilty look to the side where Happy was running towards us, phone held to his ear, no doubt already on the line with Tony and the rest of the Avengers. Shit, fuck, SHIT. I didn't plan for this!

The police officers called an ambulance for Flash and took my statement while I was holding my bleeding nose up to the sky, much to the officer's dismay. Happy had passed the officer his mobile phone and I briefly heard Tony's voice saying that I will be taken care of in the tower's medical suite - and let's face it, no cop will go against Iron Man's charm and wit.

As an eighteen year old, I could refuse the on-site medical assistance that the city provided and my parents weren't required so I was let go after my statement was taken and my injuries photographed.

Not that the photoshoot really was required. Multiple people had the incident on video, from multiple angles. It was an open and close case. I called my mother in the elevator (she didn't answer) and left her a voice message with the bare facts of the situation and my current whereabouts.

Seeing the whole team assembled in the living room, some nervously twitching, some anxiously pacing, I couldn't help but let out a slightly hysterical giggle. "Oh my god, guys, I'm not in a coma, stop acting like I'm in a coma!"

Bucky was the first to approach me, carefully hugging me and steering me towards Bruce. He looked a bit rough, green-ish? I guess. But the first aid kit was already on the table and Stephen Strange was hovering nearby.

"You decked the sucker real good, doll," Bucky's Brooklyn accent made his speech less intelligible but he definitely got all the cookie points for the heat and the passion.

"Ditto. Should've kicked him in the balls, too," Natasha smirked and Steve mirrored her smirk with a darker twist.

"I'm going to sue him so darn far up his ass," Tony seethed, looking absolutely livid.

"Don't worry, mother's got it handled," I obediently laid down on the couch, staring up at Bruce's wide eyes and Stephen's focused face.

"You are fearless and fierce, dear lady," Thor boomed from somewhere.

All of this was making me... Emotional. I just punched a piece of human garbage, it was not a big deal, okay? He had it coming. I chuckled uncomfortably, wincing when Bruce began dabbing at the dried blood on my face with a piece of gauze soaked in alcohol. "Petey, you alright?" I asked, worried about the sudden onset of silence from the usually chatty boy. He mumbled something. "Speak up, I can't hear shit with all the ringing in my ears."

That earned me a worried look from doctor Strange and a frown from Bruce.

"I should've protected you-I mean-it's not that you can't do it yourself, or because you're a girl, it's just-I," he suddenly stopped.

"Go ahead, kid," Tony urged him with unmistakable kindness in his voice.

"You see, I'm-I'm actually Spider-Man and I'm afraid to accidentally kill someone, 'cause I'm really strong." Pete blurted out.

I had to replay his words several times in my head to get to the gist of what he was actually saying. Shy little Peter? Spider-Man? So that's why he was such a fucking pacifist? I mean, it made perfect sense if he really was strong enough to lift cars and hold together collapsing bridges like I'd seen on YouTube.

"Huh," I stated after a brief pause. "I guess I did double the work today, dumped out some trash and prevented a potential murder. I'm on a roll and I deserve chocolate cake," I rambled to distract myself from the incoming dull headache and the sting of the alcohol against the split skin of my cheek.

Strange chuckled, looking, possibly, the happiest I've ever seen him. Bruce giggled too. A tiny bit.

"Friday, order the biggest, most expensive chocolate cake that can be delivered in... Two hours," Tony immediately spoke up.

"Cake," I mumbled happily, a strange drowsiness overcoming me, making my eyelids droop. "Hey-mmm, doc?" I slurred, seeing Stephen's face fall. "M'think m'concussed, f'king 'ell!" The snort that left his mouth was absolutely hilarious; I started giggling, too, startling Banner into action.

He picked up his phone, saying something I didn't understand at all.

"Y'kno," I had this totally bright idea I absolutely NEEDED to share with everyone. "Y'kinda look like the guy... Wha's'is name... Bendy-snap Crum-ble-sticks? No, wait," Snorts and giggles began to resonate through the room as the amount of Doctor Stranges suddenly multiplied by two. He was a WIZARD, that was so cool! "I think... Mmm, yes... Benadryl-Claritin? No-no-no, 'das meds," Woah, a lot of people were there and they were suddenly all laughing. I wondered what was so funny. It was hard to think with so many people laughing; my temples were pulsating uncomfortably. "Wait, I know, I know!" There were wheezing noises now, noises that distinctively reminded me of Tony and Wanda and Bucky. "Bubble-butt Coitus-snack!" I triumphantly exclaimed, finally happy to have gotten it right.

The laughter turned into truly demonic cackling, surrounding me, they were so loud I almost managed to get fully afraid. And then, I passed the fuck out.

TAGLIST IS OPEN Y'ALL.

@another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem

[angelsndragons]

Day 1

Day 1 of the Caduceus Clay celebration week, folks, so you know what that means: I get to gush about my favorite character. I did warn y’all I would word vomit.

So, what does Caduceus mean to me? 

Well.

My brother lives in a separate state and has for several years now. We talked on the phone pretty much every day but we still missed each other a lot. One of the last things he did to me in person was introduce me to D&D. I loved it. It gave me a community away from home and a way to meet new people and form new friendships in new areas. I would tell him all about my weekly game shop adventures, he would tell me about the homebrew campaign he was in online. He also told me about this little show called Critical Role. I, like the dumb oldest sibling I can be, pretty much ignored it, outside letting him talk to me about it and engaging with it secondhand. Then, my brother’s party lost one of their players. They were down to four players and no full casters, just a gunslinger, a barbarian, a monk, and a non-healer warlock. Things started getting dicey. Like, really dicey. He worried with me over how close their fights were getting and how he felt it was only a matter of time until someone legit died and they couldn’t do anything about it. So, I asked, “Well, can you ask them if I could play? You’re looking for someone and we’re looking to try to do something together, it could work out.” Two years later, that campaign is going strong and (thankfully) no one has died yet.

I bring up this context because it matters: I rolled up a level 10 Grave Cleric. I had never played a cleric before but I had wanted to before my game shop sessions fell apart. And here I was, willingly thrown into the deep end of one of the most complex subclasses of one of the most complex classes in the game. And initially, I was not happy with it. Not just because there was a lot to learn but because of sheer mechanics. By rote, I could not keep up with the damage that the rest of my party was doing. At all. My high level spells weren’t doing much more damage than my freaking cantrips and I just felt stuck. I wanted to contribute outside of healing but really just couldn’t. I shared my frustrations with my brother, who, being the little troll he is, said, “Well, you know Critical Role has a Grave Cleric now, right?” So, to start this love fest, Caduceus taught me how to be a better cleric and because of that, I will never be able untangle the character from my relationship with my brother. Even if he died tomorrow or went evil or whatever, I would still be fond of him just for that.

I don’t remember which episode of campaign 2 I first watched all the way through. I know I started paying attention around Fjord’s chicken game and was fully on board with the series by Yasha’s loss in the pit fight. What I do remember is Caduceus. I remember being drawn in by this guy for some reason I still can’t articulate. 

Caduceus is a complex character who is difficult to fully understand and love. People have said unkind things about him, about how he is a glorified NPC or that he is boring or that there is just no ‘there’ there or that he should just go home already. I have seen people say that they think Taliesin should go back to the drawing board and come back with a ‘better’ character, one who vibes better with the group or something. And the sad thing is, I can kind of see where these people are coming from. Understanding Caduceus and what Taliesin is doing with him requires people to pay attention to him, to actively think about him both when he is and is not in the spotlight. And that is hard. Because Caduceus is that character who aggressively tries to divert attention from himself. So right away, we have this tension, this push/pull when it comes to engaging with him. And I do love me a challenge in my favorites. Also love the polite but judgmental assholes who have Opinions they would never say but nevertheless own.

For me, Caduceus’ arc has been about duty and desire, what duty means, how to prioritize yourself, and how to grow. Caduceus’ interrogation of identity as it relates to duty and his blossoming as a person fascinate me most. What is your duty, really? What does it mean to find balance in your life? How do you take down the walls you built to protect yourself? Where do you end and where does your duty begin? What does faith look like outside a strictly Western/Christian lens? Can we find ourselves in other people? What does it mean to grow beyond your wildest imagination and the people you love most?

Caduceus begins the show as a passive, apathetic shadow of a man who has cloaked those traits in duty in order to not deal with his feelings. He had basically grown up in a literal paradise on earth where the problems of the world couldn’t reach or affect him. Until they did. Until his family left. Until the Nein crashed into his temple. Caduceus makes the choice to basically leave paradise, at the Wildmother’s urging, sure, and experience the world in all its messy beauty and ugliness. It is nothing like he expected. It is hard, it is cruel, it tries to drown him at every opportunity. It is also good, the animals, the people, the experiences he has. Hearing Marion sing, learning of a lighthouse to the Wildmother (which he does not fully appreciate yet, this light in the dark storm). Caduceus spends his first chunk of episodes waking up, seeing life outside of paradise. I love these early episodes because they demonstrate just how far Caduceus has actually come (can’t imagine this guy buying an overly large pirate hat as a prank or helping the Traveler offload some followers through an elaborate ceremony, for example).

The crux of Caduceus’ midgame story right up until he saves his family is this: You’ve seen the world, young cleric, are you sure you want to continue to save it? You can go home and turn your back on all of this, what makes you stay in this imperfect world with these imperfect people? We see this a lot, in the questions he asks the Gentleman, in his insistence they save Yasha, in his newfound appreciation and companionship in Fjord, in making the Xhorhaus a home, in his dealings with the stone giants, in his determination to help Nott and her family. And this is the part that made me love him because Caduceus doesn’t shy away from these moments or tough questions. Like most of what he does, he contemplates them quietly and lets his actions speak for him. Caduceus allows himself to get involved, to become invested.

Caduceus’ new major arc is his realization that he is not just some vessel, some passive thing through which the Wildmother’s will will flow. No, he learns that he has to make choices, that he can affect change, and that if he wants this messy, beautiful world to get better, he is going to have to do something about it. Not just wait for Her to tell him it is okay. Taking ownership of his future and what that means to him have shaped Caduceus these last thirty or so episodes. Caduceus has blossomed so damn much. He continued with the Nein because he wanted to, and that led to the discovery of the Astral Sea City. (side note: Anyone want to take a gander what would be happening right now if Caduceus hadn’t been with them?) He not only felt his feelings towards the Nein, he began expressing them. From the man who refused to Scry or Send to his family to one who has a friend call up his sister and tell her he will be back, from the man who clung so tightly to his need to be useful to the Nein to one who openly declares how much he loves these people and how reluctant he is to leave them, from a man who wanted to save his home to one who is trying to save the whole damn world, from a man who couldn’t articulate his feelings if you threatened him to one who is trying so hard communicate, from a man who needed saving from his own apathy and grief to one who saves others, this is who Caduceus Clay has become and I for one am excited to see how the next 100 episodes influence him.

Also I cannot end this word vomit without mentioning the fact that Caduceus being aroace and so warm, loving, and caring is so damn important. Because it is; there are too many people out there who think aros/aces are loveless robots or fake or whatever. And having this person, this caregiver, this annoying little brother, this compassionate man, to hold up against that kind of hate, ignorance, and indifference means more than I will ever be able to express.