#and they take different stances on the same themes

[denjidefender]

everybody wants to say code geass is like the count of monte cristo but nobody wants to say the truer and braver thing (code geass is dune)

[leowifefang]

genjuros samsho 2019 theme vs haohs samsho 2019 theme makes me so mad

[help-the-horse]

TF2 Backstab Models and What They Mean for the Mercs

In my travels in the TF2 meta, I've noticed that when using an Australium or ice themed weapon, such as the Spy-cicle, each Merc has a few different models for their "frozen backstab" pose. I thought this was interesting and decided to take it upon myself to document the different models and extrapolate what that might mean for each merc as a character. Keep in mind the "canon" of TF2 and the characterization of the mercs is very much up to interpretation but I think this can give us some insight at least into what Valve thinks of each character and how they react to injury, particularly the backstab.

Let's get into it.

SCOUT

Scout with his quicker speed assumedly has a faster reaction time compared to a lot of the other mercs, so it tracks that in many of his poses he is almost completely turned around/facing back. I don't think he necessarily expects to be back stabbed but his fast reflexes makes it so that he is one of the mercs who is closer to actually catching the Spy before the stab. Clearly he isn't always fast enough if he gets stabbed though. On a side note I personally find his poses to be some of the most unnerving ones.

SOLDIER

Clearly Soldier's slow speed catches up with him when it comes to backstabs. Being one of the slower classes in the game, and one of the more burly/stocky characters, it makes sense that he would have trouble catching a Spy before a stab. In a few poses you can see that he reaches behind himself, but you never see him trying to turn his torso or head around to catch his attacker. It's also interesting to note how he reaches to his lower back, either because of how he holds his rocket launcher on his shoulder, or because of his lack of physical flexibility,

PYRO

Pyro's poses are all rather similar, so I don't find that I have much to say about them. Given what little we do know of Pyro, it's reasonable to assume that they probably don't notice Spy's through their pyro-vision very well, so it would make sense that they wouldn't be prepared for a backstab. They also don't need a particularly fast reaction time for their weapon/attack style so they don't show the same reflexes as Scout or Demo. Pyro just be silly with their pose.

DEMOMAN

Demo is very dramatic to say the least. I find it very interesting how he seems to be very close to actually grabbing the knife/Spy relative to some of the other mercs like Solly, Medic, or Pyro. This supports my personal theory that Demo plays up his drunkenness on the battle field/in general. He clearly has a good degree of flexibility as well looking at the curve of his spine, and a reasonable amount of balance shown by his repeated "one toe on the ground" style stance.

HEAVY

Unfortunately I wasn't able to get many screencaps of Heavy, but all his poses are essentially this with little variance. He is probably one of the least flexible out of all the mercs, which makes sense given his body type and how built up his shoulder/back muscles must be from carrying a 300 lbs gun around all the time every day. You can see that he probably doesn't expect a backstab and has a slower reaction time than others, which is in line with his in game movement speed.

ENGINEER

This man really just always be on his knees. I would assume that this is due to the fact that most of the time you would see an Engie crouching behind a sentry or dispenser, in game and in the character sense. It also reinforces Valve's mocking of his VERY NORMAL AND AVERAGE height. I also like to think Spy kicks his knees out from behind as he stabs. The models also tend to have effed up hands for Engie for some reason which I find very funny. Arguably his right hand tends to be the more messed up one, which is also his mechanical hand/Gunslinger. Food for thought, perhaps a mechanical malfunction/short when he dies?

MEDIC

Medic's poses are all very similar as well unfortunately. What stands out to me the most is how INCREDIBLY TALL Medic is compared to all the other mercs. You can see that he also doesn't work to turn around or even reach behind him to any large degree, which I think shows how unexpected a backstab is for Medic. He's usually busy chasing some screaming Scout or hiding behind a corner to pocket a Heavy so it would make sense he wouldn't expect a backstab as he usually has some power class with him to protect him. We stand with our Medic's though, no hate only love. Stay strong Medic army.

SNIPER

Sniper is the most interesting to examine for me, as he and Spy tend to have a rivalry in every sense, from the Spy v. Sniper update/event released by Valve way back when, to in game play, to in the comics/canon media we have of the mercs. It's clear he is the most prepared for a back stab most of the time, and arguably the closest to actually stopping Spy. I think he generally has an average reaction time if the in game movement speed is anything to go off of, but the fact he is so close to stopping the attack just shows how used to the backstab he is. He also has a higher degree of flexibility on par with Scout and Demo.

SPY

And finally, we come to the man of the hour. The tl;dr is he's a drama queen who's holier than thou attitude and cockiness causes him to not expect or prepare for another Spy's backstab, which ends up being his ultimate downfall. The long version of it is that he is a drama queen who's holier than thou attitude and cockiness causes him to not expect or prepare for another Spy's backstab, which makes him a little bitch boy who's pride gets hurt more than the actual pain of the stab. All of his poses are pretty similar, showing he has a good amount of flexibility but a piss poor reaction speed if he's able to get beat at his own game.

ANYWAY, if you've made it this far in the post thank you very much for reading it all and indulging my TF2 brain rot. I have no idea if any of this deeper reading was intended by the devs or Valve, but I think it's interesting to explore what little we get in regards to any hints about the mercs as characters and what they might be like on and off the battle field in a story sense. Would love to have more discussion in the comments and if anyone has any other niche requests for me to overanalyze TF2 game play/lore please let me know and I'm sure I will find more than expected to talk about.

Stay strong TF2 fans.

[fairydares]

loook i get why the idea of riding the "anti/pro" fandom disk horse makes people gag a little in their mouth and try to opt out entirely, but here's why i went from feeling exactly the same way to taking a firm profiction stance. I've been meaning to make this post for a while.

~10 years ago, I posted a fic for the first time and it got its own harassment campaign. The fic wasn't even sexual, and wasn't going to be (it remains incomplete). It was accurately rated T on fanfiction.net. Anyone in the Fairy Tail fandom will understand this: I literally got harassed for writing a "Lucy leaves the guild" fic💀.

After many nice comments, someone left a pretty nasty one. Hurt, I messaged them back. They acted super attacked that I'd responded (lmao) and after we argued, threatened to "rip my shitty story apart in the comments section" if I responded again. I told them "go ahead lol."

They went ahead.

Now know that it was a relatively small harassment campaign, but at the time, it was devastating. Right around then, I wound up in the hospital. After I got out, I went to excitedly check my fic, and found several reviews saying things I wouldn't repeat to my worst enemy. I was suicide-baited more than once, told "thank fuck you finally abandoned this shitty story, dumb cunt," stuff like that.

There were several accounts involved, and I can't say for sure, but I suspect at least a couple different people were involved, though probably at least half of it was one person.

All the other comments were screeching about how I hadn't updated, mostly. "NO UPDAAATEE WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS TO MEEEE??!!!" was one that stood out after I'd been miserable in a hospital for an extended period of time.

Idk what people think is going on when FT fic authors write this trope, and frankly I don't give a fuck. Because while I was partly writing the story out of some young, cringe feminist rage, I also did genuinely have a real story I was compelled to tell. I was inspired by another, popular fic I loved which used the trope to talk about how trying to shoulder our burdens alone really just hurts both ourselves and everyone who cares about us.

My own story was ultimately going to have similar themes, with more focus on strength, what it means, and in what contexts earning and having it actually matters. In retrospect, no wonder I wound up in hot water, because at the time "Lucy vs. Strength vs. Misogyny" was the FT fandom's Designated Nonsensically Activist Debate™. But that's partly why i wanted to write about it; engaging with the fandom had gotten me thinking about it 🤷‍♂️

Not too long after that, FFNet oh-so-benevolently granted us the ability to delete comments from our own stories (they never took my reports seriously at all, afaik). I deleted all or most of the harassers' comments (may still be a one or two up, and i'm fairly sure there's a couple comments defending my fic from the harassment) without saving screenshots, which I really regret now. I was just so mortified and full of self-loathing about the whole thing that i wanted to forget it completely. Something that had brought me joy at a very lonely, vulnerable period of my life had turned so negative, and i couldn't even tell the people closest to me about it without being made fun of for writing anime fan fiction.

I didn't understand why this happened at the time, but--after a period of trying to forget/bid out of it all with a slight anti lean (a common approach I see people use, and one which I'm not proud of adopting)--I just had to figure out What the Fuck Even Happened There. And I'm telling you, after years of reflecting, wrestling with both sides, and educating myself, that this "status quo of harassment" culture which pervades fandom goes way deeper than you think and comes out of a way darker well than you probably realize. An astonishing amount of this is, quite literally, TERF shit and evangelical shit.

Trying to be in fandom and take a stance of, "Anti/Pro shit? Ew, I'm Not Touching that," is like swimming in a heavily polluted river and being like, "Poison? Cringe. Not me lol."

You might be lucky enough to be in a less-polluted part of the river (AKA a relatively non-toxic fandom, in which case good for you!)...but tbh this rhetoric and peer-signalling will still seep in.

I can't stress enough that pro-fiction, AKA "proship", is the normal, leftist-about-art-and-sex opinion. Pro-ship is against all the horrible things you're against; in fact, pro-ship isn't trivializing real trauma by equating it with fictional trauma, or trying to apply literal evangelical/radfem solutions--which are proven not to prevent or help. Profiction/proship is literally just saying, "Fiction is fiction, reality is reality, and the two don't have a 1:1 relationship. And historically, trying to censor just things we've decided are bad has done nothing but get LGBTQ+ and POCs censored. Therefore, depictions of illegal things shouldn't be censored." That's it. "Proshippers all ship problematic ships," is a brazen lie. Many of them share other fans' disgust for those ships, they just don't believe in censoring fic authors over it.

It is also taking a stand against harassment because--and I hope my own story has helped drive this home--as with all groups who adopt ingroup/outgroup thinking, antis are defined by their tactics, not actual stances on real, serious issues. What happened to me was absolutely a result of anti, "it's okay to 'bully out' anything I just don't like" mindset pervading fandom. In a way, this was the mindset's final form. They didn't even feel the need to cite a reason the trope was "bad" or "wrong"; it annoyed them, and they viewed their own feelings as a valid enough pathway for policing to go right ahead and do so.

In the interest of offering solutions instead of just bitching about problems, I might make a "how to know if you've bought into these types of views"-type post sometime. Also might come back to this and provide some sources/citation.

[shesnake]

I wanted to know your thoughts on this but do you think it's fair to say either Louis or Armand are abusive in their relationship? Idek if this is a valid angle to view the characters from because I guess they're all monsters or whatever but a part of me thinks that it's kinda lukewarm to refuse to engage with the complicated themes of the show, which abuse is featured heavily and pretty clearly imo. This isn't aimed at you btw. Something I noticed is people tend to use some of Louis's less favorable moments to justify the violence he experiences. Like that post about Armand just matching Louis energy in ep 5, most of the notes are taking the stance that Louis is a cold, unempathic pimp who doesn't care about sa victims, that Armand genuinely is completely right when he says he is always cleaning up after Louis that he was only worried and tenderhearted and Louis escalated in the worst way and that after Louis said that he deserved everything that happened after. And I may be biased but to me that is so fucking crazy. To me it seems like fans, specially nonblack fans, have zero empathy for black abuse victims, actively enacting abuse culture even. But idk if that is a too reactive view. I don't want to say Louis isn't flawed because he is. But I mean we are watching the season about Armand getting Claudia killed on purpose and somehow people are still like Maybe Armand didn't do it, maybe it was all Louis, maybe Louis really asked for it. All of it. I think there's a problem there but idk I kinda feel a little crazy too. Btw disclaimer I fuckin hate Lestat this is not about comparing Loumand/Loustat lol

hi! and wow there is so much to discuss here...

I think it is fair to describe the actions of both Louis and Armand towards each other as abusive by definition but it's always important to remember that it is Armand in the position of greater power over him. Armand is older, stronger, owns dominion. He can walk in the sun, manipulate memories, and live without constant debilitating hunger for blood - all of which are things that impede Louis from being his own person outside of Armand.

Louis also faced this same predicament when he was with Lestat, but unlike Armand who uses his own innate powers against Louis, Lestat mostly used his social advantages of whiteness, wealth etc in addition to withholding key knowledge about vampirism to keep himself in control and Louis dependent on him.

and sure Louis can lash out all he wants! He can mock Armand's sexual trauma (trauma which Armand himself already gets them both to fetishise... but that's a whole different conversation...) he can hit back when Lestat hits him but when he's with either of those guys he is always going to be the victim. Nothing shitty he does to his partners, or to Claudia, or to Daniel, justifies what is being done to him by these men.

There absolutely has to be anti-blackness involved in any argument that says Louis deserves any of this. (Of course Armand as a brown South Asian man is not immune from fandom racism but his treatment is racialised in a different way that is also a different conversation). Any negative behaviour from a Black man is going to be seen by racists as exponentially more aggressive than it is, especially the cross-section with those you mentioned who aren't engaging with the complicated themes of this show exploring abuse.

They can see that Louis yelling at Armand is bad, but don't notice that Armand is being manipulative. They can see that Louis stabbing Lestat that one time during sex is bad (and still sexualise it), but don't notice that Louis is disassociating in every sex scene he has with Lestat afterwards (because they're too busy sexualising it). They can see that Louis making Daniel upset is bad, but don't notice that Daniel has been leveling dozens of racist and homophobic micro-aggressions at him since episode 1.

Armand got a few minutes to tell his tragic backstory in Louvre, Lestat had 2 or 3 different scenes in season 1 to recall his own. It's just been words. Meanwhile racists erase Louis' experiences with trauma because they never had enough fucking empathy for him to begin with to even register it happening to him! on screen! in real time! right in front of us!

And yeah Louis and Armand and Loumand are incredibly complex and compelling, and I do enjoy seeing Louis' moments of cruelty towards Armand! But he's never going to win against him in the game Armand built for him.

And in terms of Claudia, I do think that Louis failed her, as he has always failed her. And is responsible for her death in that regard. But that failure involved letting those other two fucking sharks eat her!!! I personally haven't seen anyone pushing the blame completely off Armand and onto Louis but I wouldn't be surprised. This week I've more pissed off about people levelling it all on Armand and think of Lestat as an unwilling participant.... this is of course the blonde white vampire show....

anyways sorry this is so long! thanks for the message this was really interesting to think about.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Star.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Synopsis: Kafka is waiting for a supernova to appear.

Warnings: Yandere themes, implied future kidnapping, not SFW implications, and stalking.

Word Count: 1k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lust for a Vampyr by I Monster

Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie

Merry-Go-Round of Life - from ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ by Joe Hisaishi

Stalker’s Tango by Autoheart

The Four Seasons - Winter in F Minor, RV. 296: I. Allegro non molto by Antonio Vivaldi

BLOODMONEY by Poppy

Fight of the Crows by Jhariah

Bernadette by IAMX

Smells Blood by Kensuke Ushio

Enemies to Lovers by Joshua Kyan Aalampour

“She's a Killer Queen; gunpowder, gelatin; dynamite with a laser beam; guaranteed to blow your mind (anytime).” – Queen, Killer Queen

*~*~*~*

“Hey, I like them!” You huff, grasping the bouquet of spider lilies closer to your chest, making the paper wrinkle up. At your response, Aina crosses her arms and sighs, looking at the other flower arrangements sitting on the shelves behind you.

“Those are too expensive.” Aina rebuts. She points, and you turn around to follow it, and in turn frown. 

Because of the low supply, the price of spider lily bouquets has increased to 700 credits per arrangement.

Kafka, pretending to look at the roses in the corner not facing the two of you, does not try to hide her smile and slight chuckle as you gasp at the sign’s words. “Cute…” 

Once more, you exhale with a mix of frustration and disappointment, forcefully planting your foot on the ground. Gradually, your stance transforms into that of a despondent balloon losing its air.

Utterly adorable.

“Why seven hundred? Flowers grow from the ground and they take hardly any effort to bundle up!” Aina puts her thumb and pointer finger on her temples, rubbing them like your question and exclamation just gave her the biggest headache in all of existence. She sighs.

You sigh too, grasping onto the spider lilies even harder.

“Spider lilies also represent bad luck.” She says, almost groaning. 

Neither of you know if you can be reasonable enough to let Aina be your impulse control as she always has been. “The red shade is really pretty and the tendrils are pretty too!”

“Please put them back, it is a bad financial investment.” You shake your head. “Please. [First]. [First], please. We still have to go and buy ingredients for dinner tonight. If it makes you feel better I can also help you bake dessert.”

Kafka already knows what you are going to make tonight. Pasta with bechamel sauce along with apple cake. 

“[First], at least choose a less expensive bouquet. That way we can afford everything. Plus we maybe can get something else small that is not on our grocery list.” Aina tries her best to put on a more gentle smile. “Please.”

Kafka moves to near the entrance of the food section of the store, waiting for this little trifle to be over with. She pretends to be looking at the meat aisle as that is the area closest to the flowers, ironically enough. 

“Sigh…” She purrs, imagining your hair loose and gently wrapped around her fingertips. “I wonder if you would prefer blush or velvet… maybe burgundy?” 

She imagines the way you will place your lips on hers and slowly but surely… move down.

She will do the same to you with her own.

“Maybe white.” She muses, thinking of different types of fabric to put on you. “Or perhaps black.”

Kafka wonders what you would choose if she brought you to a boutique rather than going by herself.

“Hm…” She murmurs, her mind going through many, many possibilities of the future ahead.

Then, she hears your triumphant laugh and then turns around to see you hugging Aina with the bouquet in tow. “I love you!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Aina mutters, crossing her arms and looking away from your happy face with a blush. “Just put them in the basket. We’ve used enough time here as it is.” You kiss her cheek, and her face only gets redder. “L-Let’s just go already.”

You only hug her tighter.

“Sir, yes, sir!” You exclaim, saluting, and Aina rolls her eyes.

Kafka’s smile falters.

“Tsk. Young love, I suppose.”

Of all the future possibilities, none of them will result in full success if Aina is still in the picture.

“Juliets.”

At the sight of you kissing Aina’s cheek again, Kafka resists the urge to bite her lip.

“But with great risk… comes great reward.”

She imagines how you would look under her.

Aina eventually manages to pry you off of her. “Alright, that’s enough, you’re praising me like I just saved your life or something.”

“You did!” You pout, almost cooing and still laughing joyfully. “This bouquet is the only medicine that can ever heal me of what ails me!”

Both Kafka and Aina sigh at the same time but for entirely different reasons.

But Kafka is the one who also licks her lips afterward. “I think perhaps a chemise would suit you best.”

“Let’s go to the fruits first!” You exclaim, pulling Aina along by the hand while she holds the basket.

“Which type of apple?” Aina asks, but Kafka already knows the answer. “Be sure to not get the very expensive ones this time.”

You two go past Kafka.

She takes out her phone for a split second and clicks the button.

It has been the closest you have ever been to her while you were conscious. But she hopes that soon, you will be even closer.

Wait, no. She knows that you will.

“Cute.” She whispers, booping the picture of you’s nose.

This has already become a favorite amongst the many, many photos she has of you.

Where you go, she follows. “Cute.” Surely, eventually, when you know of her, you will know that all too well. “So cute.”

She sees you pointing to the apples with a pinkish tint. Rose apples. Quite rare, if Kafka remembers correctly.

As Aina reads the sign next to them, she immediately shakes her head. “Way too expensive.”

Due to the cost of importation/exportation as well as the rarity of this species, the value of this type of product is quite high. One apple is worth 1600 credits.

You surprisingly show agreement this time, promptly diverting your attention to the assortment of apple varieties, accompanied by a hint of nervous laughter.

You end up choosing the Honeycrisps. They are good for baking cakes, you tell Aina as Kafka eavesdrops as she always does.

She imagines you baking for her and sitting on her lap.

It was only a matter of time because regardless of who is with you, one thing about you never changes; your naivety.

“All that is left is to be patient.”

[moibakadesu]

Okay, here we go, my interpretations and rambles about the 4th anniversary art. I know everybody is doing that right now and a lot of my thoughts might be the same as a lot of other people's, but the brainworms are active.

Let's start that it is brilliant that they went with a funeral theme for the 4th anni and to top it off they released it on the 4th of April. As a lot of you might know, 4 stands for death in Japanese (and various other asian countries), as it is pronounced the same.

My initial prediction for the art was, that it would be the funeral of the prisoners themselves and that we would see them lying on the frame of flowers (chrysanthemum, white lilies and white roses, all traditional funeral flowers). But as it turns out, we have the prisoners attending the funeral of their victims, so to speak.

So of course we have everybody in classic funeral attire, and sadly that doesn’t make for a lot of variety for the guys, sans the shoes, some buttons and different seams and pockets, but they all look splendid in it (and it stops Fuuta from combining it with some ridiculous fashion choices), so I can vibe with it.

For the girls we have of course a bit more to look at in terms of different clothes, the ones who are still visiting school in their respective uniforms, although in dark tones to fit in the whole composition, and Mappi with a simple dress as well as Kotoko with a chic blazer and trousers combo.

The wardens take the role of the priest who would attend a traditional Japanese funeral, how very fitting. Everybody is very pretty. I do still prefer akka’s art, but kee did a very good job capturing everybody as well.

Now the really interesting part is of course how everybody is holding their bouquets. I think the general consensus is that they stands for the victims, or in a wider sense the emotional stance that each prisoner has in regards to their murder. Let’s go in order from left to right.

Mikoto: Very prim and proper. I am in the camp that thinks that Mikoto committed the murder, not John, but also that he genuinely doesn’t remember anymore (due to stress-induced amnesia etc.). So it makes a lot of sense that he holds it in the most neutral and normal way possible. He doesn’t know the victim, he doesn’t have any particular feelings regarding it that he can remember.

Kazui: Holding it very lightly, but not as careless as if you would have to fear it falling to the ground. Maybe symbolic for the lack of emotional commitment in his marriage, due to being homosexual? Somewhat fitting to the lyrics of Cat, “let’s keep it simple”, keep it casual, these feelings are not real and very fleeting.

Shidou: Oh, he is interesting. He is holding the flowers exactly like you would a young baby, proper head and body support with both his hands and arm, while being very gentle with it. Further evidence that his murder ended up being one of his sons. As I assume ending up braindead after an accident and Shidou having to give the okay to use him as an organ donor.

Fuuta: My angry little ginger. And his anger shines through, what are you gripping your flowers so tightly for, little man? He is holding it almost like a weapon, very much the hero of justice with his sword ready to strike. I find it interesting that he is the only prisoner not smiling. I thought maybe because he is the one who is the most terrified about what his actions have led to? He was deeply riddled by remorse from the beginning after all, as much as he didn't want to admit that.

Haruka: Oh Haruka, what are you doing? His is … interesting. My theory is still that the murder he is actually is in Milgram for is a suicide, and the way he is holding the flowers does a good job in supporting that thought. He is holding the bouquet upside down, with not much apparent care for its state, some petals falling on the floor, and more importantly, on himself. I think this might represent how he has little to none self-worth and care for himself. Another thing I did see a japanese fan on Twt talk about was the meaning of an upside down bouquet. Apparently there is a superstition about holding flowers upside down, so that they … absorb water faster. This is both a good way to show Haruka’s innocence about the world as he would possibly believe such a thing as well as … very grim, as I think he drowned himself.

Yuno: Similar to Shidou she is holding her flowers a lot like you would an infant, and … well, that speaks for itself I would say. There is no ill feeling or disrespect towards the unborn life, is what just not meant to be with her.

Muu: Holding her bouquet behind her back, just like she does not want the fact that it might in fact have been her fault behind her victim act. Could also go very well with how she most likely did hide the box cutter out of sight until she struck.

Mahiru: She is holding her flowers very gently, delicately, with a lot of love, of course, it’s Mappi after all. Maybe almost a bit too close to her, if she is not careful she could crush or squish them easily. As it is in line with how destructive her relationship ended up being.

Amane: Oh Amane, the disrespect, haha. Carelessly discarded behind her. Sinners are worthless and need to be punished, right? Nothing wrong with quite literally stepping over dead bodies. The little girl is quite savage, I have to give her that much.

Kotoko: She is a bit hard for me to read. Her grip on the bouquet is concealed, does she maybe not want to admit how tightly she is holding on to it as a parallel how she does not want to admit to her sadistic tendencies, because it is after all always for justice, nothing else. Hmmm.

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 2: Arachnophobia

Wordcount: 6.2k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Religious trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Angsty, Fluff, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: It's been so long since Simon last saw you. He already has a million things to worry about, and the reappearance of an old childhood friend being one of them, was not something he expected.

A/N: Finished editing sooner than expected, so thought I might aswell release it now. Also first time doing taglist, so let me know if it's not working. I think I did it right, but I don't know.

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The crows are especially loud this time of day. Always placing themselves in the dead trees that lean in over the graves. They screech and scrawl at anyone who dares come into the cemetery. They act like unofficial guardians of the dead, as if any presence that moves in would disturb their eternal sleep.

Simon has never really minded them, but his tolerance only goes so far when they don't seem to quiet down. It's the same routine every night in the late banks of summer. The warm glow of the sun would put the entire cemetery in a different mood. This place doesn't look so dark and miserable when you take a look at it from a different angle.

The fence door creeks in tune with the crows. A few of them look towards Simon as he pushes himself inside from the little opening he made. He knows exactly where to look to catch a glance of you. It never fails to surprise him how you manage to come earlier than him, but there you are. Climbed high above to the roof of the little shed, and bathed in the light of the descending sun.

Your figure is set in a defensive stance as you screech right back at the crows. He can't help the smile that crawls unto his lips, subtle and small. It was something you always ended up doing when the crows got too loud. Not even Simon's relentless teasing could stop you.

Sometimes the crows would fly away, too annoyed from the disturbance you gave right back. Other times, they would stare back at you, and Simon would start to worry they would fly down and peck their beaks and claws at you.

Luckily, they never seem to go that far.

"One of these days you're going to fall and break your neck." As soon as his voice reaches your ears, you whip around with the brightest smile. You always had a way of smiling from ear to ear like an idiot.

"Si!" You yell out, dropping down to your knees and crawling to the edge to greet him. He would have chewed you out about it, but he knew your knees were already bruised as scarred from getting up there.

"I brought food," he lifts up the plastic bag to be in your line of view. It twists around, making the handle choke against his skin and the water in the flask slosh around. You let out an excited squeal, and by the sounds of your loud rumbling stomach, he made the right choice to bring extra.

Getting up on the roof proved harder than he expected. The ladder you usually used had been locked inside the shed. Some snitch must have seen the both of you up there, and told the graveyard keeper.

You had found some creative way to stack some boxes on top of each other. However, there was still a small way you'd have to pull up, and while he was working on getting stronger, he didn't succeed in masking the few grunts and groans on the way.

"I swear you're going to be an old man by the time you turn 18 with the way your knees are popping," you teased when he swung his legs up over and rolled in. You had gracefully taken the bag from him when he was halfway. You were quick to take out it's contents and lining it up.

"Says the one who's been acting 18 since they were 10," he retorted out of breath.

You merely scoffed in response, but he caught the small smile. "Whatever, old man" your hands smoothed over the sealed bowl. You looked like you were waiting for his permission. It never failed to amuse him. He had brought the food for only you and you alone. You never actually accepted it before you were sure that you were allowed to.

"Go on, I could hear your growling stomach from the gate" he motions for you to just get to it. You rip the lid off like an animal starved. He can practically see the way your mouth glistens, at the sight of the freshly cooked meal.

"Ugh, you're a lifesaver Si, thank you."

He watches as you fold your hands, drop your head low and close your eyes in silent prayer. You do it every time before a meal. Simon can't even pretend to begin to understand why, or what the point of it is, but he knows it's important to you.

He respects it and doesn't interrupt you with stupid questions, but there will always be the little itch in the back of his brain that reminds him, that the religion forced upon you is a big factor of your pain.

You always try to convince him that it's fine, that you want it to be like this. He knows you're lying. Despite how much your parents will glorify it for you, he won't forget that it's them who starves you, just for accidentally taking the lord's name in vain.

"Say thanks to your mom from me," you mumble out through a mouthful of food. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips at the sight. You looked so content with your favourite food right at your fingertips.

"I made it."

Your eyes shoot up to meet him, surprised. "Really? Damn, you're a much better cook than I am." There's a swell of pride in his chest, he wasn't going to admit to you how many times he had failed to make that dish good. He had waited for the right moment to show you, and it paid off in the end.

"Flowers are in full bloom," he mentions offhandedly. He looks down at the small corners of red, covering the grave areas. The graveyard keeper had planted them awhile ago, hoping to let them bloom and give the grey space a pop of colour. An added bonus that it would deter people from messing with the graves.

The old man didn't like the two of you very much, chasing you out whenever he caught you here, and trying to find out who you were so he could tell your parents. It quickly made Simon internalize the man’s schedule so you could keep the space to yourself. Not like anyone ever came and visited these old graves. Not in this part of the yard.

"Mhm I know," you speak with your mouth full of food, "I plucked a few from behind the shed." He raises a brow, his curious look almost making you chuckle before swallowing. He always wondered how you lost all your manners as soon as you left the house, though he had decided to let you be on the subject long ago.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

You scoff, gulping down almost half the water bottle he brought before answering. "No, I didn't, you have so little trust me. I was careful," you assure him. You nudge to the little plastic bag of six red spider lilies. Their strings crumbled in some places, from where you had been a little less careful.

He gently picks them up. The plastic bag rustles when he moves them around, putting them into the shape of a bouquet. "You know, they kind of remind me of you" he brings them closer to his face. He looks down into the bundle of red strings, and green stalks. The sweet floral fragrance is surprisingly overwhelming. He scrunches up his nose, before moving the flowers away.

"Really?"

"Of course, my little spider" he gives you a cheeky grin. He can't help the small surge of giddiness, that rises in his chest when he sees your annoyed face. He had given you the nickname with no explanation two years ago. You didn't like it one bit, but he never relented. Over time, it just became part of your friendship.

"Are you serious? Is that why you chose it?" You didn't sound impressed. Your annoyance definitely wasn't relieved, by the potentiality of the pretty flowers being the reason for your odd nickname.

He snorts, shaking his head quickly. "Nah, could be partly" he offers you the spider lilies ceremoniously, like one would offer their partner romantic red roses. "More likely, you remind me of spiders" you accept the flowers unsure, "cute, always there, hiding in the shadows."

You swat his arm, "Hey! I do not hide in the shadows like a creep!"

His laugh echoes out louder than he meant it to. The both of you looking around suspiciously, eyeing the place to see if the graveyard keeper should suddenly pop out of the shadows and chase you away with a pitchfork.

"Of course, not love, you have absolutely never done that once in your life."

He finds himself unable to look away from your eyes, when you chuckle along with him. The little creases of genuine joy in the corners, the way they light up with life. It's a look on you that he realizes he's missed. Much more than he thought.

Simon's room is drenched in darkness when he wakes up. It's only after he forcefully blinks that he's even sure he actually did open his eyes. His breathing turns quiet and strained, the images of his dream replaying on his mind like a sick mantra. It hadn't even been the usual night terrors that he got; this one was something old yet new.

His lungs felt too big for his ribcage. The warm hand resting atop his chest felt all the more restrictive. It wasn't his own. A quiet panic sets into his blood, one that's relieved just as quick when the man next to him stirs in his sleep.

Johnny had always been a restless sleeper. Even when he was deep asleep, he had a tendency to twitch around. The first few times they had fallen asleep together, Simon hadn't gotten much, but he still found it to be worth it. Being able to hold Johnny close in his arms, and make sure that the man got as much sleep as possible, did things to the protective voice in Simon's head.

He gently moves Johnny's hand off his chest. He had fallen asleep caressing his scars. A much more frequent occurrence now that Simon had finally gotten the courage to tell Johnny of the origins. They weren't new by any means, but it felt nice regardless.

He hadn't felt cared for like this since…. well, since you.

He sits up, trying to not disturb him. His hand wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, and grimaces at the feeling. He needs a shower. Why had he even dreamt of you now, after all this time? It didn't make sense to him. Sure, he occasionally had a thought about you, but you hadn't had any prevalence in his life for a long time.

The memory was distinct to him, but it bled together with countless others you had shared on the roof of that shed. This was the first time he could see the vibrancy of the blood-red fill his vision. Those damn flowers you loved so much. The ones he nicknamed you after, when you expressed how much you hated your own name.

He could feel the touch of your fingers, running down his arm, over the tattoo he had gotten in secret. A quiet rebellion towards his own family. The softness of your skin was stuck in his mind, gripping him like a vice and choking him through his uprising emotions.

It was so clear to him. Terrifying, really, he had felt so deeply about you. Now you were but dust in the wind for him.

"Simon…"

A much rougher hand than yours had been, gently rubs his arm, bringing his attention to its owner. Johnny stares up at him with drowsy eyes, the deep blues looking to him for an explanation.

"Nightmare?" he asks, his voice still laced with sleep.

Simon shakes his head. It wasn't a nightmare, was it? His emotions are disturbed, for sure, but his nightmares are violent. They leave him rattled and shaken, barely allowing oxygen into his lungs. They have him fighting back against any physical force, and remind him of his worst memories. Typically, it didn't include scenic graveyards, beloved childhood friends and red spider lilies in full bloom.

"Then why are ye cryin'?"

Simon's eyes widen. His hand come up to touch the tears, wiping them away in a quick motion. Yeah, why the hell was he even crying. It wasn't something to cry over, it was simply the past. It wasn't even something he regretted. It was a pleasant memory; one he wishes he could go back to.

Johnny's hand traces up his muscle, until he is fully sat up himself. His lips come into contact with Simon's cheek, giving him a soft kiss.

"Ye wanna talk about it?" Johnny looks like he's ready to pass out any second. He always had that interesting ability to become sleepy anytime he's around Simon alone. Managing to become relaxed enough to let down his defences.

"No…" Simon let's out a deep grumbled sigh. He moves his head to the side, meeting Johnny's concerned gaze. He dips down to place a kiss to his lips, just as soft. "Go back to sleep…you can still catch a few hours," he says in a whisper.

They both had another day of hard work ahead of them. It wouldn't be any use if Simon was the reason the both of them were lacking energy. Their current case was a difficult one. The entire taskforce was more used to short clear-cut missions, one after the other they cleared them with minimal struggle. All they've done the last few weeks has been intel gathering, and a few fruitless ops to various places in the world.

It was, in short, frustrating. The group of people they were looking for were incredibly good at keeping themselves in the shadows. Trying to catch them has been like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

They've been down two men as well. Ever since, Price and Gaz left to retrieve extra help, so to speak. He doesn't see how any more help will do anything for them, the people they've already consulted were dead ends. Talented absolutely, he even learnt a new thing from one of them, but not what they needed.

The stress of the job itself was taking its toll on his brain, but he couldn't ever imagine himself doing anything else. Not when he's got this far already. People like himself aren't suited for a quieter life, somewhere else doing something that's a lot more mundane. At least he can't complain about having a boring day to day.

"Yer thoughts are loud."

Simon let's out a heavy sigh. It's too late for this, or early rather. He shuffles under the sheets, brings Johnny with him as he morphs his own body to his. Johnny instinctively wraps his arms around him, squishing themselves close as they can get. The heat of the room ignored.

"Sleep…" he mumbles and closes his eyes, "We can talk later."

A sharp knock pulls Simon away from his report. His eyes narrowing at the door as it opens, taking notice of the creek. The hinges have needed changing for a few years now. No one ever got around to it.

"Got yer lunch," Johnny steps into the low lighted office. Always with that tone of optimism that Simon can never really grasp.

"Jesus, ah don't understand how ye can see anythin' in 'ere." Johnny pushes the door closed, and makes his way over to Simon's desk. He puts down a plate of whatever he could find (that Simon would like) from what they're serving today. A task that could prove challenging.

Johnny squints in the low light, even the lamp Simon keeps on his desk doesn't do much for the total lighting in the room.

He prefers it this way though, it goes easy on his eyes, and he doesn't have to listen to the incessant buzzing from the lights that apparently only he can hear.

The first time Johnny questioned him on his choice, Johnny had called him a vampire in response. In retaliation, he had woken the man up in the middle of the night, and scared the shit out of him.

He was not questioned again.

"Got yer favourite," the Scot scoots an extra chair over to his desk. He tried to sound as upbeat as he could. The last while had taken a visible toll on everyone in the taskforce, and between the two of them, Johnny wanted to remain positive for them both. Simon sure as hell wasn't going to.

Simon let's out a grumbling noise in response. "Oh, quit that," Johnny waves his hand between the report and his face, "ah know for a fact, that ye barely ate anythin' this mornin'. What's the matter with ye."

The quiet stretches between them. He ignores the offended sputters, when he removes Johnny's hand from his view. He was right though, unfortunately, Simon hadn't had much of an appetite ever since he failed to go back to sleep. There was something about the dream he had, it wouldn't leave his mind.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself it was nothing, the reminder of the past felt like a storm in his body. It swirled old emotions back to the top, things he never got over and had instead repressed the hell out of.

He tried to not make a habit of dwelling on things he couldn't change. Yet now he finds himself wondering what could have been different if he chose other actions, than what he did all those years ago.

What if he hadn't given up on reaching out. What if he had tried to find you. What if he still knew you.

What if, what if, what if.

He bit back on a groan. Normally it was the annoying (Loveable) Scotsman occupying his thoughts, not childhood crushes.

For a time, he had tried finding you again, years later when it would already be too late. What he found was abnormally little, and nothing worthy of note. All he could boil it down to was that you had your own life now, somewhere else, far away from him.

"Simon," Johnny snapped his fingers, "Ye don't get to ignore me, talk to me." Still, he remains quiet, only gracing the man with his supposed undivided attention at his request. Whatever Johnny wanted from him would be better than fantasizing about a past he couldn't return to. It wasn't like him.

"Jus' stressed."

"Aye…sure…just the stress," Johnny mocks him light-heartedly, his mouth tugging in the corners. "C'mon Si, ah know what ye're like when ye're stressed…this is different…is it the supposed non nightmare ye had?" He's adamant on not letting the morning go.

Simon had been more quiet than normal, hastily going on with his day in an attempt at finding something to distract him. He had failed miserably in his pursuit, instead letting himself drown in the unanswerable question. What exactly was the goal of The Divine Principle.

"It wasn't a nightmare," he stresses.

"Didn't say it was."

Simon puts down the pen he had been writing with. The small joints in his fingers aching at the release. The pen was the only thing that had been at his disposal for several hours, which allowed him to fidget. Anything else left him restless, only the bouncing of his own leg did it justice, but even that got tiresome after a long time of it.

"I dreamt up memories." He looks away from his partner's unwavering attention. He had told several things from his past already. Old ghost stories that's better left dead and buried under the rubble of his past self.

He allowed Johnny in years ago, opened up his stone turned heart, and let him hold it. He gave him the ability to squeeze the life out of it, drain it of whatever feeling it still had left.

Instead, Johnny let it prosper in his care. Showing the scars of his own, and gaining mutual love and understanding.

There were still things he didn't know. Wounds that never really turned into scars were still left in the darkness. Scabs being picked at every few years or so, reminding him of the hurt he never quite tended to.

"Yer family?"

"An old friend."

"Childhood friend? Not somethin' ye've ever mentioned before," Johnny says in an intrigued tone. He pushes the plate of food In front of Simon's vision to remind him.  It doesn't forward his eating. He barely even looks at it, instead remaining his fixed gaze on John.

"And I don't intend to," he doesn't react to the disproving look he gets, "at least not yet."

"Aye…Ah not gonna force ye to Si…but it's clearly botherin' ye." Johnny let's out a pleased sound when Simon finally rolls up the bottom of his mask above his nose, and pick up the fork to stab at his food.

He takes a big bite before he continues. It gives him enough time to gather his own thoughts. They still spiral within his skull, feelings of want and longing buzzing in his bones. "I jus' didn't expect it," he whispers, "been years since I’ve had a dream from the past that wasn't riddled with…unease."

It's not a generous term. It doesn't quite grasp the full complexity of it, but he'd rather suffer beneath a blade once again before he admits it out in the open that they terrify him.

Nightmares are frequent, things from the operations he goes through here. Night terrors have become a much smaller occurrence for him, his therapy sessions helping more than he thought they would, and extra support from Johnny had done wonders.

He didn't know what to make of it, but Price's words from years ago of how far you could go with a solid support system, were apparently true. He wasn't planning on admitting that to the man anytime soon, however.

Johnny stares in silence, waiting for him to continue, but the matter is dropped when he shakes his head no. Johnny let's out a deep sigh, and with a soft shake of his head, he begins eating his own brought lunch. "Fine, have it yer way" he mumbles while he chews, "Captain and Gaz should be coming in a few hours."

"I would've thought you'd show more excitement over new people," Simon speaks after swallowing his mouthful of food. He didn't want to go back to the subject of his dream, instead letting it simmer in the back of his head.

"Ah would, but I'm too busy worrying about yer ass." Johnny grins, and though he means it, Simon can see the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. He had always been one for the newcomers, the few people that had helped them on the cult case so far had been on the questionably delightful receiving end of Johnny's flirtatious manner.

"You worry too much."

"Funny, ah should be the one saying that," that earns Johnny a look of annoyance. One he can only chuckle at. No matter how much Johnny would humour it, he was right, even if Simon didn't want him to be.

He always found himself something to worry about, or so he's told from everyone around him. One thing was for Price to say it, the hypocritical bastard. Another was for Johnny to mention it, it got him thinking, but it was a complete third thing when even Kyle would give his two cents of concern.

He was labelled a worrier, through and through. Not something he took on with particular pride, but it kept them safe. It made him aware of the dangers, all of them, and with the right precautions he could fight them before they took something precious of his.

It's the unknown that's the hardest to compete with. He knew nothing about the upcoming arrival, he couldn't prepare his proper defences, or what he needed. His brain still had to constantly remind him that the person coming wasn't a threat to his peace. They were coming to help. That was all.

One thing Simon can be thankful for, is that the base doesn't feel it when it's at it's busiest. The quiet can still reap the noise in the halls, and outside the wind is reduced to a slow breeze.

There's a chill in the air, the leaves of autumn already starting to fall from the dedicated few trees left on base. The colour on them had kept something pretty to look at around, soon they would bare and boring again. Sometimes the snow would make up for it, if there was enough of it.

He'd been waiting out here a tad too long. Not even Johnny would join him before the plane got a bit closer. The anxious part of him wouldn't allow him to be late. An ideal he'd always held to, rather be too early than too late.

It keeps him within of that carefully crafted control.

A control that very quickly starts to dwindle when the doors open.

A part of him finds himself relieved when he sees Price and Garrick come out of the plane unscathed and in the same state as they went. He could try to deny it to himself all he wanted, but he had grown to care about the taskforce as a whole, not just Johnny.

That part of it all was fine, a variable he knew.

The person walking languidly behind them, is what sets him out of his carefully calculated control.

It trails down his back like claws of ice, bringing the warmth of his blood into an ever long cold. His limbs cease, his already rigid stance becomes like stone. The person that walks towards him, is not a person he knows any more, nor is it a person he ever expected to see again. Because that person is no longer the little kid, he would watch scrape their knees climbing the trees, or the little kid he would hold close when they broke under pressure.

The little kid was now a grown adult.

And in tow behind Price with a nervous look.

You look different.

He couldn't even be sure that it was truly that little kid, sure they carried your features, more mature and older, a new amount of scars and weariness you should never bear. It's been so long, he can almost convince himself that he's hallucinating. That his own sleep deprivation is finally catching up to him, and forcing him to make correlations based upon his own wishes.

"Boys, it's good to see you" Price voice thrums out. The smile playing on his lips tells Simon more things than he likes. The eye-contact they're making only makes the nausea in his stomach worse. If only throwing up would fix the problem standing in front of him, half obscured by Gaz.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting out here too long," Price voice almost echoes, "I want to introduce you to someone."

The tense air doesn't alleviate, and when your name leaves the captains lips, Simon knows that he is completely and utterly fucked.

"Ye know them, don't ye?"

Johnny's voice startles him out of his thoughts, bringing him back up from the rabbit hole he ventured down. He's been standing here for who knows how long, staring out at the training recruits doing their drills for the evening, or at least that is his cover. Truly he doesn't see anyone of them, he looks past the moving crowd, his eyes boring into your figure on the other side.

He answers Johnny with a simple grunt. He still can't quite believe it himself, that it really is you, that you're alive and here. It makes him angry to even think about, you being here. You're not supposed to be here at all, you were supposed to be far away from the likes of the military.

You weren't supposed to look like you did, flimsy and cautious reactions to everything that moved, new scars he knew nothing about adorned your once soft skin and made it rough, your eyes were no longer sweet and innocent, they had seen things he had as well.

A future he had blissfully believed you wouldn't have to share with him.

His nausea hasn't left since you arrived hours ago.

"Not on good terms, then?" Whatever Johnny thought of you, he was having a mighty good time with this. Since you'd uttered your first words, Johnny had been smitten with you. A quality to impress that you still seemed to possess, despite your differences.

Simon had worried that Johnny would have scared you away with his overwhelming form of an introduction. His presence commanded space, something Simon counted on when he wanted to retract into the shadows of a room and go unnoticed. But on you and your tense muscles, you looked more like a frightened rabbit ready to sprint back into the plane.

You didn't.

No, you held yourself in place, did the courteous thing and introduced yourself as properly as you could.

There hadn't been a whole lot of time for reunions. Simon didn't even know whether you knew it was him under the skull mask. He hadn't greeted you, too afraid of his own reaction to you, and he had likely looked like a rude, brutish soldier that wanted nothing to do with you.

He wanted to adhere to that, keep up the act, and keep hoping you wouldn't see through him and his longing glances.

"I think they're quite charming," Johnny says with a hint of suggestion, "pretty thing."

"Keep it in your pants, MacTavish."

Across the yard, he sees you light a cigarette. You bring it to your lips and take a puff, rolling your shoulders back to release tension. It's a nasty habit, one you shouldn't indulge in. You should've stayed away from it, just like he told you all those years ago.

His hand twitches when you take another puff, and the pack of cigarettes burn against his thigh where they rest in his pocket.

"I thought ye liked to take said pants off-" he lets out a scoff when Simon moves past him, not allowing him to finish.

He crosses halfway through before the small voice in him quivers and changes his mind. He trails to the side, slowly making his way towards you by staying close to the raised wall. You don't look towards him, but with the way you had anxiously assessed every corner of every area you went, you likely knew exactly where he was and what he was doing.

Nonetheless, he found himself standing with a distance to you, using the excuse that it was a dedicated smoking area, to actually allow himself this close. It feels out of place for him to be this cautious of his own movements. Normally his moves were calculated, a bit heavy and tense, sneaky, when need be, but not the nervous caution he embodies now.

He fishes out his own pack of cigarettes, narrowing his vision on it while he lights it to make sure he doesn't let himself trail towards you. He needs to be strategic about this, he couldn't just assume you knew who he was. You might not even remember him.

"I was starting to wonder whether you were going to come say hello, or if you were going to keep hiding in the shadows, and staring like a creep."

The first drag comes into his lungs wrong. He seals his lips and lets the cough reside in his chest. A mistake to do, since you seem to notice anyway. Your voice isn't what he would think. Though, he starts to realize he doesn't actually remember what you used to sound like in his memories, but it wasn't this.

"Wasn't staring," he defends.

"Sure, and I’m royalty."

At least you hadn't lost your love for sarcasm.

He takes a better drag of his cigarette, lets the nicotine into his body like he needed it to breathe. He really should kick the habit, set an example. If not for you, then for Johnny. He didn't quite think you'd care so much for his 'example' any more.

"No reintroduction?"

"So, you know then," he turns his head to look at you. He meets your eyes, already staring at him, looking him over like he's some fascinating creature you've never seen before. Yet he feels like you're staring right through him at the same time.

There's something haunted about your appearance and stance.

"Of course I know, Simon, you really think I would've come here if I didn't get all the information."

Simon doesn't know what to think. You're not even supposed to be here in his mind. "Been a long time," he comments idly, instead of indulging your rhetorical question. How many years had it been since you parted? Since you stopped answering and turned away? He can't remember.

"It has," you bring your own cigarette to your lips to take a drag, the silence kills, "you've come far."

"I thought you were too stubborn to join up." He watches on as you look away. Is that a hint of shame he sees? He's not going to pretend to know what's going on in your head anymore.

"People change," is all the answer you seem to muster up and give him, "and I’m not currently enlisted."

His jaw twitches behind the mask, it clamps to his face uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too scratchy against his skin.

People change.

He knew that, he wasn't delusional about it. It just didn't feel right for you to change so drastically. He had always imagined that you'd be living alone by now, in a city far away from the likes of him, maybe even a different country. You'd have bought that flat or house you always fantasized about, finally making it yours. You'd have a beloved pet or two, and a husband or wife to keep your bed warm.

He lets out a grunt in response, taking another shot at filling his lungs with smoke. "Well, you're not the only thing that's changed over the years," he doesn't know what point he's trying to make, yet he tries nonetheless.

"Clearly." He no longer likes the tone of voice you've taken on.

You turn yourself to him fully this time. He has no idea what's going through your head. There's mystique in your eyes, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for him to realize you aren't staring at him, but his mask.

"Out of all the motifs, you could've chosen…" you sound almost disappointed in him. He doesn't understand why it stings. You look down at his skeletal gloves with the same expression. He's never been one to be embarrassed, or self-conscious about his persona. You've only been back in his life for a few hours, and the old standard he held for you long ago comes back like it wasn't ever gone.

He can't even remember caring that much about your opinion of him. Maybe it's because back then you adored everything about him. Now your eyes don't hold the warmth he's come to miss.

"You got a problem?" His jaw tenses behind his mask. He regrets his tone of voice the instant he sees the narrow squint of your eyes, the distaste never quite leaving your face.

"You know that I do." He does. He doesn't try to deny it. Back when you were kids, he knew you better than even your own parents did, your family or anyone else you would surround yourself with.

"If there's a conflict of interest-"

"Always so prone to the extreme," you cut him off. A callback he doesn't appreciate as much as he once would. "Good to see not everything is changed," none of your words are said with honesty nor the friendliness he could've expected from you.

There's deceit, passive aggressiveness, a hostile tone you've never bourn before. You've never had to Infront of him before. It's a foolish realization to only have now. It's the only constant he could be sure of the first time he saw you again, in all these years. You weren't going to be the same, you have changed, and so has he.

To go back to such a time isn't a possibility. It rests within either of your memories, buried beneath layers of stone and ice. The feelings you once had couldn't be expected to be upheld. It was unfair of him to think such a way.

He doesn't recognize his own voice when he softly calls your name. His3 hand moves forward about to graze at your arm, but before he can even come near, you back away. It's a rejection that cuts deep, and one he wishes he actually could blame you for. Alas he can't.

"No," you say steadfast "don't do that. It won't end well…for either of us."

He doesn't nod, doesn't shake his head. No verbal response is offered, only a mere silent movement, the retraction of his own hand to give you the space you have asked for. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it anymore than he liked the way you became a ghost all those years ago.

You're finally within reach of his grasp, and you've never felt further away.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz

[ronearoundblindly]

Time and Tines (1/3)

Plans (see series)

Steve Rogers x Villain!Reader for @sweeterthanthis's Bittersweet Symphony Writing Challenge

Can’t change the way we are, One kiss away from killing. —Bishop Briggs, River

Summary: Steve meets the mysterious woman staring at him from across the room.

Warnings for vague injuries, mention of needles, manipulation/brainwashing, SEMI-DARK fic (like I've read worse but it ain't sunny, folks). MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. This work has heavy themes unsuitable for minors. There is plenty else to read on my Light Masterlist if this is not your cup of tea! WC 3.6k

The event isn’t overly loud, but the lights are lower and he is surrounded by people. Steve isn’t fond of crowds, not when he’s not working, not when the event is actually meant to be fun for him. He isn’t Captain America right now. He isn’t the center of attention. He isn’t bothering to mingle. Instead, he’s chosen to humor a long-winded medical rant from the Avenger’s resident doctor of the past half-year.

Salvatore Avani enlightens Steve on several ways he can assess and replicate Erskine’s serum without taking a drop of any super soldier’s blood. It would be an interesting project if Steve hadn’t heard it all before, over and over, from every hopeful doctor and scientist to cross his path. At least Steve gets to be out of his suit for a while and…in another suit, though this one is significantly more forgiving to his stance and skin.

“You see, Captain, your strength can be wielded for so much more than fighting. It could give safety and security to people working unmechanizable jobs,” Dr. Avani points out.

“Not sure that’s a word, sir, but I understand.” Steve swirls whisky around in his tumbler, ice long melted, and wishes—not for the first time—that alcohol still had an effect on him. “A certain amount of modernization does protect those same workers from danger…and no one had to be dosed with anything,” he concludes before emptying the glass in hand.

As Avani opens his mouth to retort, a weight lands on Steve’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Doc,” Bucky interrupts, “just a quick word.”

“Of course, gentlemen.” The doctor turns back around to the bar to order himself another cocktail.

Bucky leans to whisper in Steve’s ear.

“So, punk, we got a situation at three o’clock.”

His whole body tenses, which doesn’t look all that different because Steve has excellent posture, but he deposits the finished glass on the counter and looks over his right shoulder past his friend.

Eyes. Intense and focused eyes meet his before darting down. A few people meander in the space between but you’re all Steve can see for a long moment.

“There it is,” Bucky mutters in recognition.

“Did you just make me look at a dame across the room?” Steve runs a hand over his freshly shaven law and hisses. “Jerk.”

“Uh, that dame’s been staring at you for a solid twenty minutes, but you weren’t noticing. You’re welcome.”

Steve lowers his head, suppressing a grin as best he can and glancing again to his right.

You’ve turned away. You’re fiddling with a glass of clear, bubbly liquid. Vodka soda? Gin and tonic? Those are Steve’s first guesses, but he can’t tell which since both lemon and lime wedges float above the ice.

“Two of whatever she is having,” Bucky asks the bartender helpfully, clapping a pat of encouragement on Steve’s back.

The man behind the bar gives a quizzical look and then shrugs.

Buck winks at him as Steve heads for your high-top table. No one else stands around you. No rings on the hand beside your drink. No way you don’t know he’s coming over even with your eyes down.

“Hi, mind if I join you?”

You smile without looking up. “Only if you brought gifts.” Your voice is small, a little shyer than Steve would expect from someone brazen enough to watch him that long from afar, but he sets his offering on the table anyway.

“I do,” he replies softly, matching your tone, “although what it is is a mystery to me.”

Still smiling, you drain your original glass quickly and confess, “Sierra Mist.”

Steve sucks air through pearly white teeth. “Yikes. More of a 7-Up man myself.”

“Go figure. Captain America has brand loyalty.”

He fails to stop the burst of laughter punched from his chest. It doesn’t scare you though. He’s actually pleased it seems to relax you. He sets his own hand on the table approximately an inch from yours. 

“Touché.”

A faint tremor rolls through that hand but stops after you make a fist and release it.

Steve just starts saying random things that come to mind, and shockingly, it works.

Conversation flows for while as he notices that your dress straps don’t stay put very well and there is a barely visible seam at your hairline. Why you would need to wear a wig, he has no idea. He finds himself almost compelled to say your natural hair is perfect, just like you.

And this is why Steve doesn’t let himself out much.

During one comment regarding the other guests, he sneaks a peek over at Bucky—still beside Avani—and is flashed a thumbs up which he immediately hopes you did not see.

Chatting continues.

Steve isn’t a good flirt, but it seems he’s getting lucky with little lines tonight. He’s willing to push his luck.

“Well, after all this sweetness, maybe we should dance off some energy.” Yet sugar, like alcohol, has no discernible effect on Steve Rogers.

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I’m a miserable dancer.” You lift your bejeweled clutch up alongside your lemon-lime soda. “Besides how would I carry it all?”

“Well, if they’d make dresses with fuller skirts like they used to,” Steve teases, pushing his half-full glass aside, “you wouldn’t have that problem. The world regressed that way. Real shame.”

“Not a fan of form-fitting gowns?” you cock your head with wide eyes.

Steve’s gaze snaps to his shoes, hoping to choke off the heat rising in his cheeks. It only chokes his words. “Oh, oh god, no. They’re lovely. I meant, ya know, pockets and…I just—I didn’t want anything to stop you.“

“Me neither.”

You take him in with warm assessment and one last evaluation of the room, tucking your lip between your teeth briefly. “You’re in luck,” you add with a laugh. “I’m about to blow your mind, Captain.”

He watches you open the clasp, fish around inside the tiny bag—barely an envelope, really, but Steve learned from Natasha that ladies can hold a scary amount in those things,— and pull out a silvery length like a party trick from the minuscule confines. The new strap allows you to toss the purse over your shoulder.

You present the transformation like it’s a superpower.

“Nifty,” Steve coos.

You nod an acceptance of his awe. “I am nothing if not prepared.”

“And now—“ he offers his hand again “—out of excuses. Bucky tells me I am ‘a sight to behold’ and not in a good way. Shall we prove him right in solidarity?”

You head to the open floor, guided by Steve’s lead. “Not gonna try to prove him wrong?”

He swings you around to face him. “How would I always win as Cap if I bet like that?”

You hum while Steve settles a hand over the satin at your waist. “Picking your battles, huh?” Free and delicate hands land at his shoulders before one smooths down his sleeve, your eyes never leaving his. “And I’m a fight waiting to happen?”

He gets lost for a few bars until he shows his true colors and winces.

“Well, my toes are fighting with yours, clearly.” 

But you simply laugh.

Steve’s brain turns over the steps and his apologies and then finally lands on a good line way after the fact. “Or, no, wait, I’ve got it now.” He squares his shoulders a little more and deepens his voice, comically.

“You’re worth fighting for.”

The snort huffed in his face is perfect, the grin that splits your painted lips over shiny white teeth blinding and well worth his efforts.

“Oh wow. See!” He earns a featherlight slap to the chest. “You do have your charming moments, Captain Rogers.”

“Steve, please—“ he fakes leading you off the floor “—and could we go repeat that in front of—“

“—the extremely grumpy man gripping a beer bottle?” Your sights land across the room toward the bar. “I don’t know, Steve. Your critic looks pretty…something.”

Steve frowns when he sees Bucky. As his friend speaks with Dr. Avani, Bucky’s face pinches solid as stone, overly serious beside the doctor’s casual body language. Buck indeed looks pissed for no reason. 

Steve squints in apology. “He’s not—that’s just—I promise he’s not like that—“

Where’s that teasing joy from a minute ago?

He contemplates that still when your hands release him, and his focus snaps back.

“I need to use the ladies’ room anyway,” you shrug, rubbing a palm up and down your bare arm.

“And then fireworks?” Steve inserts hopefully, almost removing his suit jacket right then to drape over your shoulders. He sounds like an excited schoolboy, and he’s again glad that Bucky is far enough away not to know how obvious he’s being.

You smile, a graceful tug at the dark, matte lipstick sculpted over your full—Rogers. Then a little nod is all you offer before turning to the hall, bag bouncing at your hip on its magic chain.

Steve watches you go, meandering over to Bucky while glancing in your last known direction, until his friend grunts to get his attention.

Avani is gone, but Buck’s face remains sour.

“What on earth did Doc say? Some intel for a mission?” Steve’s only half-curious and fully-distracted though.

His friend just waves off the mood. “Where’s your girl?”

“She’s not…” Steve shakes his head.

“Fine. Where’s your girl for the night?” Bucky raises one eyebrow.

“You know that sounds even worse now than it did back then, right?”

“Well?” Bucky looks around inquisitively.

“Powder her nose—” Steve smirks with rosy cheeks “—then watching the light show.”

He gets a solid smack between his shoulders and a proud nod.

Steve tries to remain patient, he really does, but after a few minutes and nearly every guest settled into their own viewing spot across the long balcony, he checks back over his shoulder.

Nothing.

He excuses himself from Bucky’s side and wanders toward the hallway.

Yes, he knows he’ll look too interested and a bit stalker-esque, but he doesn’t want to miss the show—he doesn’t want you to miss the show with him. There’s gonna be this beautiful display in the sky and you’ll be engrossed enough that he can just look at the changing colors glow across your…

What?!

Around one corner of the wall, Steve sees a foot, one shiny, brown men’s dress shoe, and then another. Someone’s kneeling—shaking if rolling toes are any indication—and then there you are standing over him.

“Doctor Avani?” Steve croaks, watching you raise a syringe and needle high over the man’s head.

You ignore Steve’s arrival.

The doctor’s eyes don’t break from you as he shrieks, “Captain, she’s mad. She—“

“How dare you? Bastard,” you bite out, heaving your weapon at the doctor’s exposed throat as Steve lunges forward.

It punctures the thick, luxurious navy fabric of Steve’s suit, and he feels the slight swelling pressure of liquid entering his forearm.

You release your grip, eyes wild and teeth bared. Gone is the sweet and serene woman with whom he shared a drink and danced.

The syringe stays lodged in Steve’s flesh as he pushes the doctor aside to shield him, but it’s too late for you.

Bucky followed behind him and now wraps your arms behind your back while you struggle to inch toward Avani, spitting insults.

“What was it?” Bucky demands. “What’s in there? What poison?”

Steve rips the needle out, checking it for any clues.

With a scowl, your fierce gaze stays on the doctor.

“Ask him. It’s his brand of suffering.”

Steve watches behind the two-way mirror for a while, deciding how to approach you. After chatting with you for the better part of an hour at the event, he still knows absolutely nothing about you. Every single piece of your preliminary file is news to him. He has to start from scratch, which is, ironically, what you are trying to do to the seam of your wig when he finally enters the interrogation room.

“Tea or water?” Steve sets down the cups.

You stop fidgeting for a beat. “Water is fine. Thank you.”

Polite. You stabbed him with a needle, injected him with an unknown substance, and you’re polite about it? He doesn’t understand the nonchalance. If you meant to kill Dr. Avani, then why aren’t you upset that you failed?

With your hands cuffed and the chain laced through a handlebar built into the table, it’s an awkward strain on your neck. You shove your shoulder high and pulse your head back and forth. Your wrists are thin, thin enough that one good, hard pull might actually snap one.

Polite and uncomfortable. Steve figures showing some courtesy might loosen your tongue.

He unlocks the cuffs and places the water in easy reach, keeping the tea for himself.

He sits and you sip. It’s peaceful when it shouldn’t be.

Avani has no clue who you are or what you want, but Steve couldn’t get many answers during the chaos that ensued after your attack. His own heart rate skyrocketed for a few minutes before normalizing. Otherwise, he’s fine.

He tilts the tea in your direction.

“Here’s hoping you didn’t waste truth serum on me,” he cheers. “Might be the only drug completely useless both after and before Erskine’s formula.”

You’re amused, a smirk lifting fading, dark lips. “Ah yes. Good, honest Captain America.”

“To a fault.”

“No.” Your seriousness stops him cold, and Steve’s smile fades. “It’s not a fault. You’re just rare.”

You value honesty. He can work with that.

“Is that why you chose a drug specifically for the doctor? You didn’t want to harm anyone else, even by accident?”

That shuts you down instead. Steve’s jumped too far, too fast. He’s not allowed to use the same easy tone as before this mess. Maybe he should have found some 7Up…

Silence descends until broken by your heavy swallows of water.

You’re staring down at your reflection in the table’s surface.

“I love stainless steel,” you mutter to no one in particular. “It’s like diffusion. I almost look normal.”

“You mean because you look different?” Steve pulls out your ID found in that small purse. “Why don’t you look ‘normal?’”

You shrug, finally dislodging the precarious strap and it dangles down your arm. “Lost weight.”

“And the hair?”

He was right. Your natural hair in the photo is beautiful. Why the hell are you wearing a wig? If it were obscuring your identity, he imagines you would know not to carry around a real ID.

“Time” is your only answer.

You’re skirting around the truth, lying by omission, waiting for the exact right questions which Steve doesn’t know yet, so he asks something for peace of mind, something that will tell him how long to play this game. “Are you gonna be honest with me?”

Your answer comes easily enough. “Are you gonna be helpful to me?”

Simple. Straightforward. Cutting. It’s said with sorrowful eyes.

He can’t promise anything when he doesn’t know why. “If your purpose is to kill a man then, no, I can’t help you with that.”

Your empty cup lands on the table with a light tonk.

“Maybe I’ll wait until someone who can help walks through that door.”

“In this situation, I believe I’m what’s known as the ‘good cop,’” Steve sighs. “Don’t think you want to dance with the ‘bad cop.’ He’s pretty annoyed he didn’t peg you for an assailant first.”

Nothing about your demeanor changes, not a flinch, not a blink. “Good thing I don’t want to dance with him.”

“He’s not much of a talker either. I’d be a better—“

“I didn’t say I’d talk to him either.”

Steve leans on his elbows, splaying wide across the table. “Just tell me your story. I am here to listen.”

“That makes this sound like a first date.”

“Bucky would likely agree—“ he snorts “—and he’d make a point to say this is going about as well as any date I’ve been on this century. Please,” Steve tries again, “ talk to me.”

There’s a long pause. Your intense gaze remains steady. Whatever your reasons, they don’t strain your moral fortitude. You are a believer, faithful to this unknown cause.

Carefully, quietly, you respond. “It’s not my story to tell. Ask your doctor.”

“If it’s not your story, where are the others? Can they tell it? Are they alive?”

Steve is more perceptive than you counted on judging by your slight head shake.

You flop yourself backward in the seat.

Steve was right. It’s not a what you act for, it’s a who. And they are dead.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says earnestly.

This—that simple sentiment—gets the greatest reaction so far. Your lip twitches, and you shimmy against the hard chair. You scratch at your wig again, before your focus returns to the table. There are tears welling in your eyes.

No one has said that before now, he realizes. How long has it been since they passed? Why are you the only mourner? Why aren’t you moving on?

Suddenly, irritation stirs in Steve, and he can’t believe how stubborn you’re being when he is your best option. He is the only one that will have this soft spot for you, the only one who truly wants to help because he truly wants to know why.

“So you’re avenging,” he bursts, tossing his arms out, dramatically looking around the bland room. 

Protocol dictated they take you to the nearest precinct for questioning. Only if you were enhanced, only if you had special abilities would you be transported all the way to the compound. So on his night off, while attending a party that actually entertained him for once, you’ve shown up with a syringe that doesn’t do anything and made him miss the fireworks. You’ve made him lose time being content, a rare gift in his line of work.

Steve is frustrated, to say the least. He stands to pace his side of the table.

“Avenging, huh? Gosh, I wish I knew anything about that… anyone in this building even… wherever will we find someone who understands?”

“You don’t do sarcasm very much, do you?” you snip, energy level remaining low compared to his spiked bluster. “I’d like to tell ‘bad cop’ what a terrible dancer you are now. He’s not going to be surprised you made me cry, is he? That’s probably normal, too.”

“Surprised? No.” Steve knocks on the mirror, sick of playing, sick of being wrong, sick of choosing unwisely. “How could he be when he’s been listening this whole time?” 

You’re trapped, but you aren’t acting like a caged animal. Something is…off, and Steve realizes he’s too close to the situation—ridiculous as that may be—after just two hours of knowing you. His best friend will have better luck.

Bucky opens the door a few seconds later, armed to the teeth as an intimidation tactic.

It’s disconcerting that your expression brightens once a man sporting three guns and—counting the hidden few—eight knives enters the room. That’s got Steve’s attention.

“So she’s giving you trouble?” Bucky mutters.

He’s grateful Buck doesn’t go the ‘you sure can pick ‘em, Rogers’ or ‘better luck next millennium’ route. Steve shakes his head.

You itch at your wig, face twisted, and glance up at Steve.

“May I take this off?”

Still polite. The niceties are actually making his blood boil at this point because he does not get it yet.

“Fine,” he snaps, rolling his eyes when Bucky purses his lips at Steve’s tone.

“Listen, doll, I think the best course of action is to let you stew in here for a while. When you’re ready to tell us what you know, then—“

“Oh, I can tell you what I know now,” you say casually, pulling out bobby pin after bobby pin to tuck between your teeth. “I know the protocol for a low-level threat like myself is the nearest local law enforcement facility, I know that—due to an unfortunate instance of food poisoning from a birthday cake earlier today—most of this precinct is empty. I know that all three of you would prefer to incapacitate your targets rather than kill them.”

You set the little pile of pins down on the table by your undone chain, pulling a hair comb from the back of your wig to finally release it.

“There’s only two of us here,” Steve says in confusion.

“No.” You point the forked hair comb at Bucky and push yourself out of the chair. “Winter’s in there.”

Before the words can even register, you slam the tines of the tuning fork against the edge of the steel table. The noise is piercing and specific.

Steve covers his ears, but Bucky doesn’t move. He can’t turn away from you.

“Restrain him,” you order, “and get me out of here.”

“Buck, wait—“

The vibranium arm threatens to crush Steve’s windpipe as the force slides him up the mirrored wall.

The Winter Soldier’s cold, vacant grey eyes watch as Steve’s vision fades to black, and Steve wonders how the hell he could be so wrong.

Then it’s quiet and he wonders no more.

A/N: This story is a doozy, gang, but I promise, explanations are ahead!

[Next Part]

Taglist (please let me know if you want added or removed): @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @darsynia

[Main Masterlist]

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Something I found really neat about Season 3 is that they have the mini arc where Adrien initially trusts Lila to eventually come around, but little by little she starts taking more and more advantage of how lenient he is - and when he notices how detrimental this is to Marinette, he calls Lila out himself. Despite the… writing blunders of Lila’s character, I found it kind of compelling.

Which makes me question why he’s more than happy to tolerate Chloé for almost two whole seasons more than Lila? I always found it odd, even if Chloé’s been his only friend for who knows how long, surely he would’ve noticed a pattern after Miracle Queen went down? I think Season 3 would’ve benefited from fleshing out only one of those stories and leaving the other for later, or cutting one of them entirely - it’s basically the same Adrien arc, with two different bully characters.

Me, I would fix it by having the Queen Bee matter stay in the air for most of Season 3, and Chat Noir specifically lending the bee - so the conflict doesn’t come from “Marinette NEEDS to break up the Adrigami date”, it’s an actual tough decision for him to make, and have him explain the situation to Chloé right in the season finale. Perhaps it’s too much of a shock, or Chat Noir’s too harsh, or Chloé feels lost without Pollen, or everyone else already drifted away from Chloé and she’s clinging to her Queen Bee identity only to have it snatched from her (which also goes with the theme of loss Miracle Queen wants to convey), literally anything that counts as a valid akumatization reason because “waaah Ladybug didn’t pick me” doesn’t do it for me.

Then the Lila thing, I’m still not fully sure, maybe I’d have Marinette be the lenient one that eventually realizes how much Lila’s affecting Adrien, and somehow puts a stop to it - maybe Lila’s being sympathetic to Marinette, and only really wants to use Adrien to her advantage, so Marinette lets Gabriel know after uncovering some particularly nasty stuff, and he cuts her out. Now Lila has a better (IMO) reason to start a rivalry with Marinette, Marinette can grow closer to the Agrestes even if just a little, Adrien has a good point of reference to realize Chloé’s being out of line (without writing the same arc for the same character twice), and you don’t have an explicit Lila & Gabriel alliance (which is great, because I always disliked that part of the plot - unnecessary extra complexity that only really takes away from every character involved IMO).

How would you model the two arcs?

My stance has pretty much always been that Chloe should have been Adrien's problem. Why make Marinette try to fix her bully when Adrien is right there with none of that baggage? I'm still baffled that they made Adrien and Chloe friends because that plot point went nowhere so why make it a thing? You don't introduce a juicy tidbit like "the female lead's bully is the male lead's only childhood friend" unless you're going to do something big with it!

There's a lot of ways you could take Adrien and Chloe, but no matter which path you pick, it should be used to set Adrien up to be more mentally ready to accept all the messed up elements of his home life when he finally grasps that he's a victim on multiple levels. It's much easier for him to learn those lessons of when to forgive and when to give second chances from a peer and not his parent who still has full power over him. I like this leading to a "redeemed" Chloe because I think you need an example of when to give a second chance to make the example of when to not give a second chance really pop, but that's just my preference. Chloe teaching Adrien how to set boundaries and cut someone off so that he can do that again on a much larger scale is also perfectly valid.

I think the Lila thing should have been used to develop Alya and Nino, not Marinette and Adrien. The show writes all the teen characters as pretty terrible at navigating or even identifying things like abuse. We see that in their constant love of confronting Gabriel, never once stopping to think, "Huh, will this actually be a good thing for Adrien or are we putting him in danger?"

You could include Marinette in this arc, too, but I think that she should take a backseat and let Alya and Nino take the lead since they're the ones who see Lila as a good person. Learning to be a little less trusting and a little more thoughtful is a good lesson for the way both of them have been characterized. Alya needs to learn to be a little less willing to trust sources and season-four-and-five Nino needs to learn to be a little more focused on the feelings of those around him over his own goals. Plus Marinette already has so much going on! The writers really need to let others have the spotlight for a bit so the poor girl can rest and stop looking terrible as the plot twists itself into a pretzel to always make her the one who needs to learn a lesson.

[papas-red-box]

Interest Check!

Have you ever wondered what types of ‘paperwork’ Papas and Cardinals are always doing in fics? Or what kind of homework do siblings receive during classes taught by the clergy? 

Well now is your chance to create your take on those assignments.

Whether it's an academic-style paper for Secondo’s History of the Ministry, a piece of art for Primo’s Drawing 101 class, or a condition report of a ministry relic, it can be submitted here. Terzo’s poetry or photography classes can also submit their works.

Your work is important regardless of your role as a sibling in the ministry. Here we can showcase all your hard work. 

Don’t have a ‘research’ topic that comes to mind? No worries, we can have a brainstorming session to point you in the right direction. 

“What if I don’t want to work on this alone?” I’m sure some others feel the same way and will be eager to connect over mutual topics.

Don’t you think you can commit to a full research-style piece of writing? We will accept ‘write-ins’ debating a made-up ‘previous’ article. Or even a short incident report that describes encounters or conflicts between siblings and ghouls. 

If it feels like something that might come across a Papa’s desk, then it is welcome. 

More info under the cut:

Theme:

The loose theme of this is academia. This should be a fun ministry lore-building exercise. You get to build a new perspective into the inner workings of the ministry. Not all of the views might match, do not worry, every ‘branch’ works a bit differently. After all, this is a ministry-wide collection of works. 

These should be written from an ‘in-universe’ point of view. Meaning that these should feel like they come from a sibling/clergy member’s hand. The potential discussions about magic or ghouls are limitless.  

(Because of the potential for Explicit content this will be an 18+ Zine.)

"Why the academic style?"

This comes from my urge to write an academic-style paper again. I miss doing visual analyses on pieces of art and think it might be interesting to attempt that with the different pieces of cannon art for Ghost (i.e. the stained glass backdrops, papal portraits, or even t-shirt art)

I also feel like Ghost fans love finding the hidden meanings of everything. This is a chance to fully compose those thoughts in a long-form piece of writing for others to enjoy. This means bringing in as many citations as you feel you need to completely defend your stance. 

Format:

This will be compiled into a PDF for all participants to enjoy, share, or even print to have a physical copy. 

This is so there is no money being exchanged and creators are able to do whatever else they wish with these pieces. 

Potential items:

incident reports (can be written in 3rd or 1st person)

research papers

Clergy member or previous papal biographies

ministry wide memos

flyers/ads for clubs within the ministry or for ministry outreach. 

Condition reports

art pieces

‘Class notes’

[oneatlatime]

More Zuko Alone Thoughts

Last season our expository Zuko episode was The Storm, an episode which I loved. It was both a well-written and well-animated piece of media, and enthralling to watch. I don't want to say enjoyable because of the subject matter discussed, but it was certainly good.

This season's expository Zuko episode was Zuko Alone, and I didn't like it. Although it was animated fantastically, I found the characterisation of Zuko in the present day sections to be completely off. I found it embarrassing, awkward, and frustrating to watch. Now, I've seen the rating this episode has on IMDb, so I know this is just my opinion, and a fairly unpopular one at that. I'm also aware that I'm biased because Zuko is not my favourite character. But I want to explore why, in my opinion, The Storm stuck the landing while Zuko Alone flubbed it.

Here's what I think is the main reason: The Storm is Aang's story about his past, juxtaposed with Iroh's story about Zuko's past. Aang and Iroh are our storytellers; Aang and Zuko are the stories being told.

Zuko Alone is Zuko's story of the present, being experienced through Zuko's perspective, juxtaposed with Zuko's story in the past, being experienced through Zuko's memories. It's too much Zuko, and unlike the characters in The Storm, Zuko has no idea what's going on.

Despite his flightiness and inability to take things seriously, Aang is perceptive, socially and emotionally intelligent (as much as a 12 year old can be), and able to be subtle when the situation calls for it. Look at The Great Divide: as soon as he had the appropriate backstory info, he saw right to the heart of the conflict, he saw that it was stupid as Hell, and he saw and successfully executed a way to fix it that relied entirely on an accurate assessment of all involved parties' stances. And it worked.

Iroh has easily the highest perception stat in the whole show, when he isn't being deliberately obtuse. His wisdom is off the charts, if his one liners are anything to go by.

So despite some very (very) notable differences, Aang and Iroh have similarities in their personalities and their perspectives, and importantly for this post, in their self-knowledge.

Then we get Zuko, who has the perceptiveness and subtlety of a mud brick to the teeth, all the wisdom of a bandaid wrapper, and the social and emotional intelligence of something that starts to grow in your sink when it's been too long since you did the dishes.

Aand and Iroh can see the themes, lessons, mistakes, and places for improvement in the stories they're telling, about themselves and others. Zuko is stumbling through both his past and his present. The Storm is compelling because the audience gets to simultaneously learn expository detail and watch Aang and Iroh go through a process of self-analysis, recrimination, and commitment to doing better. It's an info dump with a hefty dose of character building on the side.

Zuko in Zuko Alone is a dumbass blindly stumbling into the same mistakes we've already seen him make, learning nothing in the process (that I could detect - maybe he'll run into the family's older brother in a few episodes and work up the courage to save him based on what he learned during his time with that family, who knows). Zuko has been trained to be a fighter, not a person, so of course he's going to fail at the 'soft skills' parts of being human. So Zuko needs someone with him to do/model that soft skills work until he learns how to do it for himself. But Zuko is alone in Zuko Alone, so the character development that could have happened doesn't.

I don't need morals and themes explicitly spelled out in the narrative; I'm fine with subtext. But Zuko in Zuko Alone so thoroughly misses what's going on in the episode that it's annoying to watch. And there's no indication at the end of the episode that he's learned anything from having missed those things. There's no indication that he's aware that there was anything to miss.

In The Storm, Aang has Katara to bounce off of and help talk him through his story. Iroh's wise enough not to need a foil, but he does have the ship's crew, both as a reason to tell the story and as an audience to play off of. Heck, in Bato of the Water Tribe, Sokka has Bato giving the speech about the lonely wolf to help him understand the point Sokka's dad was trying to make in the flashback, and avoid the wrong course of action (leaving Aang behind). Aang moves on from self-recrimination and Iroh has won back Zuko's crew's loyalty at the end of The Storm; Sokka has finally understood 'being a man means being where you're needed the most' by the end of Bato of the Water Tribe. But Zuko is alone by choice in Zuko Alone, so he finishes the episode exactly where he started, his mother's last words entirely misinterpreted. No wiser, probably unable to even articulate where he went wrong beyond fire = bad in this context.

There seems to be a theme in this show of the necessity of friends and family networks and support. Aang (with Katara's help), Iroh (with the crew as audience and motivator), Sokka (with Bato's help), all come to better understandings of their responsibilities and/or their mistakes by working things out with the help of at least one other person. Zuko ditches Iroh to play at being a lone wolf and fails in a way that's frankly embarrassing to watch.

So the reason I don't like Zuko Alone is that he's doomed to fail from the start. Zuko is (trying to) go about his character development in a way this show has already showed us is opposite to how it should be done. I'm not fond of 'doomed from the start' narratives as a general rule, mostly because to me they feel like a bad investment. If you know it's all going to end badly (because it started wrong), then why bother committing the time and effort the narrative asks of you? (She says, having read The Silmarillion twice).

So if I became Queen of the world tomorrow and decreed that Zuko Alone needed to be changed to fit my personal tastes, how would I do it? The obvious answer is to shove Iroh in there, but it probably wouldn't work anyway, because Zuko is not showing any signs of being ready to listen - REALLY LISTEN - to those wiser than him. I'm not sure if he's even ready to admit yet that there are people who ARE wiser than him. He's already admitted that there are people with more martial prowess than him, like his sister, but I don't think Zuko actually values wisdom enough to see its worth. So it's probably not even on his radar. If Iroh's presence wouldn't work, what about having a removed narrator, like Iroh did for Zuko's story in The Storm? A narrator who is not as thoroughly blind to what's going on in the past and the present as Zuko. Maybe a single episode character, who tells the story of that time a stranger came to town? That might work. It would fit with the genre this episode is paying homage to. Or you could have an interesting juxtaposition, where the narrator character is not omniscient, narrating the present only, and Zuko is completely alone during the flashback bits. That would probably lead to Zuko making the same mistakes anyway, since it's really his past that he needs to work through.

Or maybe I'm reading way too much into this and I just don't like Zuko enough as a character to like a Zuko-centric story, no matter how it's told. Or maybe 24 minutes of second-hand embarrassment is 24 too many for me. At least he's keeping Song's horse bird fed.

[atamascolily]

The mirror crack'd from side to side; 'The curse is come upon me,' cried The Lady of Shalott. --Alfred Lord Tennyson

One thing that I appreciate about the ending of Rebellion is how reality literally splinters when Homura grabs Madokami's hands. It's such a visceral and compelling way to illustrate what is happening as everything that we took as "real" falls apart. This isn't quite what people mean by "breaking the fourth wall," but it's a similar effect, as it draws attention to an invisible barrier that we in the audience didn't even realize was there until it was broken. And of course it mirrors--pun 100% intended--the shattering of Homura's own soul gem moments earlier because any distinction between them no longer exists.

We often talk about a "mirrorverse" (thanks, Star Trek!) as a parallel universe where everything is reversed/inverted, but isn't that exactly what Homura has created here--a mirror universe?

And with the mirror come reflections. Lots of them. Everything is doubled, again and again.

It culminates with the tearing apart of Madoka from the Law of Cycles, complete with the sound of breaking glass.

What I hadn't quite realized before I watched this scene in slow motion is that as the glass continues to crack, it ends up forming a shape very similar to Homura's own soul gem--both have simultaneously broken and re-formed. (Note that even with all the "cracks", a series of nested diamonds--Homura's signature visual motif--are visible within it.) Only then do the "curses" come out and envelop everything...

...which leads to this fascinating series of everyone and their reflections being swallowed up.

I'm not quite sure how to interpret what happens next, but there's actually two parts: a crystalline structure that comes first, followed by the "curses" themselves.

Both end up covering the universe--but the "curses" end up forming a shield-like design while the mirror fragments/crystals remain in place.

Then, of course, Homura shatters her soul gem in her mouth, and it re-forms into Dark Orb (omg, I cannot write that with a straight face), which is basically the same thing that we already witnessed with a different set of symbols. At this point, the cracked glass imagery disappears, having fulfilled its purpose: the universe might be different now, a mirror version of what it once was, but it's no longer broken because it has been remade.

Breaking soul gems/glass is a major visual theme in Rebellion--Homura shatters her own soul gem with a bullet (doesn't take, because it was never real to begin with) and she and Madoka shattered the soul-gem shaped glass "bell jar" the Incubators have put her in--and here it reaches its apotheosis along with Homura, in a compact and striking sequence. On first watch, this scene feels like it comes out of nowhere, but on reflection (sorry not sorry), it's clear the entire movie was building towards this moment from the beginning.

I initially didn't read too much into the first key visual for Walpurgis no Kaiten because I assumed it was a placeholder from footage already on hand because they hadn't actually made the movie yet, but looking at it again in light of this discussion makes me reconsider my stance. This is not to say that I think this particular image will necessarily appear in the movie, but it does tie into the themes established in Rebellion of broken reality symbolized by a cracked mirror, and of Devil Homura reaching out to Madoka (hands again!) but being unable to connect because of a barrier between them, one that Homura no longer can control. However, my guess is that Walpurgis no Kaiten will express these same themes with unique and different imagery rather than completely re-hashing that of Rebellion.

That said, we're clearly not done with this theme entirely, because the second key visual has Homura facing off against a mirror version (mirrorverse?) of herself.

(in light of this discussion of cracked glass re-forming, that salamander head on the phone starts to make a lot more sense)

Furthermore, the trailer heavily features inverted/backwards writing, which also ties into Tarot symbolism and the concept of "reversed" cards--again emphasizing mirrors and mirror images. If Rebellion had echoes of Alice in Wonderland, it sure seems like Walpurgis no Kaiten is going for Through the Looking-Glass!

All the mirror/double imagery in Walpurgis no Kaiten didn't come out of nowhere--like so much of the movie, it appears to have been subtly foreshadowed in Rebellion, and is almost certainly a direct consequence of Homura's actions in this particular scene. All actions have consequences, and we'll find out what they are in the next movie.

tl;dr: It's all done with mirrors. :)

[benevolent-yoon]

CUT from the Same Cloth [Series] Ch. 3

☆theme: Hybrid/Supernatural!AU

♡pairing: wolf!Hyunjin & leopard!Reader (Gray Wolf & Snow Leopard)

✧genre: Romance/Angst/Slight!Thriller

⚠︎warnings: |Death/Suicide/Religion/Cult|

���summary: Hyunjin could never put his finger on it or describe the feeling perfectly, but something always felt off with his life… A little different from the rest of his clan, he manages to find solace with you. But the more he learns, the more he realizes who his family really is… ✑word count: 1.8k Author's Note: So school and work both kicked my ass simultaneously for a month, I am slow to upload but I'm not usually that slow, so I wrote this really quickly cause I was like damn it's been a minute... so apologies if it is short, I decided to break up this portion into three parts.

[TITLE PAGE]

|Chapter 3| Lies on Lies on Lies [ACT I]

Howls. Hyunjin woke up frantically, his good night sleep ruined by howls… He knew they were for him, he pulled away from you and his steering caused you to wake up as well. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, rubbing the tiredness off your face. 

“I have to go.” He deadpanned, taking off the sweater you let him borrow. Knowing he’d be questioned on where he got it from. He walked over to your table, grabbed his old ripped up one and put it on.

“Already?” You asked as you sat up, but the look in his eyes said everything. He didn’t want to, but if he didn’t go, he was going to be in serious trouble. 

“I promise I’ll try to see you again.” He sat down beside you and caressed your cheek. 

“Don’t.” You whispered.

He looked at you in disbelief, “What?” He asked, hoping he didn’t hear you correctly.

“Don’t.” You repeated. “Don’t try to see me again, I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” 

“You don’t mean that.” The first part he was referring to, not the latter.

“That’s not the point.” You both got up and you hugged him. 

“I’m going to find a way see you again.” He said holding you in the hug, it felt so natural.  

“Fine.” You huffed. “How are you going to get back without them knowing?”

“I have a plan, don’t worry about me.”

“You say that like it’s easy.” You sighed, holding his hand and walking towards the door.

Your comment made him smile as he opened it. “Okay worry, but don’t stress yourself out.” He caressed your cheek. “I’ll be back soon.” He didn’t know what compelled him, but he kissed your cheek quickly then jumped out the treehouse before you could react. 

To your surprise he landed very cat-like, a grounded stance. The jump was very high, it would usually throw a wolf a little off balanced, at the least, but not Hyunjin.

But before you could process this knowledge, he was sprinting off. Watching him made you wonder, What else he could do? You could tell that’s why his clan was so controlling when it came to him.

You quickly realized how different Hyunjin was from the others last night, his regeneration was better, which was a threat. You knew his sensing is one of a kind, another threat. And he had a lot of cat-like tendencies, which you were silent about knowing it's a sensitive subject for him. You weren’t afraid of Hyunjin, but it was easy to see why his clan was…

Hyunjin had a plan, one that he knew would work. After kissing you on the cheek it was as if he was on fire. A fire that burned all doubts and fears, leaving a clear mind and open heart. His senses were like no other, he chuckled to himself… realizing how self-assured he felt after being with you.

He could tell where everyone on his and your territory were, each member, each scent, sound, wavelength, everything. All of this had been a struggle in the past and now came with ease… Hyunjin felt powerful.

He ignored the howls, knowing how much time he had to pull of his plan. He raced towards Dahlia Mountain and built a quick yet messy shelter. He then thrashed and cut certain trees to make it seem like he had raged through there last night. He removed all of the bandaging you’d put on him, made a small fire close to his makeshift shelter and burned it. After that, he ran towards the cottage, he could tell everyone else was inside as there was only one member left howling for him.

Hyunjin speed and ferocious took Minho by surprise seeing the boy run in from the west instead of east, where he was supposed to be.

“Where were you?” Minho asked.

“I built a wood shelter outside of Dahlia Mountain.”

Minho tsked. “That’s why you took so damn long and why your covered in sticks.” Commenting on his messy appearance. “Why weren’t at the shed house?”

Hyunjin huffed, “What kind of stupid question is that? Why would I be anywhere near the cottage after what happened yesterday? Chan beat my ass and you guys just want me to act all normal about it?”

Minho sighed rubbing his forehead. “You know he’s still pissed right?”

“Of course.”

“So, follow the damn rules instead pissing him off even more by making your own.” He pointed out. “Also you’re staying in the shed house for a month.”

“Fine by me.” Lies… He was enraged, he knew Chan was going to watch him like a hawk. So finding time to sneak away and see you, was going to be hard. He could tell, Chan was giving him a challenge, one he didn’t think Hyunjin could take.

“What with that face?” Minho asked, snapping Hyunjin out of his thoughts. Usually Hyunjin wasn’t this stoic, he seemed a little gritty and steadfast.

“What face?”

“You went all serious there for a second.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. They really are watching me like a hawk. “Yea well my ass is in serious trouble, aren’t I?”

Minho shrugged playfully in agreement, assuming it due to the tension from the big blowout. “Did you eat?”

“No.” That was the truth. He didn’t manage to eat anything when he was with you, as he was caught up in conversation.

“Hungry?” Minho asked. Hyunjin nodded, walking over towards him. “Come on,” Minho said put his arm around the younger one’s shoulder. “I’ll make you something at the shed house. I think you and Chan should just avoid each other for the month.”

That was something Hyunjin could definitely agree on.

Within the first week of his toiling punishment, Hyunjin was on night watch.

Which if he was going to be honest, he loved. There were less members of the clan out in general, and he was stationed high up, which conveniently reminded him of your treehouse. Most wolves hated night watch for those exact two reasons. Although wolves can see in dim lighting, the do not have night vision like their counter cat clan. Which is why every night Hyunjin was persistent on keeping his awareness heightened. Every night in the same comfortable seated position, eyes closed, with a clear mind and open heart; he could sense anything.

He was on his 4th night when he sensed you coming towards the treaty line, he’s been tracing on whether or not you’ve been at your treehouse. And he hasn’t sensed you there until tonight. He knew you left a little after he did, probably due to the work you had, as your clan relied solely on you for a lot of tasks.

In his mind however, your aura shined brightly, as he sensed you getting closer towards your place. Your energy zoomed upwards and then was stagnate, for a long while, possibly 10 minutes. Why isn’t she going inside?

Intuitively Hyunjin opened his eyes, and it was as if his world brightened up as he could see you staring directly at him. Probably pondering thoughts about your last meeting, he gave a small wave and saw you perk up immediately, a small and quiet laugh escaped from his mouth. Cute.

When you ran towards your treehouse that night after being down with your week’s work, it had nothing to do with getting away from your family. And everything to do with trying to get a glimpse of Hyunjin, just to make sure he was alright.

When you were close to your tree house you could tell he was sensing you, if anything you don’t think he ever stopped sensing around your shared area. So after you climb up to your surprise, you see him sitting in a tree of his own.

You’ve seen plenty of wolves perched up there on night watch but none ever seemed nearly as relaxed or comfortable as Hyunjin looked right now. So you decided to sit and stare at him for little wondering what he was thinking, you knew he could sense you but no wolf has ever been able to see you. You stared at him for maybe 10 minutes before you saw him open his eyes.

You could tell he was focused on your treehouse but what surprised you was the wave. You perked up immediately to make sure you weren’t going crazy, and you saw him smile to himself from your energetic reaction. Which meant your theory was in fact correct. You held up your index finger, motioning to him that you were going to be gone for a moment.

“What the hell is she doing?” He whispered to himself with a smile, entertained by you.

He saw you come back with a notepad, and he didn’t think he could smile bigger, but it did. He saw you scribble on it before holding it up. ‘You can see me right?’

He nodded, and saw you flip the page to write some more.

‘Are you okay?’ Realizing he could only answer yes or no questions.

He wiggled hand and shrugged, basically meaning ‘yes and no’, or ‘more or less’.

Your brain felt a little bit messy, but you confessed anyways. ‘I miss you.’ You wrote.

Hyunjin cheeks were hurting, he hadn’t smiled this much in a while. He made a heart, indicating he missed you as well.

‘I have to tell you something important’ You wrote on the next page, ‘When can we meet?’

He sighed and shrugged despairingly. He really didn’t know; they were hounding and pestering him senselessly. Even indirectly talking to you from afar could get him in a ridiculous amount of trouble, but he didn’t care.

He held up his index finger indicating he needed a moment to think, to come up with an answer, an idea, anything really. And then it hit him… He placed his fingertips together to create a peak then made a circle with his hand and held it up where the moon would be.

‘Dahlia Mountain,  Next full moon?’ You wrote almost immediately.

That’s my girl. He thought, happy you understood so quickly and nodded. He pointed at you and made a resting motion with his hands, indicating you should go to bed for safety reasons.

You nodded, waved and sent him a kiss. He sent you one back before watching you close your door. He sighed contently, he was pretty sure he knew what you needed to tell him; he realized something, the moment he left your side that night.

He looked around his surroundings once more, smirking to himself.

These past couple of days Hyunjin felt an intensive change within his soul and body. With his old blockage being removed, his ability to sense his entire territory is becoming easier than ever.

And now, with his new enhanced night vision kicking in, he thought to himself. There’s no way they’d be able to tame me now.

[a-queer-seminarian]

I've been reading up on some of the resources you've provided regarding christian zionism for a while now but apologies that I'm still a little confused here and there.

i have a question, i was wondering what we can say to counter the ,chosen people and promised land, argument because a lot of what counter argument that would be given back is that the bible is absolute, God's word and should not be contended. how do we counter these absolutionist to show that what is happening is wrong but at the same time that we do still respect, love and believe in God?

at some point i do wonder if it is worth fighting it to those who are obviously unwilling to change their stance? and if the energy is better spent elsewhere instead?

To start with your last question, yes, I do think there comes a point when you realize you cannot change someone's mind, and you are wasting time and energy you could better spend elsewhere. (And if this is the kind of person who responds to any argument you could possibly make with "Well this is just what the Bible says," that's always a good clue they probably aren't very open to change.)

My tactic when this happens is to say something like "It's clear you aren't willing to hear another perspective right now, so I am going to end this conversation. But if something happens down the line that makes you more willing to consider my side, hit me up." That way they have somewhere to go if by some miracle they one day want to learn more, but I won't use up all my energy on them now when it's clearly useless.

You may come up with a different tactic, but whatever you want it to be, it's def good to consider it before a situation arises!

That being said, for other folks it is possible to get through!

I answered an ask over on my other blog with suggestions for talking to a friend who takes that "the Bible says Israel is a blessed nation" stance. One thing I suggested was choosing language that frames things as a conversation, not an argument; here's a bit from that pasted here:

For instance, in the scenario where she said “the Bible says we should always stand with Israel,” responding immediately with “no it doesn’t!!” would shut down conversation.

Instead, you might start with open-ended questions the two of you can explore together: “I wonder what the Bible means when it talks about Israel. Would the biblical authors recognize today’s Israel as being the Israel they were talking about? / Is the Israel of today the same as the Israel of the Bible?” “What does it mean to you to ‘stand with Israel’?” “Does that have to require sending them extreme military weapons?”

If they're open to pondering those questions informally together, at some point you might be able to share some further information. I highly recommend Christian Palestinian theologian Mitri Raheb's book Decolonizing Palestine, which includes (mostly in its second half) an interrogation of how people interpret the concept of biblical election or chosenness.

I have a detailed summary of his book at this link; I'll paste the pertinent parts below:

First off, in the book's intro, Raheb notes how conflating Israel the modern state and the "biblical" Israel has been an intentional part of Israeli propoganda since its founding (he explores this further in his history chapters):

“The settler colonial nature of the State of Israel is obvious, and the reality on the ground is crystal clear. The situation is not ‘complicated’ as some claim in order to blur the issue. International law is decisive on this issue, as the many UN resolutions testify. Yet, biblical passages and terms such as ‘divine rights,’ ‘land promise,’ ‘Judea,’ and ‘chosen people’ are constantly repeated to bestow the colonization of Palestine with biblical legitimacy and thus political legality. This terminology is used in church circles, popular events, as well at the highest political levels like the UN Security Council.”

His third chapter hones in on the theme of land — its centrality in scripture, and its centrality in the modern occupation of Palestine. How is this theological theme exploited as ideology? What are some decolonial Palestinian readings? Ultimately, how do we liberate theological minds from their invisible colonization?

Toward a Decolonial Theology of the Land

We need our theology to pay more attention to the geopolitical situation of Palestine, which includes the two hermeneutical keys of the land and the native people

Palestine has always been a land on the margins of three continents and “five regional powers that have determined its fate”; constantly getting pushed and pulled by these greater powers, constantly forced to adjust identity and boundaries within a changing context: “Adjustment, resistance, and liberation from occupation is a connecting thread of Palestine’s history from the second millennium BC until today”

Palestinian Jews have always been part of the native “people of the land” — but settler colonial Zionists are not part of the people of the land; “They are invaders and subcontractors to empires.”

Palestinians today who don’t fit a European framework are silenced, not considered dialogue partners — this includes Muslim Palestinians and Palestinian Christians, along with native, anti-Zionist Jews and Samaritans. But their experiences — “their suffering under occupation, their aspiration for liberation, their struggles and hopes” — are the kinds of voices that the Bible holds: “the Bible is the book that contains these voices, the voices of the colonized, not the colonizers.”

Finally, we get to chapter 4: Chosen People?, which hones in on biblical election and how it “constitutes a theological dilemma for the Palestinian people.” Ultimately he concludes,

“While the original context of chosenness was a feeling of powerlessness in the face of empire, chosenness today must be sited within the context of European nationalism, settler colonialism, and American exceptionalism.”

Raheb reminds us about the four distinct Israels:

The relatively short-lived Northern Kingdom of Israel

Biblical Israel as abstract theological concept describing “God’s people”

“Ancient Israel” as a modern construct “that confuses certain aspects of the biblical story with history, thereby projecting an exclusive ethno-national and religions state into the Bible”

Modern entity called the State of Israel

All these must be distinguished from each other, from Judaism, and people of Jewish faith

General issues with “election”

“Who is elected: individuals, a group of people, a nation? “Israel”? How do we define “Israel”? A race? A religion? A state? The church?”

And what does election mean for the un-elect? - 17th century Jewish philosopher Baruch Spinoza wondered if it even makes sense for God to divinely elect a particular group of people: “Can we, who live in a post-Enlightenment era of human rights and fundamental equality between people, believe in a God who discriminates between people, with some being elected, and others not elected or even some elected to be damned”? .

Palestinians are equated with un-elect biblical peoples — either: - The Philistines, enemies of “Israel” - The cursed Canaanites - Descendants of Ishmael (along with all Arabs), giving them a “lesser theological status” than the descendants of Isaac, i.e. the Israelies

“While some Christians may sympathize with the humanitarian situation of Palestinians, their emotional and theological bond remains with Israel because they are seen as God’s elected people with a unique entitlement.”

Here’s Raheb’s own decolonial perspective on election:

The Bible must be read as story, not history.

“God’s own story cannot be confined to such a short period of the universe’s history or reduced to one region, or, as a matter of fact, to one planet. God’s story is not the exclusive story of people with God.”

The Bible is the story of people with God — particular people with particular cultural and geographic backgrounds

Jews, Christians, and Muslims continue to relate to this particular story, but it’s not self explanatory; it needs to be retold and reinterpreted

We can respect different groups’ experiences of being “chosen” without making these beliefs ideology or treating them as objective facts

The biblical story is particular, but it “made history because of its relevance to the diverse contexts of imperial hegemonic oppression worldwide” — the Bible helps many find meaning in the face of empire - “This is why election can never mean entitlement to a particular land or people” — within scripture, we see that God’s interest is not only with one people.

“[E]lection is God’s business, and no one has a monopoly over it. God’s salvation surpasses all understanding, and God remains the God of surprises that all our theological systems cannot contain.”

Bringing in the geopolitics of the biblical story

“The region of Palestine was too small and lacked the geographical location and resources to develop into an empire;” instead its fate was dictated by the five empires that surrounded it

This peripheral existence is the “background behind the notion of election” — it’s a promise to the disenfranchised and the desperate, those crushed by Empire.

“Election was and will always be a statement of faith; it is solely a promise…to those weak and powerless.”

Later — when the northern region became Samaria and the southern region became Judaea — this notion of election would be weaponized to give one group religious entitlement over the other. .

We must “always keep in mind these two different and opposed religious utilizations of the notion of election: one as a message of hope for the weak and devastated, and one as a tool for religious and national ideology.”

[bichenique]

TGCF SPOILERS

This is a major spoiler do not open it unless you're done w TGCF.

Jun Wu and Mei Niangqing's relationship somewhat mirrors Xie Lian and Hua Cheng's. A foil, maybe?

I saw a fanart recently of Hua Cheng painting Xie Lian but I had to readjust my eyes because at first glance I thought it was Mei Nianqing painting the Crown Prince of Wuyong.

🎀 Also yipee first long yap sesh post 🎀

pls take my yapping as a grain of salt; i also think other ppl posted abt this already and if that's true i didn't see it yet

Which he does at like, book 7 or 8, I don't remember, I was trying to study for government while reading the book. Mei Niangqing paints murals of Jun Wu and his four vassals around Mt Tonglu so Xie Lian and his gang can find out the truth.

Many readers did establish already that Xie Lian is Jun Wu's mirror/foil because like that was what leads Jun Wu to be obsessed with molding Xie Lian to be like him. They're too alike, it's almost eerie, but let's be honest, Jun Wu was rigging Xie Lian's fate so he will end up like him. Let's focus on HC and MNQ

That being said, here are some scenes I remember that kinda mirrors MNQ and HC:

Mei Nianqing makes art of Jun Wu, in reverence and remembrance of him. Hua Cheng does the same. However, their stances are different. MNQ is wistful about it, HC is more like manifesting his gege into reality and manifesting their marriage.

MNQ and HC both stayed with their princes. MNQ stayed even if the other three vassals left because they were friends and he didn't know JW murdered their other three buddies. However, he left JW the moment he found out abt that. HC stayed with XL and followed him everywhere, even willing to die for his prince, even if it meant dying multiple times.

They were both separated from their hubbies.

MNQ has known Jun Wu in all his eras, and HC has known XL in all his eras too, but maybe only from a distance.

Despite everything Jun Wu and Xie Lian did, MNQ and HC still wanted to stay by their side and remember their true selves. RIP Jun Wu and his mountain tho lmao. MNQ kinda confirmed it for me when he asks Jun Wu after his defeat (not a direct quote btw): Aren't you tired, Your Highness? I just miss how things were. HC tells XL that "what matters is you." The only difference was that MNQ made a choice and worked against Jun Wu while HC consistently made the effort to be there for XL.

I think my Ted Talk is done.

I will say tho, TGCF has this theme of breaking the cycle of abuse and recovering from trauma — Xie Lian choosing to go against Jun Wu, MNQ holding Jun Wu accountable for his crimes, Hua Cheng becoming someone strong so he will never feel unsafe just as he did in his childhood, Lang Qianqiu swearing that he will never be like Xie Lian and then having to revive Qi Rong so Guzi will never have to live the pain of losing one's dad, Mu Qing finding the courage to reunite with old friends, Qi Rong learning to be the person he wanted to be there for him— to name a few, I will probably have separate posts for this.

I guess in Heavenly Official's Blessing, they did shatter taboos.