#for a Just World that does not exist and expects of people what they cannot give so he is doomed even himself to be trying to be a kind of

[uncanny-tranny]

Going to say it here: Bans don't fucking work

Banning trans care doesn't fucking work. We (trans people) will find a way to access the care we need, even if it's banned because we need healthcare and it's not an option for many of us. I know the government wants to make trans people into criminals for existing, but if the average person is reading this and thinks that if you ban our healthcare, we'll stop getting it: you're misinformed.

We will always exist. We will exist even if you criminalize our lives. We will exist as long as there are humans on earth. You cannot get rid of us, and you never will, because we are people.

[ziracona]

[ Been very interested by Harvey Dent recently, so I wanted to write some scenes that may turn into a full story that’s essentially an exploration of him and his relationships to Big Bad Harv/Two-Face, and to Judge, and himself, but is also a kind of typical action adventure. Anyway I have an outline building itself in my head but here’s a few scenes I wrote somewhere in the middle if you want to read some character exploration for them and a fight and some angst fluff hurt-comfort because that’s like half of what I write/enjoy writing let’s be real. Basic story/scenario setup is a new villain is attacking Gotham, has expansive mental superpowers. A number of people team up to fight back since it’s a universal threat to them. During a fight, big bad transports Batman, Catwoman, and Two-Face to a mind plane to have a home-turf advantage. But up there, Harvey is everyone in there in their own body, so he ends up with an unexpected numbers advantage that keeps him alive during the initial attack. Batman, Catwoman, and the Harvey group get separated from each other after the initial fight, and are trying to find the big bad and deal with it, get out, and stay alive (and probably finding each other again would be advantageous). So yeah, this is a little bit after the first fight and getting wildly lost in the mind plane.]

-

-

This place was a little plateau, some trees and grass, a kind of mental jungle almost, minus the expected mugginess, with a chasm and some rushing water far, far below not far ahead of them now. Harvey could see more traversable flat land past the precipice ahead, if there was anywhere to cross.

He wasn’t sure where they were going, and he was sure Harv didn’t either, or Judge, but onward was…better than anything else.

I don’t see a way forward from here, though, he thought, glancing to the left and right as he followed Two-Face quickly toward the edge of the plateau. It wasn’t a wide chasm, at least. They might be able to knock down a tree and cross. Or something. I guess we could also circle back.

“Wait.”

Harvey stopped and turned, and a few paces ahead and much more irritated, so did Two-Face.

“This is a rare opportunity,” came the voice always so confusingly clear for the vocal chords he had in reality. Even here, where it made sense to hear, and he looked like his old self and had been given his own old vocal chords back again, he couldn’t even really get used to the sound of hearing himself out loud.

Clearly very exasperated by this detour, Two-Face turned around completely. “For what? If you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly walking around without a time limit.”

“For separation,” said Judge collectedly, drawing his sword so calmly, and leveling the massive thing at them.

No. Not at me, realized Harvey on a stunted delay. He was just standing between them. At Harv—a-at. …Two-Face.

Dazed almost, still somehow not quite getting what should have surely been obvious, he looked behind him at Two-Face, then back at Judge.

Two-Face took a step back. “Are you kidding me?” he asked with anger and disbelief, “We don’t event know what would happen! If one of the others dies here, they’re dead out there too! For all we know, any ONE of us three bites it, and we all drop dead!”

“A calculated risk I am willing to take,” replied Judge, unmoved.

“Yeah, big surprise, coming from you,” shot back Two-Face, clenching his fists, “Killing all three of us has never been a problem for you!”

“We appear here as unique individuals,” commented Judge, “I do not feel pain when you are injured. You did not become injured when Harvey was cut. To the best conclusion of reasonable logic, we are each only a representation of and container for ourself. Therefore, it stands to reason that if we are each a segment of Harvey Dent’s mind, separated completely for the first time, a segment being lost would reflect, in reality, only a loss of that segment, forever. Not a death of the whole.”

Livid, Two-Face extended his arms and started making sweeping gestures as he spoke. “And you have no idea what a huge fucking chunk of brain death might MEAN for the whole!”

“No,” agreed Judge, sword still leveled, “But it is a risk I am willing to take.”

“So, what, you’re going to kill me?” snapped Two-Face in disbelief, “We’re stuck in here fighting for our life already, and you’d risk all three of us to get rid of me permanently? What gives you the right-!”

Judge turned his attention to Harvey. “-With two of us, it would be quite efficient and easy a task.”

Two-Face stopped.

“This will likely be an opportunity you are never given again,” continued Judge calmly to Harvey.

“You can’t be serious,” said Two-Face, but his voice was different this time.

Harvey wasn’t looking at him. He was still staring at Judge.

Opportunity? It echoed in his head. He had wanted this for so, so long. All he had wanted for years was to be free of Harv again, forever. To be himself. Again. Free. To try. To…

He turned to look at Two-Face, time feeling stilted around him.

“No,” said Two-Face like he couldn’t process it either, taking another step back, “It could kill you.”

“We are fighting either way,” said Judge calmly, sword still perfectly leveled, as if the insanely oversized thing weighed nothing to him, “We are not both walking away from this space. If he is doomed to a risk either way, there are no questions left to be asked.”

“Hell there aren’t!” shouted Two-Face, something in him snapping, “I’m a much bigger part of him than you are, and I always have been!”

Judge was silent. Immovable. So massive. Why was he so big? Here, he and Big Bad Harv were identical except his lack of the acid scars. Judge was two or three times the size of either one of them, floating there in robes like a concept, not a person. Maybe that’s what he’s meant to be, thought Harvey with a sickened feeling in his stomach. Had he always been so big? Had they always been so much smaller?

I think I’m afraid of you, thought Harvey. A stupid thing to think. He was. He always had been. Why…was it crippling him now?

Maybe, for a moment back there when they’d all three been fighting side-by-side, it was because he’d felt…powerful, and safe. Untouchable, between the two of them. Strange. That wasn’t a way he could remember ever having felt at all with them before. Of course it wouldn’t last more than a second. Of course it…couldn’t…

Getting no response from Judge, Two-Face turned to Harvey. “You know this is insane. We’re not even out of here yet! Who can you count on?”

“You know what must be done. You have always known,” said Judge coolly, continuing to ignore Two-Face, “I exist because of your hatred of him.”

“You exist because of his hatred of US!” snapped Two-Face. Turning away from Judge, he took a few steps towards Harvey, trying to appeal. “Fighting each other here at all-”

“—This is simple.”

Judge moved with the words. Harvey hadn’t been looking at him, and by the time he was, the figure was so much closer, like it had apparated. How fast could he move? God, he was so big.

Two-Face hesitated and looked at Harvey again, then uneasily took a step back. Agitated, his hand went for the gun slung over his shoulder and rested there.

“You wanted a life without him,” said Judge, looming over them for all the world like a god of this little cosmos, “Desperately, more than anything. You wanted to be like me, and failed. You let him ruin you. He took your life and plunged it into crime and sin and evil so deeply you have been lost out there forever. For all your feeble struggling, you have let this thing BECOME you. It snuffed you out when you were weak, and has walked too long in your shoes, destroying every part of who you used to be. You have fought for years to take your life back from this monster. Aid in killing him now, and take it.”

“I’m not a monster; I do what has to be done!” shouted Two-Face, snatching his gun and gesturing wildly, fingers so tight around the grip even through the scar tissue Harvey could see them turning white, “For justice, for chance, for fucking making it from one breath to the next! I’m the one willing to do what you two can’t, so you don’t have to! I’m the ONLY one in here who has EVER looked out for another part of us! I protect him! You never have! Even when we were kids! You blamed us! I protected us! I took it, I fought back, I was everything wrong about us we were blamed for, so he didn’t have to be!” He whirled on Harvey. “You think you’ll be safe with him? He’ll kill you too! He’s been ready to cut you down for the crime of existing since you were six years old!”

No, thought Harvey, I’ve been failing my whole life, but I could be better. I could be free of you.

He turned towards Two-Face and took a step back, hand slowly going to rest against the little letter opener blade in his pocket.

Two-Face’s expression fell.

It surprised Harvey that it would be…unexpected.

Two-Face looked from Harvey, to Judge, and the momentary hurt burst into anger.

“You’re both idiots! You want to try?! Fine!”

The Tommygun flashed, and Harvey dove to the left before realizing the shot had been aimed very wide of him, at Judge. On his right, the massive black-clad, faceless figure swiped its sword up and the bullets clattered aside, off the blade in a flash. It was impossible. But everything here was.

And then Harv—Two-Face—was dashing at him, and he had to snap into the moment, ducking under a swing at his head with the body of the gun, and trying to go for a knife swipe of his own to Harv’s side.

Harv kicked him away, knocking him far enough back that the swipe only ate air, and almost took Judge’s sword between his shoulder blades, barely sensing it at the last moment, and throwing himself prone and rolling.

Harvey was back up first, about five feet from H—Two-Face, whose back was to him. He was scrambling back from Judge on his elbows, one hand digging into his jacket and producing a grenade.

It went flying at Judge before Harvey could reach him to try to stop it, and he slammed into a surprised Two-Face and they rolled, grappling on the grass at the edge of the area, as they heard the explosion from the bomb behind them. Worried, Harvey looked to see if Judge was still up, and saw him standing, unmoved, only the sword singed with soot, in a cloud of smoke. The imposing figure turned its head toward them.

A fist rammed into the side of his face, and Harvey went back down, struggling for a hold on Two-Face’s hand to keep the gun back as they landed side-by-side in the grass now, and the almost twin figure opposite him tried to rip the knife out of his own. He took a knee to the gut, hard, and answered with an elbow to the side of Two-Face’s head, and they struggled and slipped and rolled again, a mad tangle of knees and arms and cheap shots; a forehead slammed against his nose; his fist ripped at acid bleached white hair, and suddenly they were slipping for real—fast—too fast, too far.

In their struggle, they’d been getting dangerously close to the chasm and the tiny river far below, and the last grapple had landed them a little too dangerously close this time. They’d hit the edge of the slope to the fall.

They went from sliding to falling in an instant, and Harvey shot a hand out for the roots of a tree as he skidded past, and and it ripped free in his hand and came with him. Harv got a foot wedged between a slightly bigger tree trunk, and an arm around another almost as fast, a half second before Harvey’s momentum slammed him into Harv, stopping them both, breathing hard, about three feet from the edge.

Fight forgotten to the near death experience, they looked as one at the monumental fall. Even here, with the way injuries and healing seemed a concept instead of a medical reality, it would have to be a grim and certain death hitting ground below. Even the water must be like concrete.

“Aaahg!” The shout from Two-Face startled him, and he looked just in time to be grabbed by the collar and flung bodily back onto the plateau.

The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he had barely had time to understand where he was before Harv had scrambled up and thrown himself back on top of him, raising the gun butt to bring down on his head, and Harvey barely got his hands up in time to try to keep it back.

There was a sudden sound like wind whipping around a building, and Two-Face’s face paled and he hurled himself bodily backwards, narrowly avoiding Judge’s massive sword.

He rolled back and up to a knee, gun out, and fired. Bullets sprayed into the grass and up along Judge, somehow cutting through fabric and air along the edge of his form, like there was no one inside, and the sword swept upwards, deflecting bullets from Judge’s head and chest.

Snatching the opportunity, Harvey drew his own pistol on Two-Face. It should have been an easy shot; he was distracted by Judge, almost unmoving, close. But Harvey missed completely just the same, and the man whipped around furiously and returned fire.

Adrenaline pumping at jet fuel levels, Harvey dove to the side of the tommygun’s spray of bullets and made it to a knee in time to see Two-Face back up on his feet, ignoring him again in favor of running at Judge—ducking under a swipe from the massive sword, and getting two shots in past it at Judge’s torso, that connected this time. The sword came back fast, with an angry sound from Judge, and Two-Face leapt over it, falling back a step unsteadily as the sword came again, too fast, slicing him across the chest as he tried to move too late, and back at him again with a massive two hands swipe from above, and it was all he could do to get the tommygun up and between them to catch the sword and hold it back as he struggled against Judge’s strength.

Somehow, he wasn’t scared. Harvey could see it on his face. It was crazy, but he wasn’t afraid of Judge at all. He was angry. It seemed impossible to him, but he supposed for Big Bad Harv, it must not be.

Remembering to move then, Harvey made it up too, not much worse for the wear, and haltingly took another shot at Two-Face, grazing him in the arm this time as he saw the shot coming and tried to break the grapple and jerk out of the way, making it just an instant too slow. Judge immediately made another pass with the sword, trying to catch him off balance, and Two-Face ducked narrowly under it, returning fire as he did with his gun. Judge fell back to parry shots what looked like effortlessly, and Harvey made a mad dash for Two-Face while his focus was off him again, knife in his right hand, gun in his left, making a swipe for Two-Face as he got in close.

Two-Face saw him coming and stepped back out of the way of the swipe, and then another, trying to keep most of his attention on Judge. He dodged a third swipe from the letter opener, and got the tommygun leveled at the towering figure of Judge, but Harvey shot the barrel, knocking the aim off and sending a spray of bullets into the trees.

Furious, Two-Face swung the gun over and took a shot at him finally, and Harvey swung left just in time, feeling bullets pass by in the air.

Out of his peripheral, he saw Judge close in again with the sword, and Two-Face jumped back to avoid a swipe and twisted past another, returning fire, and Harvey dashed to the side, trying to get behind him.

Two-Face saw the move, and turned his head to look for just a second, and caught the sword in his arm for it, cursing and turning his back on Harvey to chuck a grenade at Judge, face lit with anger and disbelief as the huge figure knocked the grenade aside effortlessly, and it exploded off behind him, out of range. He opened fire with the tommygun again, trying to get back a little room, and Harvey made a mad dash for him from behind.

Two-Face saw it coming, and caught him in the chest with the butt of the gun, ducking under a swipe from Harvey’s knife, and to the side of a second swipe, then leaping off to the left to avoid one from Judge, firing back as he did, and Harvey caught an opening just as he pulled the trigger and slammed into him at the waist, sending them both down hard, Harvey on top, and he slammed the barrel of his pistol down against Two-Face’s forehead as they hit the ground.

The impact hurt. He saw Two-Face’s hands freeze halfway through a fumbling attempt to turn the tommygun on him, and his eyes met Harvey’s, wide with fear like a hunted animal, and with anger, and hurt, and Harvey knew he was supposed to pull the trigger, but he didn’t.

He felt sick and wrong suddenly.

None of this was supposed to—he—

Judge’s sword came carving through his back, and through him, down into Harv, and he heard Harv scream.

“No!” Faint, in a voice that wasn’t his.

He was just looking. Down, limply, at the massive thing through his body.

He went up then, lifted, Harv pinned on the tip of the sword above him, gripping the blade with both hands to try to keep from sliding deeper into it. Harv was looking at him. The way someone looked at an oncoming car hitting someone else.

Shouted…something. As Judge raised them both heavenward. And then there was an awful force applied, and they were flung off the blade, to the chasm.

He knew he was skidding, falling, but he couldn’t move, or think, or feel. React.

Everything was cold, and far away.

He vaguely registered Two-Face hitting the slope ahead of him, slamming against a tree just before the edge, dazed for a second on impact. Harvey’s limp body wasn’t so lucky. It hit the ground past him and rolled down the slope towards the drop.

Seeing him go, Two-Face let out a shout and scrambled after him, fingers catching a sleeve just as Harvey hit the edge and went over. Harv threw himself after, dragging the limp form to him in midair and wrapping himself around it as they took the free fall towards the water below.

-

-

Pain. Aching, seeping, deep. It coursed along him in sheets. He was…c-cold too. Wet. Confused. What-?

Struggling, Harvey opened his eyes, blinking weakly in a failed attempt to focus. Everything was blurred and unsteady.

Where?

Th-there. Movement. Up…above him. S-something…

Trees. Rock. He could hear…rushing water. On his back?…s-somewhere…it all—

Trying to move sent ripples of pain along his gut, and he remembered the sword.

Sh-shit.

He couldn’t…see. Anything but blurry red, looking down at his chest. He couldn’t. Couldn’t move.

I-I’m dying…?

Moving. Something was…

There. Above h-him, on the left. Something was stand—Harv. H-He was. Was standing just a few feet to the side, with his back to Harvey, looking for something.

Hand trembling, Harvey dug in with all his might and tried to raise it towards him. Tried to say his name.

He didn’t think any sound had come out, but Big Bad Harv turned, eyebrow raised, and glanced down at him.

“H-Help,” he managed, voice a cracked whisper.

“Oh?” asked Big Bad Harv, rasping voice steeped in superiority and anger, “You think I’m going to help you? After you wanted to kill me?”

His strength gave out, and Harvey couldn’t keep the hand up anymore. He let it fall against his chest and slide back limply to the ground, body shuddering under the stress of trying, and enduring this much damage and pain. He couldn’t…keep his. e-eyes open… it was..

“All right, all right. Jesus. Just try not to die so fast,” said Big Bad Harv in the voice of someone who had been planning to kick someone around more, wildly diverting plans in the face of a sudden crisis. He moved quickly beside him and knelt down, and Harvey couldn’t get his eyes open anymore at all.

He heard movement, felt hands, heard fabric rip, and muttering words he couldn’t make out, maybe…maybe his name a few times? And then he was gone again.

-

-

When he came to again, Harvey had forgotten where he was. Where he had been. It all came back slow, as his blurry eyes made out the same forms of trees and rock above him, felt the cold of wet clothes, and registered the sound of moving water. It, and the twenty-four hours before it.

It was hard to think. He felt feverish, and half awake, even as he remembered. It was so cold, and he felt sick, but too weak to vomit. I wonder if I’m still dying…

It seemed likely.

He struggled to blink and focus more. Find some change in the light to guess at how much time had passed at least, but he was too weak, and it was too much to do.

“Finally,” came a rasping voice he knew.

It took him a second to find Big Bad Harv, because he was kneeling almost behind him. “Almost thought you weren’t going to wake up this time.”

Weakly, body shuddering from the cold and the effort, Harvey turned his head, trying to get a look at him.

“Am I dying?” managed Harvey.

Big Bad Harv shrugged. “The bleeding stopped, but he got you pretty good. Which I told you he’d do.”

Harvey tried to look down at his torso. Flat on his back, that wasn’t easy, but he could faintly see stained cloth wrapped around what had been a massive smear of red last time his eyes were open. Recognizing the jacket, he turned his head back towards Big Bad Harv and registered his jacket was gone.

“…You saved me?” he asked weakly.

Harv rolled his eyes and looked off to the side.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” asked Harvey.

“Why didn’t you?” snapped Harv, glancing back.

I…?

He swallowed, and it hurt. It hurt to breathe, and he coughed weakly on impulse, and the feeling it shot along his torso was agonizing.

“Easy,” reprimanded Harv, putting a hand on his shoulder to try and stop the involuntary spasms the cough had set off, “You’ll die and leave me with Judge.”

It took a second for the convulsions to settle down, and it had zapped so much energy from Harvey by the time they had, it was all he could do to turn his head again and look up. “I’m sorry,” he managed, almost pleadingly. His voice was the ghost of a voice.

“Good. You should be,” snapped Harv, “Can’t believe you’d rather be stuck with that thing, than me.”

Harvey coughed again, a bad, wet sound deep in his lungs, so deep it sent shudders along his limbs, and he could feel the pain in his ribs from it. He couldn’t stop coughing for several seconds, and when it finally ended, he tried to gasp out a breath, and it was hard. He kept fighting to fill his lungs, and failing, like a fish on a bank. They felt like they weighed too much to move. It started to panic him, and he gasped faster, coughing again, then he felt hands on his shoulders, and Harv carefully dragged him up a little so his torso was propped against his lap.

“…You okay?” asked Harv after a second of looking down at him and listening to the gasps and coughing ease.

“…Thank you,” said Harvey.

Harv made an assent flavored grunt.

“For saving me,” he managed, throat feeling raw now and terrible, but determined nevertheless. Harv started to answer, but Harvey noticed too late and kept going, still struggling weakly to breathe evenly again. “I’m sorry. I. never. never said that…” He swallowed, closed his eyes against the pain in his gut that was overwhelming him. Opened them again, shaky, and looked out at the blurry outline of the river they must have fallen into nearby.

Harv said nothing.

“…You know you…you ruined my life,” continued Harvey quietly after a few seconds, “My…”

He wanted to cry, for so many reasons, but it felt like there was no point to any of them at all left.

“…I lost so much. To you. I… … …But. You saved my life, too. You did. P-Protect…me. You’re right. And I never—never thanked you for that. Any of it. I…” It hurt too much to keep going, and he shuddered and sucked in a breath, eyes squeezed shut, trying to deal with the pain of existing in the moment he was in.

“…It’s what I do. I told you,” said Harv after a moment, no easily discernible emotion tied to his voice, “Ever since we were kids.”

Wearily, Harvey turned his head to look up at him the little he could. “Really?” he asked weakly, “I don’t…remember…much.”

“Yeah, I kind of think that was the idea,” replied Harv with the hint of a grin.

“You must despise me,” said Harvey quietly, looking away at nothing.

Harv was quiet a second. “…That’s a strong word, ‘despise.’ You’ve always been annoying, and weak, and kind of fucking exhausting, but…no. I’ve never ‘despised’ you.”

Harvey made himself look back up. Harv was looking down, meeting his gaze, face hard to read.

“If you’ve been…” He tried to swallow. “Taking my beatings for me, since we were a child, I don’t see how that could be possible.”

It was why he’d never wanted to think of it this way. Never let himself try. Making someone else to suffer in your place? Was so unforgivable. If he was really even worse than Harv, what could that possibly make him? It was beyond him. It had always been too much to bear trying to consider.

“Why do you think I decided to exist and take them?” asked Harv, in a tone Harvey could not remember hearing from him before. Almost an attempt, from something that was never meant to be, at ‘soft’.

Harv glanced away then, at the steadily darkening jungle around them. “Get off your high horse, Harvey. You didn’t make me. We made me. I made me. You haven’t been able to force me to come out and do anything a day in your life. I’m not a part of you you control. Thought you at least grasped that much.”

Harvey didn’t know what to say to that.

He thought, instead, aching and cold and wounded, running things through one by one, with the little energy he had to do it.

“I’m sorry, Harv,” he offered finally, overwhelmed with sadness suddenly, only when he had already said it.

“I told you-” started Harv.

“—that I never valued it,” said Harvey. He shut his eyes.

Above him, Harv was quiet. He heard him shift a little, and for a long few seconds, nothing.

“You did once,” said Harv quietly, almost to himself, “it was just a long time ago.”

Harvey tried to remember, and wished he hadn’t.

“Don’t worry,” said Harv carelessly above him, “You’ll be fine. We’ll get moving in a little and find somewhere safer to hole up for a few hours, before your ‘better’ half catches up with us.”

“I don’t think I can walk,” said Harvey automatically, looking blearily up.

“Really? I hadn’t guessed,” replied Harv, voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm, “Do I look like I can’t lift you?”

Harvey smiled a little, and let himself shut his eyes again and try to pass out. It had been more than two decades since he remembered it feeling safe in the way he did in this moment, to let himself do that.

-

-

[[Next]]

[neverendingford]

.

[tactfullyinappropriate]

Ohhh boy, I'm gonna get a lot of flak for this one but... masc lesbian =/= butch. You can be the most masculine presenting person the world has ever known and that does not automatically make you butch.

Butch is an identity and you kinda need to fit that identity, not make the identity fit you. E.g. "lesbians" who are attracted to cishet men. Sorry, hun, you're just not a lesbian. Find your own identity that fits. You are allowed to be your own kind of bisexual or pansexual but what you are not, is a lesbian.

Sure, there is a lot of room for being your own person within an identity. I am not the same kind of lesbian as the next dyke. But if I did not fit (or if I no longer fit) the definition of the lesbian identity, I wouldn't call myself one and insist that lesbians expand the definition to include me.

'Butch' as an identity exists within a certain context. It *is not* a synonym to man, and it's also not a synonym to 'a masculine presenting lesbian'. If you don't vibe with the whole 'chivalry' concept and the specific ways in with butch/femme courtship (as an example) happens, maybe consider if this is the right label for you before insisting that we expand or rather completely rewrite the definition to exclude those things from it.

Some of the discourse around 'we should redefine butch!' reminds me of the discourse around redefining manhood. "It's not fair that men are expected to have masculine hobbies," they say. "It's not fair that men cannot wear glitter and makeup and retain their manhood. It's not fair that men are expected to open doors, and carry heavy things, and to-to---" Yes. You are exactly right. But butches are not men.

'Butch' is an opt-in identity, not something that society at large expects and requires from you. In other words: if you think femmes gushing about being courted by their butches in what to you appears to be a 1960s play-pretend of patriarchy, is silly, objectifying or demeaning toward one of the parties... consider that maybe 'butch' is not the identity for you. That maybe you are a masculine person with their own unique take on masculinity.

But insisting that we redefine butch is like me insisting that we redefine 'yoga' because I vibe with the gymnastics but I don't like the spiritual aspect of it. I can just go to Pilates instead. Or do yoga and accept that other people in the practice experience it differently.

What I am endlessly tired of, as a femme, is being lectured on what I *should* and *should not* find attractive. I am not somehow betraying feminism, objectifying people and degrading myself by daydreaming of a butch who opens the car door for me or - the absolute horror - brings me flowers on a date. I recognize that other people have the right to their own attraction and that masculine lesbians deserve the freedom to explore masculinity on their own terms and be treated with dignity and respect regardless of where that exploration takes them and regardless of who does or does not find them attractive.

That being said, the whole narrative of 'if you find chivalry hot, then you are objectifying butches and you are, in fact, an entitled selfish person' is tiresome. Not all femmes are women but in being chastised for our turn-ons and romantic daydreams (unless we're the Cool Girl who doesn't like flowers and rolls her eyes at romance) I see a lot of the admonishment directed toward cis straight women who dare to swoon when they read romance where the male lead is courteous and generous.

Except, again, butch/femme *is not* man/woman. It's a particular subculture within the lesbian identity and no one is pressuring anyone into conforming to it.

[hwaightme]

I will wait

(masterlist)

🍵pairing: seonghwa x gn!reader 🍵genre: comfort, healing, fluff, confession, friends to lovers, implied slowburn 🍵summary: you would have never expected to be facing your biggest fear over a cooling cup of tea, but here you are, gazing into seonghwa's loving eyes. 🍵wordcount: 2.8k total 🍵warnings/tags: semi-edited, slightly dark humour, mention of relationship trauma, learning to love again, emotional exhaustion, present tense, seonghwa is a loving understanding boy, inner monologues, y/n pov, mutual friend joong 🍵 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🍵 a/n: hello <3 slowly trying to make a return, feeling very rusty... sorry <3 i hope this brings comfort to you <3 reblogs, thoughts and feelings always appreciated.

Wrapped up in routine and basic survival, it is easy to forget your own heart. Similarly, when your heart bears more metaphorical scar tissue than ground for new beginnings, it is easy to abandon frivolous affections in favour of basic human function - so long as the worn out organ beats, everything is good enough. Long gone are the days when you boldly dive into a journey without evaluating the potential consequences, hoping for smooth, never ending roads. Cold, calculated, you consider. And almost one hundred percent of the time, nothing is ever worth it. What could another person bring to you that you cannot bring yourself? Down to heartbreak, you have no trouble being your own worst critic, and happiness? Well, you know what you like best. There simply is no room for anything else, anything more. You float, trying to keep your head above water. 

You have heard far too many things about yourself to continue caring about relationships. Everyone seems to have their own idea and theory about why you are perpetually single, from you being too threatening, to you behaving in some type of way. Well, if your behaviour does not suit someone, you are not about to go out of your way to change yourself to fit another’s standards - you have tried to do that before, everything collapsing and ending catastrophically, leaving you in shambles. If someone is threatened, it is their problem, first and foremost, not yours. Again, you are not going to diminish yourself, admonish yourself when you are trying your damn hardest to stay standing in a world and society that is challenging enough to exist in.

Many have told you to try to flirt ‘for sport’, ‘for fun’, but in your eyes it is a colossal waste of time, energy and your ability to lie. You do enough of that when masking your exhaustion. Some talk of their own successes; relationships that stand the test of time, crushes that turn into partners and long distance turning into close proximity. So what? You are happy for them, in fact, you are elated. Just because you yourself are not in a relationship does not mean you are void of happiness - something that a lot of people appear to either not understand or forget. Much like you get irritated at others not minding their own business, you stick to such rules yourself: your discomfort with people, past disappointments and the occasional pang of solitude are nobody else’s truth but your own. You are the keeper of your life, fatigued, but at least you are honest. To someone. You are not sure who this someone is, but you feel honest.

Jasmine tea in a tall cup in front of you, a dessert, the name of which you already forgot - some kind of special, stand in front of you proudly, aromatic and flavourful. A newly released album by a singer who you discovered a little while ago is playing on the speakers, ever so gently muted by the occasional burst of steam or rumble of the barista machine. It is not the first time you are hearing these songs - on loop, again and again, you are starting to memorise some of the lyrics. Lulling chatter of the workers at the cafe in a language you cannot understand - so melodic, so comforting, so familiar. And here you are, imagining yourself to be another decoration, a chair, a table, plant or light, sitting here, unmoving, soaking in the atmosphere of what you have grown to adore with your whole heart.

There is a reason why you love this little place, tucked away inside the side streets of a busy city. So many people, so many events, so many ups and downs, and through it all, this place stays standing. You met ‘what ifs’ here, spent hours chatting away with someone who you used to know, indulged in maybes, passions, friendships, and through it all, your heart was still so happy. You consider yourself to be harmlessly simple when it comes to things like this - very little is needed to bring a smile to your face and reassure you. Yes, there is never a problem in ‘what’ brings you joy. The issue is in who it is ‘who’ brings, or is meant to bring, this happiness to you. For this reason, you are perfectly content with how you are, having ordered the drink and dessert for yourself, sitting alone at one of the tables, and, with a view unobstructed by some individual who would probably turn into a stranger, taking in the interior and the world visible through the windows. You feel just a smidgen stronger when you step inside this place. A regular, you can chat with the baristas happily and relish in the mutual recognition and warm wishes. This is a tiny little home for you. A home for your heart.

Until right this moment, that is. Until you look up and see an awfully familiar figure slinking past the entrance and giving a light bow to one of the baristas who had spotted him. Until you lock eyes with this personified elegance, and, bewildered, follow his increasing proximity to your table. He is dressed comfortably, but even the most casual garment is made priceless when worn by him - that much you have learned to not be surprised by. Straightened black hair that reaches his shoulders in the back is, again, very befitting the weather and the aesthetic. You cannot hate him nor his looks even if you tried. But would you reveal anything except indifference? Only time can tell. For now, even before he can utter your name - his parted lips suggesting an impending greeting, you merely point at the register, motioning for him to make an order first. It has been only a couple of seconds, but you already want to hide. Looking at your phone you check the time, wondering if you can make up some other travel plan or appointment. Alas, nothing is coming to mind that qualifies as an unwavering obligation. Here’s to being caught off-guard. Particularly embarrassing considering that it is not the first time. Seonghwa - an endearing but dangerously handsome nerd who crashed into your life, as most of your friends had done, is just that little bit too dedicated, that little bit too curious, that little bit too committed to ‘being there for you’. As a friend, surely. 

You sneak the occasional glance at him while he is waiting for his drink of choice - probably a strawberry tea or whatever else that is the antithesis to bitterness. It takes a bit of strength to convince yourself that this is all pure coincidence. Just two friends who happened to see each other in the same cafe that they have both been to before. You do not want your nerves to take over and persuade you to think that there is anything more. It is all too tiring. And so you hide away your unresolved debates in a box deep in your chest, somewhere far enough from that bloodied fist that is making you lightheaded, so far that you find it harder to breathe. But it is nothing; nothing you aren’t used to. It is simple enough - giving Seonghwa a quick smile when he approaches you again with that silly little red drink in his hands, gesturing at the seat opposite you, waiting for him to settle and look up at you with a sparkle in his endless rich chocolate eyes.

“Must be fate, huh?” he jokes, while your grin falters. There he goes again.

“Are you following me, Park?” Your question is delivered without much emotion aside from a raised brow. But you know well enough that this is about as good as using cotton in place of a bullet; Seonghwa keeps on grinning, and takes a quick sip of his tea. 

“No need when you’re always on my mind,” you pretend to feel nauseous from his corny flirting, and roll your eyes. It is despicable how his presence really is entertaining.

“Oh dear. Must be a nightmare. Need a therapist?” 

“This would be the best diagnosis one could ever receive, I fear,” he is spectacularly bold today, that much you can deduce. Contrary to popular descriptions from your other mutual friends, Seonghwa has never been ‘shy’ towards you, and his affection knows no bounds. Be it a random trinket, song link or a sweet word, he truly does seem to have an infinite supply of it - something both perplexing, and enviable. He is a person who is so full of love that it overflows. In short, your opposite.

“Right…” you trail off, not quite sure how to respond. His eyes remain on your face, softening from a bright eagerness to tranquil admiration, “well… what brings you here?”

“Cutting straight to the chase?”

“Tired of running,” your deadpanned response clearly has some kind of impression, as Seonghwa momentarily pauses and purses his lips. 

“Fair enough.”

Tap, tap, another tap on the side of his cup. Finger restlessly tracing his nervousness into the curves and edges of the ceramic. Newfound fascination in counting the crumbs that are like stars on your plate. You count seconds, but each one drags on until it has no meaning. What could be so challenging to put into words? You know, but hope with all your being that you are completely and utterly wrong. In your books, once a person has given up, there is no point in ever reigniting that naive fighting spirit that suffered defeat, only for the risk to have the fall repeat. You wait patiently, suppressing the urge to stand up and walk out.

“Okay, so, I did ask Hongjoong where you were-” he begins with a light simpering smile to mask what you can only read as worry.

“Figured.”

“Mm, alright. Uhm, well. How can I even- so…”

All the signs are evident. You should have known from the moment he entered the cafe. And if not then, then at least from the way he was acting right before this. But you do not have the courage to stop him anymore, choosing to let anguish settle in your bones. He clears his throat, barely audible, perhaps to ground himself yet again. You feel sorry - the trepidation of the heart, the wishes and dreams blending with the present vision, adrenaline and foolishness forcing action. Thankfully, this twisted bouquet of emotional torment is not terminal, if treated correctly. You wait.

“Goodness, I wanted this to be a casual setting and here I am making a big deal out- well, it is a big deal… or, well, it could be if you wanted to- what am I saying-” he stumbles over his own words, which is most certainly something uncharacteristic to him. Seonghwa, normally the one who can encapsulate any situation and sensation in the most wondrous collections of phrases, is at a loss. Might this be terminal?

“Perhaps it is best that I start from the end, then,” you prepare yourself for the worst, “I… I really like you. Really, really like you.”

At least you are prepared.

“Oh…” the single syllable betrays your irrevocably increasing agitation. You don’t ‘love’. You don’t ‘like’. You can’t. You shouldn’t. Does Seonghwa not know what he is walking into?

“I- before you say it, let me… I know that this is terrifying, and hell, I’m so sorry for crashing into your day like this. It was selfish of me. But I just want you to know that no matter what, you will always be an important person to me, a very very important person who makes my life brighter than any star,” you swallow whatever retort lodged in your throat, remaining silent. You cool like the tea in your cup, curious who will leave this cafe shattered. A lukewarm kind of sadness.

Shame on you, for being so closed off. Surely, you should be blaming yourself. Objectively, Seonghwa is beyond lovely. To some, he might be everything. Maybe even to you, he might be something of a balancing force. His fire to your ice, if you were to let yourself indulge in being a tiny bit cheesy. Subjectively, the ice would melt, and put out the fire, or instead turn to wispy steam, blending into promises, equally as airy. It is easy enough to figure out that you are stuck in the latter maze of conclusions.

You could cry. Seonghwa, having noticed a droplet by your cup- be it condensation or a careless descent from a sip turned sour, immediately reaches for a napkin and wipes it away, as if everything that is happening is only natural. As if confessing is nothing out of the ordinary to him. Perhaps this is indeed the case, and you are the only one who has gone to great lengths to disassociate yourself from all things ‘love’. Ballads turn to taunts, poems turn to curses, bouquets turn to rotting litter. How dare Seonghwa show up in your life like this, and threaten to never leave? Your gaze crawls slowly upwards, a frail candlelight extinguished with the roar of his glimmering orbs, already having trailed back to studying you. Your skin crawls at the possibility of him reading your distress - he can, you know he can, he probably is. A shiver travels up your spine. Thankfully, Seonghwa does not mention it, despite the furrowing of his brows being obvious even from the briefest glimpse.

“Well…” your thought ends where it has begun. Words fail you. You clench your fist, instinctively looking for the sleeve of your top to offer some kind of distraction. 

“Hm?” He could be a painting. Every movement effortlessly graceful, he puts models to shame, and gold loses its meaning when faced with his heart. You cannot utter the question plaguing you out loud, but you know that it is the only thing you could possibly manage, and even then, you’d rather forever hold your silence than to see your friend, or not quite friend, be crestfallen. He would lie, he would pretend, all in the efforts to not turn into your mirror. 

“...Why? Why did I say it, right?” Clearly, he knows you too well. You bite your lower lip, and give him a tiny nod while cradling the cup in your hands. His chuckle awakens unwanted butterflies that you attempt to kill with a sword of memories. To no avail. He is not mad nor disappointed, is not lashing out at you and does not seem in any way discouraged. Instead, his hands hover beside yours as he whispers for permission, which you mutely give. He grins, and soon enough, the palms of his hands are caressing your knuckles - reassuring, gentle. 

“I think we are quite similar in some ways. Guided by our morals and beliefs, we act and shape our futures. It just so happens that I believe in love,” a turbulent pause, “...and you. I believe in you. And so I dive headfirst. Into you. And I don’t mind what happens to me, because I still would consider myself lucky to feel what I feel for you.”

“Then you must be aware that… hm, that I am perplexed by this progression?”

“I can explain as many times as you’d like and need.”

“Do my views not bother you? Seonghwa, you are familiar with a lot more than the average person, isn’t that repulsive?” you make an attempt to ruin whatever image he had built up of you in his head, but he would not budge.

“Why would they? I did, I do and I will strive to understand.”

Time fades, and all that remains is an invitation. Hands outstretched, calling for you to take the leap. You are scared out of your mind, unable to see what the future holds. Stone cracks and echoes in your ribcage, sending a ripple through what you had buried. You really shouldn’t, for Seonghwa’s sake, but that little voice in your head is singing, and daring you to try. Would you hate yourself if you would be proven true? Or would parting with Seonghwa be just as sweet as the beginning?

“And what if I- what if I want to… but I need time… to like you…”

“Then I will wait. For as long as you want,” he takes your hands by the fingers, gingerly grasping them and running soothing lines with his thumb, for as long as you need.”

It may be easy to forget your own heart, it may be the case that you are happy alone. But at the same time there is someone who remembers your heart, hoping you would remember theirs. Someone who will wait for you on the other side of solitude, unfreezing and turning the clocks from past to present. Someone who, with every passing day, finds more and more of you to love.

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[overtake]

I’m sorry we need about 5k more words of mechanic Daniel driver max pls and ty!!!

Part One

I’m actually so shocked (but pleasantly surprised and honored!) by people enjoying this verse because I almost deleted it without posting. I don’t have 5k more, but I can offer 1.2k!

I still lowkey hate this - and you can definitely tell I have no vision for where this story would go, hence why it’s just harping on the same 3 details we already knew - but it’s all yours and I hope you have a good time reading it anyway :)

Five minutes into pretending to examine an engine instead of obsess over what Max said, Daniel breaks.

“Did you mention me to Max?” he asks Cyril, trying to come across casual.

Cyril looks at him disbelievingly. “Max Verstappen is in our garage and you think I talked about you at all?”

Daniel lifts a hand to his chest and feigns being shot. “People love me, you know. Guys are all over this.”

Cyril heaves out a long-suffering sigh. “Get to work, Daniel.”

Daniel’s lucky, given his condition, that everything is relatively routine today. He does three oil changes, and he could kiss those people’s feet for it.

He’s mentally preparing himself to slide under a car, wincing at much more congested he’ll be once he emerges again, when Max suddenly appears in the corner of the garage.

“Hello,” he says. He does a cute little half-wave to get Daniel’s attention.

“Hey,” Daniel says, straightening and rubbing his grimy hands on his thighs. “Cyril’s working on your car, so he’ll have any updates you need.”

“It’s not my car, just a rental,” Max dismisses. “No, I just have …” He cuts himself off, turns a sweet pink on the apples of his cheeks. “You sounded sick earlier and looked really pale. I brought you soup.”

He lifts a takeaway bag from the cafe down the street, which usually specializes in ten dollar lattes and sandwiches with names so cutesy, you have to practice five times to order without shame.

Daniel smiles at the idea of Max Verstappen, world champion, saying one of those horrible names for Daniel’s benefit. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you. Let me pay you back.”

Max shakes his head. “It’s my thanks for fixing the car.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “So what soup did you get Cyril, who’s actually doing that?”

Max scrunches his nose in disgust. “You cannot expect me to say the name Noodle Nest Paradise more than one time.”

“How many times did you laugh trying to get that out?”

Max shudders. “I pretended to speak really bad English and just pointed at the menu.”

“So you could’ve ordered multiple,” Daniel points out. Max very blatantly pretends not to hear. He focuses instead on pulling a little bag from the order and holding it up proudly, smiling a crinkly-eyed smile.

“I got you crackers!”

Eating soup with Max Verstappen is an out of body experience.

Daniel’s been eating his soup over the coffee table in the office because it felt wrong to make Max sit at the grimy, wobbly table in the closet-sized corner of the garage where Daniel and Cyril usually change and scarf down meals. This, however, means they’re stuck together on the loveseat. Max’s expensive skinny jeans knock knees with Daniel’s greasy coveralls when they get too into the conversation.

Daniel knows he’s being a terrible conversationalist, especially at first. His normal easy charisma is buried somewhere in the pile of tissues he’s burning through. He’s basically just answering Max’s rapid-fire questions about his life, his job, his family, his non-existent partner (“do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything?” Max had asked, and looked remarkably pleased by Daniel’s answer of no).

Daniel’s about 87% sure he’s being hit on right now. It’s a nice confidence booster given how much of a mess he looks, but it’s not like it matters. Max is Max, and Max is F1, and Max doesn’t live here.

He likes Max, though, the longer they talk. He likes his eagerness, his down-to-earth nature, his total lack of interest in discussing racing. Max delights in all Daniel’s behaviours that usually make people roll their eyes and wait for him to be done, whereas Max leans into Daniel’s dumb songs or drawn out jokes. He likes the long lashes that frame Max’s bright, happy eyes, and soft double chin he gets when he ducks his head into his laugh.

Daniel’s not sure how much time passes before Cyril comes in, but he knows his voice has faded to practically nothing, and he’s having to constantly turn to avoid coughing on Max.

Cyril’s timing is rather unfortunate, entering just as Daniel breaks into a particularly rough wheeze. Max is patting his back gently, which Cyril will definitely have words about later. Presently, however, he seems too concerned about Daniel’s wellbeing to lecture him about appropriate contact with famous customers.

“Daniel. Go home,” he orders, voice kind but firm. His tone leaves no room for argument, not that Daniel really wants to fight him on it. He’s enjoying this, but his brain and body feel as if they’re wading through a pool of thick custard.

“Are you okay to drive?” Max checks. His eyebrows are knitted in sweet concern, like Daniel actually might keel over and die in the ten-minute ride home.

“All good,” Daniel promises. He stands, then promptly has to collapse back onto the couch when black spots dot his vision.

“I’m driving you,” Cyril says firmly.

“I just stood up too fast.” Sure, he’s a little woozier than expected, but he could do this drive blindfolded and half-dead.

“I’ll drive you,” Max says. “I mean, Cyril has work to do, but I’m just sitting here.”

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me or steal my car?” Daniel rasps.

“He’s not worth kidnapping, and selling his car probably couldn’t cover an oil change for the kinds of cars you drive,” Cyril informs Max. He ignores Daniel’s protests, then pushes Daniel back down to the couch when he half-rises from it.

“Stay. I will get your keys and bag.”

The second Daniel’s brain understands that he’s off-duty, that it’s no longer expected to carry him through the day, it mostly blacks out, and everything is a blur from there.

He’s pretty confident Cyril steals his phone to call his mum, which is vaguely embarrassing but perhaps necessary given his current state. He knows Cyril gives Max directions to Daniel’s parents’ place instead of his own. He feels Max’s hands help him into the passenger seat, and he definitely mutters some fever-addled sentences on the drive. That’s about all he remembers until he wakes up in his childhood bed, shivering and sweating while his mum runs a hand through his hair and forces medicine down his throat, before he falls back asleep again.

When he finally comes to enough to make his way downstairs, he finds his parents seated at the kitchen table. His mum jumps up, forces him into a chair and fusses over him while simultaneously lecturing him about going to work sick. His dad just sits there, eyebrows half-raised, until Daniel is settled with food and water.

“So. You had an exciting day at work.”

He slides a piece of scrap paper across the table. There, under some advertisement for gardening services, is a scrawled message in red pen:

It was lovely to meet you (again). I hope the terribly named soup made you feel better! :)

- Max

Under his name, Max has scrawled a phone number.

Daniel runs his finger over the lines, feeling the imprint of each number that Max etched into the paper. It’s neatly written, far more cautious and intentional than the rest of the words, as if to ensure that no digit could be misread or smudged.

Daniel pauses, processes the full note, and double backs to the word ‘again.’

“Yeah,” Daniel croaks through the stabbing pains in his throat. He stares at the word harder, like it might reveal what the fuck Max means by again. “I guess today was pretty interesting.”

[suncaptor]

Like I think Feferi and Vriska are SUCH good contrasts of both people who fundamentally want to be strong markers of change and good while growing up in a fundamentally violent society. I also think they clash about it as well, why Vriska is one of the few people to bristle about Feferi.

Because like. Vriska is completely consumed by the violence and strength and markers of heroism. She is not lacking of empathy or desire for good, and she genuinely seems to resent not having another way to achieve these well set desires inside her. She is also incredibly abusive and violent, and these traits have been forced into her. If she did not kill as a young child, she would die. Feferi on the other hand needed to engage in violence too in order to prevent mass death, but she did not and instead that fell onto Eridan, in part because him & Vriska did take that responsibility up, but also because she cannot stand the violence. Vriska is also groomed into violence again which leads her to the killing her friend. It absolutely devastates her, and it was NOT her first impulse. She just wanted to hide when Aradia tried to get her back with ghosts. Vriska is incredibly sensitive, incredibly full of guilt, and is utterly in conflict with her role in the world she grew up in. Even if that doesn't dispel the incredible violence she entertains. She wants to change things, but she is trapped in the rules of how things are.

Feferi on the other hand is specifically put in a place where violence is expected of her, but she does get out of the demands. She wants to change the way her society works, and she's got enough privilege to entertain a world she is not placed as some complete victim of. She hates the violence around her, and she has this entire colonising violent galactic empire on her shoulders. But she also does not hesitate to be willing to kill one of her old best friends. She does not hesitate to cut things off with him as his moirail when she doesn't need him anymore either. She has an instinctual capacity for violence she refuses to entertain, but it does exist within her. She is not made of the same sensitivity and empathy, and this often makes those sort of things tricky for her. But it doesn't stop her deep desire for actual real change to make her society better. She wants to be sweet. She has had the opportunity to know kindness, and that's what she wants to make of things. She's too privileged to completely understand, but she knows what is happening is wrong, and she wants to change the rules of how things work.

And they're both so very young too. These things inside of them and ingrained into them are in some vacuum of traumatised youth circumstances to high stakes in the game. Being a kid and growing up is hard and no one understands. Especially when you die before you get the chance.

[affectionatecorpse]

Okay so I see some people are debating what the monster from Still Wakes the Deep is. I'm inspired by the support from my Death Angel post, so I'm gonna try giving an analysis. Now science is not my strong suit, I'm much better at zoology, but here we go.

Of course, spoilers ahead!

So, the entity comes to light in act one. While Caz is being yelled at by his power drunk boss, Rennick, a worker going by the name Gibbo calls up to say there's an issue with the drill, something highlighted earlier by another worker. Rennick orders the drilling anyway, and thus begins the nightmare, as the drill seems to unearth and awaken a destructive parasite out for revenge. But I don't think that's as deep as it goes, pun intended.

Let's say, the creature is a parasite. A form of near sentient bacteria, though take that description with a grain of salt, I'm no scientist. Parasites simply cannot live on their own. That's an objective fact. They need a host. They exist within another for survival and breeding purposes, and multiply and spread through the body of another.

Parasites, bacteria and even fungi can live underground for years, and have been discovered to do so. Ancient lifeforms have been discovered just under the surface of earth, let alone deep underneath the ground and in the bottom of our oceans, one of the most complex and diverse biomes that our current science has barely scratched the surface of. It's highly likely this creature is a self replicating bacteria or parasite that was unearthed by the drill, and took up new hosts to survive in this change of environment.

But not every host worked. You can see half transformed, mutilated bodies everywhere, and some that haven't even changed at all. These bodies could not support the parasite and shortly died.

However, a few select hosts DID end up surviving; Gibbo, Muir, Rennick, Addair and Trots. It's unclear what sets these people apart from the others, and I don't know enough about this topic to claim an answer. But I certainly do think these folks died soon into the transformation, and are not fully conscious in the body. They frequently repeat terms and phrases, and never say anything you might expect from an entity possessing them, implying it's borrowing words and sentences that have been said by the host before, in other circumstances.

The entity plays with Caz's memories and definitely the others' too, though not all of them good. It wouldn't be a surprise to realise that's where it's getting information about it's host, as it reads the memories inside the brain to learn faces, names, and even the host's personality. Which makes me wonder, does it even realise what it looks like? Does the creature itself actually realise it's a parasite? Or does it completely and fully believe it is the person it's connected itself to? It almost downloads their personality and tries to pretend like everything is completely normal.

Let's talk about arguably the best monster (in my opinion), Muir. Muir moves about the area he frequently worked as what I assume was an engineer. He roams the familiar ground, almost unsure of why he's by himself. He often calls out to his coworkers, wondering out loud why they're treating him like he's different. Sure, this could be the real Muir's consciousness slipping in and out of the seams, but it's highly unlikely he would still be alive. Much like the zombie fungus, as it's often called, the host is not alive when the fungus is controlling it, and is merely a puppet. If the spiders it was corrupting could talk, I daresay, they'd be acting like them. Taking their place in the world, even if they don't realise it.

But every animal needs to eat. And eventually, that body is going to run out of tasty, tasty neurons. Like I said earlier, a parasite needs to spread. It'll breed, then spread to another to keep it's species alive. By infiltrating a 'pack' of animals, it will take anything to spread to the others. Which is exactly what the parasite does whenever it sees another human. Either that, or it will consume them, theoretically to feed the host so it stays alive, while keeping those tasty, tasty neurons for itself. You can almost see this process with Innes, as the elevator ascends without him, and you just faintly see Muir doing something in the distance. Likely consuming him for nutrients, as he was not connected to the parasite yet.

Next, there's Addair.

Addair, much like Muir, patrols familiar ground. Even though Addair himself wasn't even in that area when the drill struck. Now Muir was actively in that familiar space in the beginning, and it's safe to assume that's his place of transformation. But Addair was eating in the cafeteria when the incident happened, not deep down in the engine. Did he go down when the impact happened, while Caz was unconscious? Maybe. But the lights were fine then, and the engine wasn't the problem, so he didn't need a reason to. Plus, he doesn't seem like the type to be work dedicated, more inconvenience dedicated. Considering what I said about the parasite (badly) taking their place in society, did it go to his place of work after detecting that as his 'natural environment', per se?

Plus, unlike Muir, who greets the situation with quotes of confusion, fear and anxiety, Addair is instantly aggressive. Even an asshole like Addair is likely to panic if conscious in this situation, so the nervousness was Gibbo and Muir exclusive. But Addair and Rennick become immediately angry upon seeing Caz, as they actively disliked him in life, and so the parasite processes him as a foe to it's host. I thought that was neat.

Now another take I have admittedly heard from several other people, but I thought was worth mentioning. The monsters are incredibly similar to sea creatures. Which means this underwater bacteria was possibly leaking out already, and transforming our animals, not enough to completely corrupt them, but enough to twist their bodies. Think of the appearances of deep, deep sea creatures, such as the anglerfish. Isn't it possible this parasite was responsible for their uncanny appearance, in this universe? Muir especially looks like a spider crab, or perhaps even a bigfin squid.

Which again, is a deep sea creature. Rennick also reminds me of a blobfish once removed from the pressure of the deep sea. Addair seems very jellyfish-like, but may be something else very... tick-like. And even Trots gives me major merfolk vibes, with how untouched his torso is in comparison to his lower half.

This parasite could have been feeding off the neurons and breeding through our very ecosystem as the ground slowly gave away above it. The drill unearthing the source likely gave it a burst of control as so much energy was released at once, hence why it was so fast to literally spiral out of control.

But Scotland, by all means, is not the only place in the world connected to the ocean. Sure, they destroyed this batch, but other forms of this parasite live on elsewhere on earth. And the explosion may not have even destroyed it. It definitely would've destroyed the host bodies, yes, but certain bacterias can survive impressive damage, even heat hot enough to burn off human flesh. We'd best hope this is not one of those bacterias.

I didn't really get as far with this observation as I did with other horror studies, but I had fun nonetheless! Like I said, I'm really better with zoology (hence the sudden enthusiasm when I started on sea creatures), but I loved Still Wakes the Deep SO much that I just wanted to write down my thoughts. If you have any other theories, feel free to add them!

Also if I used your pictures/gifs and you would like me to add credit, I am so so sorry, I will absolutely add that as soon as you say so, I just got most of these off Google and couldn't find most the original sources. So yeah if you'd like me to add your name and mention, or you want me to remove it in general, feel free to just say and I'll add it, I don't bite I promise. Well... I won't bite YOU.

Sorry sorry, had to make a zombie reference--

[icyg4l]

Pick-A-Couple: What Does A Healthy Love Look Like for You?

Hello beautiful people. Thank you so much for the support that you have given me over the past week. I really appreciate it. This week, I will have uploaded some Pick-A-Piles (plural) regarding love since that seems to be a highly requested type of reading. But for today, the topic is all about how you can achieve a healthy love. Now, this will be divided into two parts; for the singles and those who are in relationships. The singles will receive information about how they can achieve a healthy love, and those who are in a relationship will receive information as a checkpoint for comparison! Without further ado, please select your pile!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile 1A: Alright Singles of Pile One, it feels like you typically wear the pants in a relationship, lol. I don’t feel that this is by choice, but it’s just a role you naturally assume. If you are attracted to cisgendered heterosexual men, they may feel ‘emasculated’ by your ability to lead and take charge. But if this statement does not apply to you, I feel like you just take on the role of the ‘masculine’ roles. You kill the bugs. You fix the holes in the wall. You take out the trash. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But if you’re single and ready to mingle, you don’t have to suffer in silence like a man would, lol. If you would like someone to take on this, then say that. I get the feeling that this pile is full of first born children or children who had to grow up super fast. You should partner up with someone who is willing to take the lead half of the time while looking at you as an equal; not idolizing you or making you feel small. I think that healthy love for you is something that makes you feel like a kid. It’s something that does not feel like a burden or a responsibility. Stop letting people take advantage of you, Pile 1A. Healthy love is something that does not rush its way into your life. Remember that part! I feel that you have a high sex drive as well. You will end up meeting your match. Some of you feel like you will never find someone who is as good as you in the bedroom but this is false. You need to be open and willing to see where life takes you. You do not have to be rigid. Once you let go of all of these expectations for what you originally thought love was, you will find its healthy version made just for you.

Cards Used: The Hermit, The Fool, The Lovers, Three of Wands, Two of Wands, The Chariot, The Hanged Man and Ace of Wands.

extras: big hats. philanthropy. sparkling water. aquamarine (2006). katy perry. flossing. “you can't handle this”. tiger stripes. pharrell and kelis obsession. assertive and passionate. avid reader. poker face.

Pile 1B: This pile is for my people who have been with their people for a lifetime. Are you with someone who you have been with since high school/college, Pile 1B? I think that you have been with your person, supporting them through the ups and downs, trials and tribulations. You may feel as though no one else is for you. But for a healthy love to exist, it is okay to exist outside of your relationship. Things should not get codependent in a healthy relationship. If you cannot leave your partner at home, then please find them a friend! This may sound crazy but distance will help strengthen your relationship. At first, it may seem like the end of the world because y’all aren’t with each other but you’ll quickly realize there’s nothing wrong with this. Another quality of what healthy love looks like for you all is the ability to confront challenges almost immediately. Passive aggressiveness will not solve your problems, Pile 1B. Outward aggression will not help you guys either if there is nothing to channel that energy. Use that energy to defend one another from anyone who has a vendetta against your relationship and move on! And lastly, I feel like you and your partner have to be willing to post one another… For you, sharing your love story to the world is a must and this is literally just for you, Pile 1B.

Cards Used: Ace of Discs, The Hermit (RX), The Sun, Knight of Swords, The Chariot, 10 of Swords, Four of Wands, Three of Discs, 9 of DIscs.

extras: knight in shining armor. kindergarten class. pigtails. kissy face. movie theater candy. sweat stains. a$ap rocky streamer. sims 3 expansion pack. blue-in-the-face. “heart-to-heart”.

Pile 2A: For my single pile 2s! Now I’ve heard about you, Pile 2A. You’re the friend who has the tendency to make excuses for their romantic partner/love interest. You really don’t have to do that, you know? Part of a healthy love is accepting them for who they are. If you have to imagine a different scenario with them, then that’s not your person and quite frankly, they should not be with anyone! Loyalty is something that is owed on both ends, so if they aren’t holding up their end of the bargain, then leave! Forgiveness is not something that should be given to everyone in your case. You have a really big heart and you should be more stingy with it based on what you’ve experienced in the past. A healthy love with you requires patience because what you’ve been exposed to has not been the best. And for that, I’m sorry, Pile 2A. In a healthy relationship, you will achieve harmony and equality. You will be recognized as a person with real and actual feelings. You will not be seen as a trophy or a doormat. It feels like your higher self is activating. They’re telling you not to fall into that same pattern again. Know your worth, Pile 2A and you will attract the love that you deserve.

Cards Used: The Lovers, Knight of Cups (RX), The Hanged Man, Eight of Cups (RX), Strength, The Sun, The High Priestess, Queen of Cups.

extras: “separate”. glassy eyes. weed. monsters under my bed. trauma porn. tiktok storytimes. blossom.

Pile 2B: Everything is going to be alright, Pile 2B. Have you recently gotten into a fight with your significant other? I think it was blown out of proportion to be honest. But the qualities of healthy love for you lie in you and your partner’s ability to resolve issues amicably and directly. I think that if you address things from the beginning, it won’t be as bad. The strength that comes from being vulnerable with one another will grow more intense each time. Similar to Pile 1B, you have to be okay with being by yourself at times. It is okay to be distanced from your partner. Give yourself time to miss them. I also feel that with this pile, you have the tendency to point the finger at your partner when that’s not really necessary. I am channeling the energy of Marcus and Angela. Name-calling one another is not okay! Working through your own personal issues will be valuable at this time. I think that in order for you to be in a healthy union with your partner, y’all may have to separate for a while just to get it together.

Cards Used: 10 of Cups, Death, 9 of Discs, Prince of Discs, Strength (RX), 5 of Cups, The Emperor, 2 of Swords, 7 of Swords, Temperance.

extras: misplaced anger. dark cave. drowning. partynextdoor. water signs. tangent. shrek 2 (2004).

Pile 3A: For the singles of Pile 3! You have it altogether, don’t you?? Pile 3A, it feels like you seem to have all the good qualities of a partner from the outside looking in. You have a life outside of your potential relationship (s). You are established financially. You are clever, intuitive and aren’t afraid to speak up for others. You seem to have a good sense of self too. But for some reason, you just can’t find that one person that is for you. Well, for starters, you have to learn how to match people’s energy, darling. A closed mouth never gets fed, remember that. When it comes to love, it feels like you can attract people who are not on the same wavelength as you. There’s a dynamic that I am thinking of where one person is more talkative than the other. The talkative person believes that they are talking too much because the quiet one isn’t saying anything. Why don’t you say anything, Pile 3A? Are you embarrassed to be seen in a way that would require vulnerability resulting in your mask coming off? I feel like a healthy love for you requires an extra dose of intimacy even though it makes you uncomfortable. Getting out of your comfort zone is a must for you. You also need to be okay with accepting help/assistance from your partner. You cannot do everything by yourself. Anyone that lets you do everything is not the ‘somebody’ for you. And lastly, healthy love is empowering for you. Your healthy partner will introduce you to new activities that will make you feel brand new.

Cards Used: Two of Discs, The Hermit, The Emperor, Ace of Swords, Eight of Swords, 7 of Cups, King of Discs, 2 of Wands, The High Priestess

extras: beyonce energy. nature. empty laundry basket. 11 something. expensive perfume. sheer.

Pile 3B: This is what happens when you put two middle children in a relationship. Pile 3B, I feel like there is this unconscious need to dominate your partner. Why is that? You are supposed to feel seen by your partner and if you aren’t being seen, then you need to say that. If the roles are flipped and you feel dominated but aren’t saying anything, then you need to express that. This relationship feels new. Yes, you have a good relationship on the surface but say it or be ready to have a shit ton of problems. I think that you’re submissive in the bedroom and want those roles to remain the same outside of the bedroom as well. However, it cannot be that way. For your healthy partnership, I feel like quickies will be beneficial for you, lol. I think this pile has a sexual nature to them and it cannot be ignored. I also feel like gentle words of affirmation are a must for the both of you. Call them beautiful. Allow yourself to be complimented as well. And remember, you are a team. Y’all aren’t each other’s oppositions. Switching roles day in and day out will remind you guys that the presence/absence is felt! Now, kiss!

Cards Used: 7 of Cups, King of Discs, Judgment. 8 of Wands, The Hermit, The Moon, Death, 9 of Discs, The Chariot, 5 of Wands, Wheel of Fortune (RX), Queen of DIscs.

extras: heater cord. dominatrix. motivation. grace-giver. flirtatious. pick-up lines. call me maybe.

Pile 4A: For my singles of Pile Four! Is your devil-may-care attitude affecting the outcome of your relationships? (Yes, it is). Pile 4A, I feel like your need to seem nonchalant has run its course. I feel like you’ve been told about yourself enough so there’s no point in me telling you what you already know. But remember this, in an equal relationship, you must sacrifice your ego. Put your pride aside and let them know how you feel. I don’t think you’ve ever been in a relationship before or you haven’t been in a labeled relationship. In order to be in a healthy relationship, you have to act like you want to be there, first of all! Don’t entertain people just because they like you or because you’re bored. That’s mean and it wastes people’s time. I think that you also have to keep in mind that if you are returning to the same dynamic, you are part of the problem dawg. A healthy relationship for you is a relationship where you do not hold onto the same expectations and instead, you are encouraged to do better. It’s something that transforms you and helps you acknowledge where all of your behaviors came from. It’s something that helps you flourish into a more mature, grown-up version of yourself. It’s all up to you whether or not you take this advice. Either way, you have to do better, Pile 4A.

Cards Used: Four of Discs, The Magician, Nine of Discs, Two of Cups, King of Wands (RX), Death.

extras: “too high to care”. eyeballing. free-for-all. attack on titan. blue faces. paramore. “give it up, deelishis”.

Pile 4B: I feel like the person this pile is with currently definitely wants to get married/have children with their person. But this rough patch is incredibly steep, Pile 4B. So I will ask the following questions for this pile: Do you feel obligated to tolerate your person? Is there anyone that is talking you out of fights with this person? If so, do they pick sides? Is the relationship dynamic fixable? Ask yourself these questions and answer honestly. A healthy love for you is something that makes you feel safe and comforted. It allows you to feel free. It does not make you feel carried away with life nor is it overwhelming. A love that is for you and you only. But I feel that this union is meant to be fought for because the amount of passion that both of you bring to the table is once-in-a-lifetime. I am channeling the energy of Rebecca and Jack Pearson from This is Us. Their energies were definitely meant for each other! I’m not saying you should ignore your feelings but really think about how this healthy love looks in your life, Pile 4B. It may seem worse than what it is, but it’s not. The channeled song is ironic because it’s like you think you’re the couple arguing on the song but you’re not! Good days are on the way.

Cards Used: Death, 7 of Discs, 7 of Wands, The Star (RX), Queen of Cups, The Hierophant, Justice, The Hanged Man, 4 of Wands, 7 of Cups, 8 of Swords (RX), Ten of Discs.

extras: arranged. hbo max. “what’s on tv?” sewerage. cowardly. “baby moms.” dog days are over. couples therapy. courthouse.

[illuminatedferret]

With the new edits to Xie Lian's request to be banished again rather than fight Lang Qianqiu, I'm really struck by the gravity of Hua Cheng rejecting his ascension again. We conflate being a Heavenly Official with being a god, being a god with being beneath Jun Wu's dominion, but that's really not the case. Ascension and godhood are natural consequences of diligence and cultivation, not something handed out because you impressed the right person. And yet as more people ascend, they fight, they bump elbows, they learn to live among one another, regulating each other and developing a 'status quo' for godhood.

This is the Heavenly Court- not a natural location, but a system constructed to exercise control over gods and godhood. A place just as coveted as it is full of rules and expectations, just as unforgiving as it is illustrious. Yet the violence inherent in the heavens, in Jun Wu's rule, is never truly addressed. And that violence can be boiled down into one simple question:

Do people have the right to say no to godhood?

For all intents and purposes, it seems that few people view ascensions as a bad thing. The only case we have of someone outright rejecting the heavens and doing so on their own terms is Hua Cheng. And as far as we can tell, no one ever follows up with him over this, but we can't forget his unique circumstances: his ghosthood, his place in Mount Tonglu, his soon-to-come power as one of the strongest men in the world, all allow him to pull off this escape and land himself a position where the heavens cannot afford to punish him, even if they want to. But for a more average person, what would happen if they said no?

And if Jun Wu accepts that "no" (if he accepts any no), does it come with no strings attached? What are the odds he allows this mold-breaker to walk out the doors without some sort of condition in place? Let me remind you, godhood is not contingent on his approval- rejecting the heavens doesn't make you stop being a god. Really, isn't rejecting the heavens rejecting him and his rule, more than anything else? He cannot make someone a god, and he cannot truly make them stop being a god, either. It is a privilege of his position (and power) that he can pretend otherwise, and he has to go to extreme lengths (the cursed shackles) to do so.

What ruler wouldn't see it as an act of disrespect that someone wants to leave their court? What ruler would willfully allow someone to leave the heavens and become what is fundamentally a rogue agent? It flies in the face of the purpose of the Heavenly Court. Surely this hypothetical person allowed to leave ends up like Xie Lian: shackled, deprived of at least the ability to hear prayers. At worst, Jun Wu may decide someone who rejects the heavens rejects the cultivation that brought them there as well, and seal their spiritual power too. But with those sorts of caveats, who would choose to leave? And to deprive people of choice is inherently violence.

In one act, Hua Cheng not only rejects the heavens but bucks their yoke, escaping the system of power and control that demands obedience from everyone unto the man on top. This is a far, far more significant and noteworthy act than is addressed. While he clearly cares little for it, Hua Cheng is a god, making him the only god in the world truly removed from Jun Wu's control and influence. He exists outside of the heavens' system, and thus paves the way for a space similarly divorced from the control of the heavens, where people can live without fear of censure or persecution from the people the world insists are their betters.

[coloursflyaway]

Good Enough

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.000

Read on AO3

So, Edwin is in love with him.

Edwin loves him, and Charles genuinely never even considered the possibility of this, of them, before.

It might be because, back when he was still alive, his dad would have beaten the notion right out of him, but then again, his dad has been wrong about most things in his life, so fuck him.

So, Edwin is in love with him.

It’s… quite flattering, actually. To think that Edwin, who is beautiful and intelligent and educated, who can recite his favourite Keats poem by heart just as easily as tell you his favourite Mozart aria (it’s Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen from Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Edwin told him that, years ago), who knows spells and can read ancient Aramaic, who is the kindest, most brilliant person Charles has ever known, would love him.

Now, Charles knows that he is easy enough on the eyes, good with words and people, and has one hell of a swing if you give him a cricket bat, but the only reason he knows any Mozart aria is because Edwin showed them to him.

The only reason he knows Keats’ poetry is because Edwin would read them to him on slow, warm summer nights in the early 2000s.

The only reason he is here, is because Edwin let him stay.

So, it’s special, having someone like Edwin love him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Because Charles is now holding the heart of the person he loves most in the world, and it’s a bigger responsibility than any he has ever taken on before.

He can’t fuck this up.

The thing is that nothing changes between them at all.

Charles isn’t sure if he expected it to, but what he is relatively certain about is that it most likely should. After all, it was an unexpected revelation, probably to both of them, definitely a shift in their relationship.

And yet, when Charles looks at Edwin, who is reading a novel whose name he cannot make out, curled up on the couch they have gotten for Crystal (and sometimes Jenny), he doesn’t feel different at all.

It’s still Edwin, his best mate, the boy that read to him when he was dying so he wouldn’t have to do it alone, who tries to smile whenever Charles shows him a new song he has fallen in love with, and occasionally fails hilariously at, who Charles would protect with his life and his soul and his cricket bat, no matter how high the stakes.

I love you the most, Charles thinks to himself, and smiles, because nothing about that has changed, either.

He has told Edwin that they would have forever to figure out the rest, and it’s the truth, technically speaking.

However, Charles doesn’t, because it’s Edwin and he has given Charles his heart and he doesn’t deserve to wait that long for an answer. It would be cruel in a way Charles cannot comprehend, and if there is anyone who doesn’t deserve more cruelty in their existence, it’s Edwin Payne.

The only problem with that fact is that Charles doesn’t know the answer.

He’s been thinking about it a lot, but the thing is, he’s never been in love before.

So he doesn’t really know what to compare his feelings for Edwin to, because, of course, they are greater than for anyone else, of course, Charles would sacrifice anything and anyone for Edwin, especially himself, of course, making Edwin smile is his favourite part of any day.

Because he loves Edwin, everything about him.

But is he, could he be, in love with Edwin?

Charles doesn’t know, nor does he know how to find out. It’s not like he hasn’t tried, but every novel he has paged through, every silly romcom he has watched, has been talking about butterflies in someone’s stomach, of seeing them in some new, golden light, of hearing violins playing when they speak, and Charles very much doubts that Edwin feels any of those things for him.

Otherwise he wouldn’t raise his eyebrows like that when he thinks Charles is being an insufferable little prick, he wouldn’t roll his eyes and tell him, “I know, Charles, you have told me a thousand times before”, whenever Charles brings up how much he wishes he could still taste things, or groan whenever Charles attempts to convince him to just try and let him put on some eyeliner.

(It’s just that Edwin would look so pretty like that, some kohl to bring out the warmth of his eyes, making them stand out even more than they do anyway.)

So all this talk of violins and sparkles and the need to give someone roses, if Edwin doesn’t feel that when he says he is love with Charles, then it’s pointless to consider, and anyway, those books and films describe people who have just met, not those who have known each other for twice as long as they were alive.

Maybe if he had just met Edwin, he would be hearing violins, Charles definitely thinks it’s possible.

Especially the violins in Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen.

“I just need some time alone”, Crystal says, putting on her jacket, while already opening the door. “And I am aware that that is a novel concept for the two of you, since you are basically attached at the hip, but for me, an alive human being, it’s really important to occasionally have a second of peace between almost dying and whatever we will have going on next.”

She stops to put on her shoes, almost falling over in the process, and Charles and Edwin share a look, a smile, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

“Don’t follow me”, Crystal tells them, especially Charles, and it’s kind of cute, actually. “I’m going to get the biggest frappuchino Starbucks is legally allowed to serve me and I will not tolerate any ghostly company while doing that.”

Charles holds up his hands, still grinning, indicating his surrender in a battle he wasn’t aware they were fighting, and Crystal gives him a single nod before she walks out.

“So”, Charles starts, and turns around to face Edwin, who is already looking back, “what do we think this frappuchino she was talking about, is?”

Actually, there is one thing that changes between them after all.

It’s subtle, at least at first, but looking back, Charles isn’t quite sure how he managed to miss it for the few weeks that have passed. Maybe it was the shock of almost being forced to move on to the afterlife, the chaos of getting Crystal and Jenny settled in London, the fact that it seems to increase only slowly, incrementally.

Edwin has never been a physically affectionate person, completely contrary to how Charles is.

If it had been up to him alone, he would have hugged Edwin much more often, would have leant against him when they were looking through a book together, would have held hands to keep them from losing each other when things got hectic. But it wasn’t, and that was fine, so it was occasional touches instead, a hand on Edwin’s upper arm, his back, ruffling his perfect hair when he was doing something kind of dumb, kind of cute.

(That one always made him duck his head and smile, glance up at Charles through his lashes and allow a second to pass before he started fixing his hair again.)

Now, however, it’s… it’s not getting better, because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place, Edwin’s aversion to physical affection, but it is changing now.

It’s less that he initiates it, more than he allows it to happen more frequently. Sitting down next to Charles on the sofa instead of taking the armchair, allowing Charles’ hand to linger on his arm for a moment longer than expected, letting their shoulders brush when walking.

He’s not asking to be touched, not really, but something about it still makes Charles irrationally happy as soon as he catches onto it. Because Edwin deserves all the affection the world can offer, and Charles will always be here to give it to him.

So he reaches out in the morning, when the sun has just started to rise, and puts his hand on the curve of Edwin’s shoulder, right where it meets his neck, and points out that the clouds are turning the most beautiful pink. He throws his legs across Edwin’s lap when they settle down on the sofa at night, a book in Edwin’s hands, the tablet Crystal made him buy in Charles’. He pushes his fingers through Edwin’s hair, not to ruffle it, but just to pretend he can feel its softness against his skin.

It makes Edwin duck his head again, give Charles a little smile when looking up, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

And thinks, I want to love you the most in every way you will have me.

“Jenny, I have a question”, Charles starts as soon as he has phased through the walls of her new butcher shop. It’s to her credit that she hardly reacts; the first time he had done that, she had thrown a meat cleaver right through his head. “What do you know about love?”

Instead of a knife, Jenny just throws him a weary look, an eyebrow elegantly arched. It makes Charles think of being scolded by the headmistress, a sensation that should be much more unpleasant than it is.

“Nothing”, Jenny answers and brings her cleaver down with a dull thud, separating flesh from bone, before looking up at Charles again. “No one ever knows anything about love and if they try to tell you otherwise, they are lying.”

There is a certain sense of finality in her voice and Charles knows he has been dismissed, no detention this time, but don’t dare to push it.

“Great”, he mutters, more to himself than to Jenny, “that doesn’t help me at all.”

“You should look at this, Charles”, Edwin says and turns the book towards him.

It’s late at night, Crystal having long since gone home and they are sat on the sofa, shoulders touching while they do their research. A new case has come up, and Edwin is trying to learn more about ancient Celtic runes, while Charles is pouring over a map of London’s underground; now, he looks up and at the page Edwin is showing him.

“We could add this to your bat”, Edwin explains, “it’s a rune for physical strength. Supposedly, it doubles whatever force you put into a hit.”

“Edwin, mate, are you trying to tell me I need help with hitting people?”

Charles is grinning, obviously teasing, and Edwin just scoffs, rolls his eyes.

And that is what Charles means; this isn’t birdsong and candle light, this is just how they always have been. This is what makes them them, even.

“Charles, do be serious”, Edwin replies, but there is affection in his voice, there is love. “I am perfectly aware that you can hit things very well, but that doesn’t mean that hitting them even better wouldn’t be an advantage.”

“I know. This is brills”, Charles concedes, and on a whim, nothing more than that, presses a quick kiss to Edwin’s cheek.

For a moment, he almost expects Edwin to admonish him, because this isn’t exactly something that they do, but instead he stares at him, before he ducks his head; Charles isn’t sure how he knows this, but if Edwin could, he would be blushing.

And it does something to Charles’ head, the thought that he would be able to make Edwin blush. It makes him stop dead in his tracks, look at Edwin not like he is seeing him for the first time, but like he could be looking at him for the rest of his existence and not get bored of it.

“Do you wanna do the honours of carving it? Since you were the one who found the thing?”, he asks just to say something, aware that his voice sounds slightly off, and thinks, I love you the most. I love you the most. I love you the most.

“Very well done, Charles”, Edwin tells him and clasps a long-fingered hand on Charles’ shoulder, peering down at the leprechaun he knocked out clean with his bat a few seconds before.

The rune really makes it pack a punch.

“I don’t think this will pose any further problems”, Edwin continues even as he crouches down to examine the passed-out form crumpled on the ground. He prods at it gently.

“It fucking better”, Charles replies, resisting the urge to pull Edwin away from the leprechaun, just in case that touching it might have some kind of magical side effect. “And if not, I’ll punch it right back out. I’ve got an Edwin Payne-improved bat after all, it won’t stand a chance.”

Just for good measure, he twirls the bat around once, twice.

This has always been one of his favourite parts of the job, the simple pleasure of knocking someone out before they get the chance to hurt his friends.

Edwin looks up at him from where he is crouching, and Charles grins at him, metaphorical adrenaline running through his non-existent veins still. He would punch out a bear if Edwin asked it of him.

Before he can say anything else, though, Crystal clears her throat from behind him, sounding decidedly less impressed.

“That’s really cool, yeah. New bat, I get it”, she says, walking around Charles so she, too, can see the unconscious leprechaun. “But you do remember that we actually wanted to talk to him, right?”

They get to talk to the leprechaun in the end, who turns out to be about as obnoxious as expected, but does admit to stealing the heirloom they were looking for for his pot of gold.

He even gives it back, but only after Charles has started twirling his bat again.

“And another satisfied customer”, Charles comments as they return to the agency, flinging his backpack into the corner.

“Client, you mean”, Edwin corrects, but still smiles at him, and pats the space next to him as soon as he sits down on the sofa. Charles flings himself down without a second thought, legs landing somewhere across Edwin’s laps, one of his hands settling on Charles’ ankles.

This is new, at least to some extent, and Charles loves it, the feeling of Edwin’s fingers on him. It feels right, somehow.

I just really love you the most, he thinks.

“Yeah, whatever”, he concedes and looks over at Crystal, who is watching them with something in her eyes that Charles cannot quite place. Not bad, per se, just…. Strange. “Doesn’t sound that good though, does it? And anyway, the most important thing is that they’re satisfied, right? Passed on right to the afterlife, no worries keeping them here any longer.”

“As if it’s only worries that could keep one here”, Edwin replies, his tone as dry as the desert, but making Charles laugh anyway. “We should be the best example for that.”

“You know what I mean!”, he shoots back, “It isn’t like with us, is it? Don’t think that the client was kept back by meeting the love of their life, were they now?”

It spills from his lips like nothing, without Charles thinking about it for a single second.

He’s still laughing, but Edwin’s fingers have stopped where they were gently stroking across the arch of his foot, and then Charles realises it, and for the first time, hears silence.

For the first time since they got back from Hell, they part when Crystal leaves.

The conversation had been stilted after Charles’...slip up? blunder? confession? and although it had been obvious that all three of them had been trying, it had been impossible to get things back on track.

So, Charles leaves with Crystal, telling Edwin he will walk her home, although that is something he has never done before, and Crystal lets him, although he is fairly certain she wouldn’t under normal circumstances.

She doesn’t need anyone protecting her from the city she grew up in after all.

“How do you know you’re in love with someone?”, Charles asks after they have walked in silence for a few minutes. He can’t think of a way to cushion the question, how to make it less awkward to ask, so he doesn’t bother with it at all.

“This is about Edwin?”, she asks, seemingly to clarify, and Charles nods mutely, not looking up at her. “I’m not sure. Especially not when it comes to the two of you. For Edwin, I could have seen from miles away that he was in love with you, even if he hadn’t reacted like he did when we first met. For you… you love him, anyone with eyes could see that, but if you’re in love with him, I think you have to figure that out yourself.”

“Do you know how it feels, though? Being in love?”, he asks, just in case Crystal can at least tell him that.

“I’m not sure”, she answers after a moment, then links their arms together, pulling Charles closer. “I think that’s different for everyone. But I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out what it feels like to you if you let yourself.”

He walks Crystal home, but when she asks if he wants to stay, Charles just shakes his head.

Edwin is back at the agency, and Charles isn’t sure exactly in which state, what he is thinking, and Charles cannot allow that. At least not for long.

What he does, though, is taking a little detour to the park not too far from their building.

It’s the first time he really pays it any mind, even if it’s most likely not the first time he’s been there, but now, Charles lays down on the grass, looking up at the night sky.

London is too bright for him to see many stars, but there’s a few of them; Edwin would surely be able to point out a constellation or two.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it.

Edwin isn’t here, and yet he is with Charles anyway, always, in every moment of his existence.

Sighing, he scrubs a hand down his face. There’s no way around it, it has to be now, and it has to be the right answer, the one he truly means, because Edwin deserves nothing but that.

No false hope, and no heartbreak that might be taken back along the line.

So, he thinks of Edwin, of his elegant hands and the swagger in his walk when he feels confident, of the colour of his hair and of his eyes, of the curves and slopes and sharp cuts of his face.

He loves that face, has seen it with every possible expression painted across of it, and still loves it.

The stars above are dim and partly hidden behind the clouds, so Charles lets his eyes slip shut, and imagines coming home to the agency and taking Edwin’s hands in his.

They would be just a little smaller than his own, his fingers slender and yet so capable, and if he could still feel, Charles is convinced they would feel cool against his skin.

He imagines pulling Edwin close and holding him like he has always wanted to, burying his face against the side of Edwin’s neck and pretending he can breathe in his scent. Having Edwin sneak his arms around Charles’ waist and cling to the back of his jacket, like he doesn’t want to let go again.

In his imagination, it feels a little like the hug they shared after being granted asylum on Earth, but it would be entirely different, because it wouldn’t be out of relief.

Instead, it would be just them, embracing to feel the other close.

And he thinks of pulling back from the hug, seeing Edwin smile and kissing the curve of his lips, nipping at them until he can make Edwin laugh and teasing his mouth open to lick into it.

It would be like kissing Crystal, kind of, only that-

Only that it wouldn’t be like that at all.

He runs back to the agency, as fast as his spectral feet can carry him.

Edwin is sitting right where he left him, almost like he hadn’t moved an inch since Charles walked out of the door, and he hopes to all deities he can think of that it isn’t so; knows, at the same time, that it is.

“Hi”, Charles greets, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Edwin nods and gives him a smile, brittle and unsure and hopeful, all at once.

“Hello, Charles. Did Crystal get home safe?”, he asks, and it’s so painfully polite it makes Charles cringe.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, of course she did”, he responds, trying to figure out how to begin saying what he needs Edwin to know, but Edwin beats him to it.

“Did you mean it?”, Edwin asks, breathes out the question like he still has lungs to do so, and it’s in that moment that Charles is more certain of his answer than anything else he has ever thought, because Edwin sounds small, sounds vulnerable and breakable and yet so fucking hopeful, and Charles wants to pick him up and cradle him against his chest and never let go again.

“Yes”, he says, and it’s sunrise and violins and bouquets of roses all at once, it’s a single word that changes the world around them. “Kind of. Let me explain.”

And Edwin nods, sits back with his hands in his lap and all Charles can think about is that those same hands belong holding a book, resting on the top of Charles’ legs, which should be flung carelessly across Edwin’s lap, just because Charles wants to be near him.

“You’re the love of my life, no matter what”, he starts, crouching down in front of Edwin so he can take his hands; they look so lost. “You have been for decades. I love you the most of anything in the world. I will always love you the most. Every time I look at you, it’s just that on repeat in my head. I love you the most.”

He ducks his head, laughing softly, because it sounds silly now that he says it out-loud, but when he looks back up, there are tears brimming in Edwin’s eyes, making them shine even brighter.

His lips are parted and for just a moment, Charles thinks about kissing them.

“And you know, I still can’t say that I am in love with you back, because you don’t deserve a lie, but what I can say, what I can promise you, is that I could fall in love with you. And that I want to. More than anything.”

A single tear rolls down Edwin’s cheek, glistening in the dim light, and Charles looks at him, and thinks, I do. I am. I love you the most.

“Could that be enough?”, he asks, squeezing Edwin’s hands in his. “At least for the start?”

And Edwin nods so frantically that more tears spill over, wetting his face, and Charles can’t help but laugh; how strange to think that making Edwin cry for once is not his biggest fear, but something that fills his heart with joy to the point of bursting.

“Okay. Brills, that’s-”, he replies, and can’t keep himself from smiling so wide it would hurt if he was still alive. “So, um. Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you right now.”

Again, Edwin nods, and he is smiling, too, looks so happy that Charles thinks heaven must be overrated, because nothing in the whole of existence could compare to this.

He thinks of the scene he pictured in the park of holding Edwin close and how much in pales in comparison to this, to holding Edwin’s hands and watching him glow with love and hope and warmth.

And leans in to find out if the same is true for kissing him.

(It is.)

[paraphwrites]

so obviously the time period a character comes from impacts them. but i adore the analysis of dbda and loneliness so now i want to analyze the characters + their time period + loneliness

edwin. so, edwin is from the 1900s. he was raised with the knowledge that he would join the military, that he would get married. this was an accepted part of life. now, i do not wish to analyze the full scale of edwin's relationship with violence (at least, not here), but i do think it's interesting that edwin goes out of his way not to inflict harm on others. this is potentially because he was raised in such a way where that was the norm, and he always knew he did not fit traditional male standards. he has always preferred knowledge and books to fighting and sport. this would have been incredibly isolating, especially as a young boy in a school for children of military members. additionally, as a queer person, edwin would have been entirely socially isolated from his peers. whether they picked up on it like simon or just thought he was un-manly, the point stands: edwin would not have fit in with his peers and seemingly had no friends when he died. which is very sad. and very lonely.

crystal. crystal's parents neglected her for their work. she lashes out. she lashes out and pushes people away (or in front of traffic). she is volatile and destructive and she is like this because she lives in an age when parents are expected to care for their children, and her parents still actively chose not to. crystal is especially traumatized because even tho she is in upper class which may have a higher rate of willful parental neglect, the expectation is still that parents love their children. moreover crystal is psychic, and that's never really been fun. she'll be completely different from all her peers in a fundamental way which she probably never talks about with any of them! so, like, of course when david, a demon, comes along, she lets him in - she's finally with someone who understands and makes her feel less lonely. someone else who's weird and angry and pretty and supernatural. and then he, too, betrays her. there is also almost certainly a race element, which may further disassociate her from her peers, seeing as the upper class is usually very white.

jenny. so jenny grew up as a lesbian in the 90s. now, i don't know much about washington state, but i do know that they legalized gay marriage in 2012. which means for over half of jenny's life, she was living with the knowledge that she would never get to live the same type of life as her peers; though the white picket fence americana dream may have been less prevalent by the 90s, it still was very ingrained in american society - especially small town society. i wonder if part of jenny's gothic fashion is to distinguish herself from other people - if she cannot have the same lives as them, then no one will make the mistake of assuming she will.

so the night nurse is lonely in a very unique way. she is lonely because she does not have a proper conception of an actual human life. she has no friends or relationships - nor does she want to; she does not know what they are like. and, i think, because she exists so outside of time and removed from society, that it makes her inherently lonely. she is lonely because somehow she was created and somehow someone convinced her that her only purpose in life is to collect lost children and she is satisfied with this but she is also alone. she has no time period to be contextualized in, and that in itself is the context.

niko is lonely because her dad is dead and her mom lives in a different continent. and i think that because she is able to utilize manga and cartoons as a form of escapism, it allows her to fill that void of devastating loneliness a bit more. she lives in a world where if she doesn't want to think she does not have to. she is not obligated to be courageous. however, she also lives in a world where she is able to choose to self-isolate, even if that isn't good for her. so when she is sad she hides away because she can and it's scary and she doesn't want to do it alone but she doesn't want to do it with her mom. i've seen people saying crystal is such a teenage girl but niko? niko wants her mom to comfort her but doesn't want to talk to her mom. niko is horribly lonely and it's only a gay victorian twink who can get her to smile again. niko is lonely because she exists in a world which allows her to be and it takes someone who is not from this time to help her move past this

charles. god, we all know how lonely charles is. biracial, abused by his father, probably bisexual, good with people yet killed via hate crime, morally upstanding. charles is the epitome of loneliness because he grows up in such a particular moment of time. he lives in the 80s. feminism and queer rights have been radically shifting in the past two decades. the 80s have huge amounts conservative pushback from these movements. so, yeah, being gay isn't a crime anymore, but gendered expectations are being reestablished in a new harmful way. so, yeah, charles is growing up in a time of progress, but he's also growing up in a household which will absolutely be anti-progress, and ergo charles is stuck in this dichotomy of he could hypothetically have everything but that would mean losing everything, too. he's lonely because his dad beats him. he's lonely because his mom doesn't say anything. he's lonely because he has a piercing but his dad locked him in his room for three days after it. he's lonely because he attends a boarding school which rich racist pricks. he's lonely because never once in his life has he admitted how the intersection of all his identities puts him in a situation where he is completely alone. and he isn't alone -he's got edwin- but their experiences with loneliness are vastly different.

as i have said a stupid number of times, dead boy detectives is a story about loneliness. and the writers made these characters so damn brilliantly because they all make so much sense in the context they were raised in.

we are all shaped by the context's we're raised in. everyone is raised at a different moment in history in different environments with different families. human experiences are so unique that everyone is inherently lonely. but lonely does not mean alone and lonely does not mean forever. it means when you were fourteen you cried yourself to sleep but now you're twenty and know how to play cricket and your friends come to all of your matches. it means you were raised in a world that was cruel and unforgiving, AND it means that because of that you don't have to be. dead boy detectives teaches us that we're all horribly lonely, and maybe that makes each other a little less lonely

i'll take some of your burden if you'll take some of mine, and whatnot

[hansolen]

sunlight blooms within the crevices of my soul. (it burns a little, but i still love you.)

꩜ pairing ⇾ aventurine x gn reader

꩜ word count ⇾ 2k

꩜ author’s note ⇾ i don’t know what happened here lol this guy has been rotting my brain for the past 4 months and suddenly i combusted and decided to write something for him <3

when you first met aventurine it felt like you were gazing at the sun itself. he was flamboyant, bright and unafraid to be the centre of a show. or at least that’s how he tried to present himself as.

his presence was magnetic, it drew you in relentlessly. you wondered if this was how pirates felt — when sirens lured them into the depths of the ocean with their melodious voices. aventurine was akin to a siren. he was alluring, unreal and dubious. almost otherworldly in the sense that there was always a distance between the two of you. one you couldn’t exactly point out, but the feeling always lingered. even with his arm around your waist, pulling you in — it felt like he was worlds away. despite how you both were just centimetres apart.

to you, aventurine is the sun. and if there is one thing you know about the sun, it’s that you should never stare at its light for too long. else it starts to blind you. however when it comes to aventurine, you can’t help but look. you gravitate towards him like a moth does to a flame.

afterall, you were someone who was locked into the shadows for too long. someone who had gazed at the sun for the first time in ages, admiring his light from a distance. what you hadn’t expected was for the sun to gaze right back at you. with those mesmerising eyes of his, aventurine looked through your soul with the same intensity as you looked through his.

that’s where it felt scary, you think. the realisation that his gaze alone brought out certain parts of you to light. parts you didn’t even remember existed — the kinder, sweeter bits of you. yet, just how there’s a duality between light and dark, and how one cannot exist without the other, the darker parts of you also emerged. the more murky and broken pieces of you — wherein you desired him carnally. yearning for his touch, his warmth.

that’s the thing about aventurine, his presence is warm — in an addictive way. the kind where once you’ve had a sip, you just can’t seem to get enough. nothing quenches your thirst quite like his affection. this ache for him, you kept it all in the dark for a reason, for self preservation. yet when it comes to him, you can’t help but succumb to these desires. you can’t help but lean onto him.

another fact about the sun is that it is all encompassing. get too near and you will burn. it is inevitable. you wonder if that too is a form of self preservation. his form of sustenance. rays of light that pierce so harshly, people can’t help but look away. perhaps there is a reason why he tries to shine so brightly, so that no one stares too long, lest they see what he actually is. what he is hiding. the ugly parts of the sun, his blemishes, his lack. him.

aventurine was resting with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. a small moment of intimacy shared between the two of you. unspoken words laced within the strings of silence that hung over the two of you.

he often left you confused with his conflicting actions. when it came to all matters related to you — he was greedy, yet distant. whenever you both got too close and you brought him to put down a mask of his (among his many), he always ended up leaving you for days at a time. it hurts, it always does.

to him it’s scary. scary how you make him crumble with such ease. he can’t let you. so he won’t meet you for days, weeks even. you are left on your own and it feels as though your light has been snatched. that’s what truly terrifies you. the possibility that one day he might truly leave, and you won’t be able to stop him. (little do you know he feels the same. he isn’t the idealised version you think of him. he is no Sun. he is just a dying star.)

aventurine is used to hurting himself, used to putting his life on the line, on bets and games of chance. but that never meant that he wanted to hurt you in the process. in all honesty, he is afraid. just as you think of him as the sun, he thinks of himself as a shell. he has many facets in this mask of his, filled with what others wish to see him as, want him to be. he often thinks of them as characters to play in a script. he is so used to living in this facade he has created that he no longer feels in touch with the ‘self’ under his myriad of masks.

he doesn’t like how he hurts you. yet he can’t help but be thankful that you still take him in despite it all. in some dreadful way he is glad. glad that you always forgive him. that you want him just as much. it is both scary yet comforting that someone craves him, too.

what he doesn’t know is that you want to be led to him. not just in the light touches or small moments of intimacy. no. you want him. you want him to eat you whole and form you anew. it doesn’t matter if you get burnt in the process, doesn’t matter if at the end of the day he is but a dying star.

you wish for him to know that it is alright for you to come too close and end up seeing him for what he actually is. that you know he really isn’t all that shiny, and he isn’t all that warm either. he is cold and he is dying. he is a dying star.

you too, are afraid. afraid of being left alone in pitch black darkness once more. afraid of the sun no longer letting you bask in the essence of his warm rays. the ones that you had made yourself all too familiar with — to a fault.

you know all stars die one day. and the sun too, is but a star. you wish for him to know that you wouldn’t blame him if he cracks. you wouldn’t leave him. you love him and you will stay. even if he consumes you in the process.

he doesn’t know that you are but a defenceless sailor. giving yourself — whole, to the siren. doesn’t matter if you are being hypnotised by him. by his voracious light. by his enigmatic eyes. by him.

he’s like a ray of sunlight. with the way how you feel his warmth reach the most intimate parts of your soul, but as soon as you reach out to touch him – he disappears. as if he was never there to begin with. yet his warmth lingers.

so you do what you can. you numb yourself. you try not to lean into his comforting touch. try to to revel in his presence. you try, you really do. to put up the curtains so that the sunlight can no longer enter. but one thing about the sun is, it is insatiable, and so is aventurine.

he finds a way. mere curtains are never enough to push the light aside. if he wishes to, he will have you whole. he will engulf you into his light. and you — you let him. you allow him make you one with the sun. let him swallow you whole. maybe it's true — if he was the sun, then you were Icarus.

the sun is calling you in and you can’t help but reach for it. you fly towards him despite how it sets your skin ablaze. even with your wings melting, the feeling of hot wax burning you as it dribbles down your skin. as the heat rips your insides out. you can’t help but let it. because you know that no one has flown higher. no one else has reached this close to the sun him.

you close your eyes as you fall. you let him in. and in return he lets you stay. as you fall, you brace yourself for the impact of the cold harsh earth. it never comes. you end up being pulled into the depths of the ocean instead.

© hansolen do not translate and re post anywhere else.

[yuurei20]

Short translation from Twisted Wonderland: the second novel.

Post-Overblot Leona (the flashback monologue)

"I grew tired of thinking, so I decided to enroll at Night Raven College, though I had no interest in it. I knew  I was just running away from the pain, but my heart felt lighter, nonetheless. 

If something is far away enough, you cannot long for it. 

The intensity of the sun, the scent of new leaves, the damp wind of the rainy season—it is so far away that it’s nothing but a blur, from here.

The restlessness dulls, and the pain slowly numbs. But, at some point, even that started to change.

A new pack was formed, and with it, new despair. 

‘Help us,’ they said.

‘You’re the only one who can do it. Please. Just as expected of our Housewarden. Our king.'

As king, I cannot let the pack starve. I knew that, but I also knew that Malleus cannot be defeated head on. I had to come up with a plan to take him down and win, by any means necessary. Anything to win. To win. I want to win. No matter what, I want to win.

And if I don’t, if I give it everything I have and I still lose, what should I do?

‘Ah…just forget it.’

When I realized that the plan to remove Malleus had failed, suddenly, I understood.

That everything is pointless. That the future throne I desire does not exist.

It didn’t bother me as much as I’d thought it would.

It's a fool’s errand to strive for something that cannot be obtained.

I want to forget it all as soon as possible, and be at ease.

But the pack spoke eagerly about the future, with sparkling eyes. 

That alone is terrifying.

It's not their expectations that scare me.

I’m scared of myself. Of how pathetic I would be if their words inspired me, so that I am never able to give up hope.

‘Weren’t we going to turn the world upside down together!?’ ‘You could take on Diasomnia, if you actually tried. I still remember that play you did three years ago!’

Somewhere in my heart, there's still the lingering hope that, maybe, I can still do it. It's an unbelievably optimistic, sweet thought, filled with wishful thinking.

Ruggie, Jack, and the others all talk about these foolish dreams that will never come true, but in the end, I'm just as much a fool as they are. 

I'm not strong, I’m not wise, and I'm not loved. Is this who I am? I can't accept that.

That's the one thing I do not want to admit. 

I'm utterly fed up with how unreasonable I am. Don't make me think that there might be a chance.  Just let me believe that there is no point in having expectations. 

I am tired of struggling and suffering for things I cannot attain.

I hate knowing how insignificant and boring I am.

People say I should try. What else can I do? I've already given it everything I have.

Maybe what I should be striving for is the strength to give up. 

And that sounds like the most painful thing of all.

Ah, life truly is unfair."

[lilisgardensblog]

Stream theory! time:

I am here to write my thoughts about the Neuvillette part of the stream/trailer, feel free to share yours too!

"The Melusines can't be trusted! That goes for Neuvillette too!"

So, first I have to say I'm heartbroken to hear that the Melusines and Neuvillette can't be trusted, but idc idc i trust them no matter what. And the Melusines saying: "I'm confident that we'll find the meaning of our existence one day" truly broke my heart.

To keep going with the Neuvillette angst we have The Chief of Justice himself saying: "I find it difficult to express my emotions, because I cannot fully understand myself" The struggle to deal with accusations from your own people that they don't trust you while being unable to show them how you really feel... and to add to that whatever rumours saying that u were born from calamity?? I'm so confused and sooo hyped to get the full lore.

'is this what justice means to u? answer me neuvillette!'

First, let me point out THE VOICE ACTING FOR THIS LINE IS CHEF KISS. It sends shivers down my spine every time I hear it. And every time I hear it I'm thinking, what verdict did Neuvillette come to for Wrio to deliver such a powerful line? Maybe it's about Lyney and Lynette? Because we hear Freminet asking Wrio about his siblings and I'm thinking that maybe Wrio goes and demands an explanation from Neuvillette?

"You will see much in the human world, from the delightful to the depressing and one day, when you have dwelt among humanity long enough, you will be placed to bring judgement over all, as the spokesperson for Fontaine's past"

Can't move on from this line without pointing out the informal addressing here. No Monsieur or anything. Straight up Neuvillette. I'm curious to see how close the characters are and why does Wrio sounds so hurt/betrayed.

edit: a lot of people told me the voice line is from an npc but im too tired to delete everything👍

THIS??? raised so many questions in my head it's crazy. it's unnecessary. The hold this last line has on me is absurd. I think it's directly addressed to Neuvillette and I'm curious why is he the one bringing judgement over all? why is he the one shown all alone in a grey and dull Fontaine?why not Furina? What does "spokesperson for Fontaine's past" suppose to mean??Like we already speculated about him being the Hydro Dragon, but this is *sniff* i smell GREAT storyline.

Genshin is about to drop heeeeavy lore and I'm here for it.

"its unnecessary to hold me in such high regard"

Last line in the trailer. Neuvillette said this right after being shown as one of the most powerful people in the whole nation really. He is either really modest or just tries to hide the fact that he's the most powerful in the nation. Or both. Honestly I'm not even sure of what to say about this, I just had to add it here because Neuvillette said it and I'm in whoo for him.

Him🤝Zhongli , fancy talking and acting like they don't have supreme power.

Last thought: this trailer was so powerful and sad over all. I'm expecting the archon quest to be an emotional rollercoaster with one or two emotional punches. I just know Neuvillette story will make me sob. Just look at him.

p.s. : I saw someone pointing out that the creators said that Neuvillette made a law so that the Melusines to be addressed as she/her and that fills my heart with joy. Neuvillette is shown to be oh so powerful and 'born from calamity' or whatever and yet he's one of the sweetest and kindest characters. 🫶🏼

Conclusion: i love neuvillette and idc about false accusations 😊🫶🏼

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 49

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: friday... just eight more hours of work

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The world trickles back into existence as it shifts around you. A jarring collison has you groaning as your body slides on the floor, just a few inches. You grumble and sit up, back to the door as it's once more pushed from the other side.

You crawl out of way as Loki enters. You stand, wobbly with fatigue, and face him. He snaps the door shut, blocking it with his lithe figure as he looks at you.

“Pet, what are you doing sleeping on the floor?” He reprimands.

You clear your throat and rub your cheek, “waiting for you–”

“Don't,” he warns tersely, “you will not guilt me.”

“I wasn't,” you pout, “I only… never mind.”

You go to the bed and slip under the blankets. You're too tired and hurt and confused. Sleep doesn't help, it only makes it worse. Every time you close your eyes, you hear Thor's sinister timbre and his demeaning words. You feel his weight on you, suffocating you.

You hear Loki moving around the room. You expect him to come to bed but his footfalls trail into the bathroom. The faucet cranks loudly followed by the splashing of water on porcelain. 

You turn onto your back and look at the open door to the bathroom. You stare, waiting. Still he does not emerge. You sit up as your eyes drift over. You should leave it, just for the night. It's late and you're both exhausted.

You hang your legs over the side of the bed and push the blankets away. You get up and pad over to the door, keeping close to the wall. You turn the handle, twisting cautiously as you hold your breath.

You stop and wait. He's not coming. You hear him sighing and muttering.

You leave the door ajar and tiptoe out into the hall. You won't go far, you just want to walk around, to get the kinks out of your muscles. Just to feel that tiny tug on your leash.

Your feet carry you downstairs without a thought. You go to the french doors and peer out through the panes at the night. You flip the latch back and ease the door inward. You breathe in the cool but fresh air.

You let it wash over you, trying to cleanse yourself as you shiver. It would all be easier if you could just say it aloud. If he would just listen.

You hear footsteps on the stairs. You quickly shut the door and back away, hiding in the shadows as the moonlight peers in. Loki rushes over and searches through the glass. He grips the handle but before he can rip the door open, you sniff and catch his attention. 

“I was just looking,” you murmur.

“Why would you scare me like that?” He snaps and grabs you by the shoulders, wrenching you away from the wall.

“I didn't mean too,” you whimper, “I just wanted to stretch my legs–”

“You cannot sneak off. You cannot,” he shakes you, “I…” he bites down on his thoughts before they can bubble over. “I only mean well for you, pet.”

“You're hurting me,” you whisper as you touch his wrists, “please–”

“I…” he loosens his grip and brushes his hands down your arms, “come back to bed.”

You try to see him through the dark. With his back to the silver moon, you only find a featureless silhouette. You reach to slip his hand from your arm and cling to him. You know it's better to appease him.

You pull him away from the door and turn back through the silent house. You should’ve known better. You’re not even sure why you wandered that far. Maybe just to see anything but those same four walls.

You go back upstairs and he lets you go as you enter the bedroom. He turns to shut the door firmly, dragging his hand down the wood. You look away. He has become your warden.

You climb into bed and pull the rumpled blankets over yourself once more. He nestles in next to you as you lay back against the pillows. He kisses your shoulder, a surprisingly gentle gesture. Had he not lectured you hours before for talking too much?

The pendulum of his moods has you swinging just as wildly.

“Pet, I only want to keep you safe, you understand, don’t you?” He tickles along your arm as his gaze sears into you. You stare at the ceiling restraining your exasperation.

“I do but… there’s a gate, you don’t need to keep me in just this room, do you?”

He doesn’t respond as he rubs your arm. He shimmies closer and stretches his arm across you. He holds you close as he sighs.

“I’m tired,” he says and presses his chin to the top of your head. The conversation’s over. Again.

✨

You drift into a black void. At first, there are no dreams. You are nothing, you feel nothing. A rare taste of peace before the fractured visions break through the blackness.

Trees, towering above you, leaves like curtains above, blocking out the sky, casting darkness all around you. You’re running, gasping for breath as the thunder rolls behind you. You hear it, you feel it, shaking the earth beneath your bare feet.

You glance down at your white dress, streaked in blood and mud. You stumble forward, shielding yourself with your arms as the brush scratches your flesh. Your feet slip and slide and tendrils coil around your limbs. The vines wrap around you, restraining you as the storm cracks above you.

The thunder peters out to grizzly laughter. A burly figure emerges from the umbrous space between the thick trumps. It’s him; Thor. His blue eyes glow as the cut across his cheek leaks and he opens and closes his massive fists. He comes closer, until he’s right before you.

He raises his hands to your throat and circles his fingers around it. You squeak as he squeezes, tighter and tighter. He chokes you until your vision speckles. Your eyes lull back in your skull and when you can breathe again, you’re sarong up at the leaves, fragments of the sky peeking between the foliage.

There’s a tremor beneath you. As if the earth moves. Then you realise, it’s you. You’re moving. There’s something atop you. Someone. Smothering you. Rutting into you as your bones split and your insides burn like acid.

You smell wet mud and pine, a hint of sweat seeping into your lungs. Thor’s beastly growls crawl over your skin as he bites into your throat, pinching until you shriek. He holds you down as he snaps his pelvis against you, threatening to break you in half.

Your eyes open and a shadow hovers over you. Reality slowly sets in as you stare at the ceiling, damp breaths puffing over your face. Your chest binds and you choke on your own breath. It’s real.

He purrs as he kisses your cheek, holding himself above you as he lays between your legs. His hand is buried against your pelvis as he pets you, kissing you all over your face and neck. You whimper and hit his shoulders. He’s gentle but unyielding. Your head is pounding and your body aches.

The panic flows up from your stomach and a sheet of ice covers your body. You blink. What’s happening? It’s him. It must be him. How did he get to you?

“Stop!” You cry out, “stop!”

“Pet?” The warped voice calls to you.

“No, Thor! No, please, don’t– don’t hurt me!” You beg as your eyes narrow on the figure over you.

To your surprise, he stops. He lifts himself stiffly from you and a long arm reaches over to pull on the chain of the lamp. The bulb illuminates Loki’s features, his face wrought in terror that mirrors your own. You thought…

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You think I am like him? Like that monster–”

“No, no, I was dreaming, and—”

“Pet, you were moaning, you… I thought you were—” he swallows and pushes himself off you altogether, “awake.”

He sits up and sings his legs over the edge of the bed. He bends forward and holds his head. You don’t move as you watch him. You’re mortified. The bed jostles as he stands abruptly.

“I am not like him,” he snarls, “pet, you know– I… you begged me for more. You were crying out my name and now you treat me as some monster.”

You sit up, lip trembling, “no, I was confused. I was asleep, I didn’t know–” You scramble to the foot of the bed as he strides away.

“You think I would let him get his hands on you again? You wander off and tell me you are safe and yet here you are, screaming,” he huffs as he turns on you, “as if I haven’t taken every measure to keep you safe and you override them, then tell me not to worry.”

“Loki, please, just… I don’t need locked doors, I need you to talk to me,” you stand and rush towards him, latching onto his arm, “I need you to hear me.”

“I heard you,” he shudders as he looks down at your touch, “you called me by his name.”

“Because… because…” you suck in a shaky breath as a sob threatens to spill over, “because you won’t listen–”

“No, you will not listen. Hm? You will not obey me and that is all I’ve ever asked of you. You will not stay where I can keep you safe. From him,” he hisses, “you will not hear me when I tell you it is for your own good. You do not see what I do for you.”

He shakes his head and rips free of your clutch, “I took you away from that ogre you called a father. By my measure, no one ever bothered to do so much. Not even a birthday cake.

"I have given you a home, a purpose. I was a fool, I put you in harm’s way, I acknowledge my errors,” he tilts his head and curls his lips, “but I saved you. I found you and I made sure he did not hurt you. I have kept you safe which you cannot say about anyone else.”

“Loki, don’t,” you wilt as your heart pangs. He is right but that doesn't mean it doesn’t hurt.

“If you hadn’t run away, if you had trusted me,” he accuses as he wags his finger at you. “To think I would ever want her again. After all I’ve done for you, I would not throw those efforts away.”

Your lip quivers and you recoil, pressing your hands above your heart, “no, you wouldn’t throw away all you’ve done, but what about me? I am what you call you, am I not? A pet? A stray you picked up off the street.”

“Perhaps, for you have become rabid,” he retorts.

You flinch and take a step back. You curl your fingers through each other, keeping your hands over your chest. Your tears spill over as you push your lower lip out and croak his name. You shake your head, trying to ward off your despair but it only rains down harder. You sob and cover your mouth.

His brow twitches and his cheek tics. You see the doubt colour his eyes. He reaches for you, “pet, I–”

You back away and turn your back to him, “leave me alone.”

“I didn’t mean… we are both very emotional,” he pleads as his fingertips graze your shoulder.

You shrug him off and keep ahead of him, “no, no, don’t touch me,” you hurry towards the bathroom.

“Pet–”

“I am not your pet!” You spin as you enter the bathroom and he staggers just a foot away, stunned by the swell of your anger, “I am nothing. Just as you say, my own father couldn’t love me.”

“I didn’t–”

You slam the door and throw yourself against it. You flick the lock into place and lean against the wood, heaving painfully as your sadness rattles through you. He slaps the door from the other side and says your name.

“You did!” You holler through, “you said what you meant. You told… the truth.” You sink down to your knees, crumpling onto the tile, “so leave me alone. What do you care anyway?”

He repeats your name, softer and you hear him slide down the outside of the door, “I care… if I didn’t…”

“Be quiet,” you murmur in exhaustion.

He abides, just for a moment before he speaks again, “I will be here… when you require me.”

You lay in a heap. Weak and worn out. You just want him to leave you alone. If he can’t let you free, then he can go away. You don’t need him to remind you that he’s all you have.

You gulp as sobs force their way up your throat. You cry until your head pulses and your throat is hoarse. You cry until you are drained dry. You’re left bleary and broken.

Walpurgisnacht is supposed to mark a new beginning but everything is just as bleak as it always was.