#important post from torch

[helpmebowlofrice]

i apologize for being more inactive lately. i've been in a weird emotional funk, so i'm taking care of myself. i've been finding it harder to post more frequently because of this. please be patient with me <333 as the host of a DID system, i experience dissociation (some days are more difficult than others). we've also been very switchy lately. i've only had the energy to reach out to friends and family. i know this will eventually get better, so there's really no need to worry. i just wanted to explain why i haven't been posting as much.

remember to please take care of yourself! and know that you aren't alone in your battle.

ALSO huge thank you to everyone for 150 followers!!!!! i love you guys so much <3

[daydreamerdrew]

Marvel Mystery Comics (1941) #2 and #4

[wolfsnis]

"#I’m still like. why tf didn’t they test for rabies first thing"

there actually is no test for rabies while the animal is still alive! testing is done from brain tissue samples, ideally a full cross-section of tissue from both the brain stem and cerebellum. for humans they have to run a whole bunch of tests, including spinal fluid testing and skin biopsies and even then I don't think you can detect it before symptoms have set in (it has to spread in the body in significant amounts to be detected). by then it's too late.

the only other option for an unvaccinated cat or dog that has been suspected to have been exposed to rabies if the owner refuses to euthanize is immediate vaccination and a four month long quarantine where the animal is kept completely isolated to see if it develops rabies symptoms. if the animal has been vaccinated (which ideally all pets should be), i think the quarantine period is only a month and a half.

unfortunately, I think the whole thing was that those pups were too young for their first rabies shot they should have never been in a situation where they could come in contact with rabies

oh I know there isn't an official test for rabies while the animal is still alive! I just don't understand why these puppies weren't quarantined? Or why it seems like there was no caution taken with random rescued animals? If you rescue puppies from out-of-state you should already be conducting tests for parasites, do base vaccinations, and spay/neuter, so why were they not held onto longer for those things? Unless they aren't testing for any of this and are looking to get rid of these puppies as quickly as they came after giving them cute themed names and making instagram-worthy photoshoots.

I know its bad luck and they probably never expected something this horrific to happen, but the whole thing reeks of rescues pulling unwanted puppies out of state just to adopt them out as quickly as possible to turn a profit without doing their homework or making any attempt to test for parasites, illness etc. of course something like this was bound to happen eventually.

it doesn't really help my perception that the rescue is blatantly lying about who has came into contact with the puppies. They're saying that all of the adopters at the event were gowned and gloved when that obviously wasn't the case, implying the puppy got rabies elsewhere than the rescue because they were asymptomatic before, and also using the situation to beg for donations because surprise surprise, nobody wants to adopt from the rescue that tested positive for rabies! They're calling all the people rightfully concerned about this haters and trolls. They've also completely flipped to saying that nobody at the event was exposed to rabies when that's obviously not true if there's a state-issued warning about it.

Idk, really seems like this rescue knows they fucked up via loosening up regulations and forgoing proper testing in order to adopt out puppies as quickly as possible, and are now trying to cover their asses.

My special interest is more cats than dogs and its going to be a while before i adopt a dog (if i even ever do that) but its also weird to me that the puppies are too young to get vaccinated for rabies but its fine to separate them from their mom and siblings to go to adopter's homes? My dog was rabies vaccinated when we brought her home from her rescue. But maybe that's not normal, I'm not sure.

I linked their facebook page here for anyone to scroll through and verify what I'm saying, but it's going to take a bit of scrolling because they post every couple of hours featuring new puppies, are STILL hosting adoption events, and begging for money all the while.

Sorry, kind of went off there, your original statement is correct anon and thank you for correcting me! What I meant more specifically is the rescue failed to do a proper quarantine for random animals rescued of the street in Texas in favor of adopting out the cute babies ASAP, and if they had done things proper this could have been prevented, and are now straight up lying about the situation because according to them they can do no wrong.

[umbrellajam]

Tim: YOU! BE BATMAN ALREADY!

Dick: >:\ No Batman. Only Nightwing.

Tim: Dammit, I thought 43rd time's the charm for sure.

Tim: Come onnnnn, you've even done it before! What's different that you were willing to be Batman back then--

Tim: .......

Tim: Hey. Guess what, Dick. Jean-Paul Somebody else who's suspiciously Bat-trained and overly lethal got to the cowl before you, and they're desecrating Bruce's legacy.

Dick:

gives the same energy as

[blacktabbygames]

A small content update for Slay the Princess just went live — The Voice of the Skeptic now accompanies you on the Deconstructed side of Happily Ever After instead of Voice of the Paranoid.

I’m not sure why I originally settled on Paranoid for that branch of the story. Maybe it was because Skeptic already felt overrepresented in The Pristine Cut between his presence in the Den, and his major role in The Cage split across three routes. The Cage in particular was a very emotionally taxing chapter to work on, so maybe I was tired of writing him.

But post release, it’s felt like:

Paranoid’s in HEA was just kind of there. At least, none of the things he does in the chapter felt important for his character.

Every voice gets an opportunity to truly shine somewhere except Skeptic. In fact, to push players to the cage, we wound up taking away one of his weirdest moments to shine from the base game (pushing you to take The Prisoner’s head with you.) Localizing the game means that redoing any dialogue is very burdensome, since I’d have to have it retranslated in all 12 of our supported languages, but upon looking more closely at the script for Happily Ever After, I realized that all but one or two lines felt more like they belonged to skeptic rather than the paranoid anyways.

And that when given to the skeptic, those lines don’t feel like he’s just kind of there the way it felt like Paranoid was just kind of there. The small wins Paranoid can get in that chapter — deducing the identity of the shadow; pushing you to blow out the torches — they’re big wins for the Skeptic, and the route seemed like it would be much more rounded if he was swapped in.

And beyond that, I couldn’t get the following line from the Shifting Mound’s monologue about the Deconstructed Damsel out of my head:

“Love melted into skepticism, and you pulled back layer after layer after layer until all you were left with was the knowledge that you did not know me.”

We couldn’t just use the word skepticism to describe the route’s entry point and not include our lil’ over-analytical guy. So we took some time this month to re-record those lines with Jonny and make the changes to the game, and now that itching need to fix “just one more thing” is finally gone.

This is probably the final content update for Slay the Princess (though, never say never I suppose.) Ever since we started work on The Pristine Cut, I wanted to end my work on the game with the conclusion of Happily Ever After. I’m grateful for the opportunity for that to finally be the case.

I hope to see you all tomorrow with Scarlet Hollow’s relaunch, but even if I don’t see you there, thank you all for the life-changing support you’ve given us. I hope our game means as much to you as it means to us.

All the best, Tony

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus x Fem! Reader

an - this is my first time writing for Epic! I’m very excited to join this community, and obviously not everything is going to be accurate to the odyssey…

Prince Telemachus has always wanted to be a hero, and even with never knowing him he knows a real hero is just like his dad, Odysseus. Fighting monsters, commanding armies, keeping everyone safe. But only now has he truly realized one important thing about being a hero like his father, having a lover you’re willing to do anything for

The nights on the island Ithica had always been cold, ocean breeze blowing cool air into the windows and halls of the palace. Shushing the everlasting hum of human movement into a lullaby in the seaside air.

With the gentle night came the long awaited silence from the suitors gathered in the main hall, only sounds of breathing in deep sleep and the occasional thud of movement from a man rolling over.

Even the servants were just about still, last one just getting to bed after extinguishing the torches that illuminated the walls.

All, expect for Telemachus.

The prince laid wide awake, eyes trained on the ceiling above his bed and hands petting his loyal dog. He was waiting… waiting for the sound of the palace guards to switch posts. Each night they would spend 5 minutes traveling back to their quarters to switch off a sleep schedule. His father had written the system, and Telemachus had studied the time just for this. Just for you.

When he heard the familiar shuffling of feet leave the hall and go further into the night he stood. Straightening his Chiton and adding his Epiblema to keep him from the cold of the night, even though he fully planned to lend it to you if you so wished.

As quickly as he stood up was he off, tip toeing down the hallway with his dog sniffing insistently to make sure they were alone. His travel went only so far as your room, the soon-to-be princess of Ithica. His lover.

Now he wasn’t the only one awake, as the excitement of plans made during dinner kept you tossing and turning all night long.

Being the one the prince was courting, you were allowed to live inside the palace, but in a separate room. Telemachus specifically asking for you to be put directly down the hall from him, knowing the suitors could be impulsive and he wanted to protect you.

Once he reached your room, he knocked on the door three times to let you know it was him. You swung it open, beyond excited at the plans for the next few hours. But you had opened it while he was “preparing himself.”

He was mouthing a greeting, seemingly practicing what to say to you. Fixing his slightly curly hair and taking a deep breath all when you opened the door to see him in his state of boyish nervousness.

His cheeks grew pink quickly, but they always had when he was near you. Even if he hated it, it was undeniably adorable to see him flustered.

Usually you would greet him formally, but tonight you were eager so you quickly grasped both his hands into your own. The action making him even redder.

“You’re here! Will we be leaving now?”

Your excitement shown in your eyes, soft glow of the stars and moon pouring in the room to make you both slightly visible to one another.

Nodding, he squeezed your hands in reassurances. His dog nudging at your leg, looking for attention.

“We have to be quick, I’ll show you the path.”

He spoke at you scratched the pet, nervously offering you his hand as a guide. It’s not that he didn’t expect you to take it, but he still was nervous. He’d never snuck out with you before.

As soon as you took his hand he was guiding you down the corridor. Small giggles leaving you both at the prospect of what you were doing, sneaking out like little kids.

“This way, we have to be quiet.”

His giggles died down, but his grip on your hand growing firm. No way was he letting you go, not as you entered the main hall.

You both clung to the outer wall, dodging sleeping suitors and their mess, hearing the snoring of men who had eaten a feast too much for even kings.

Before you took a step, he quickly put his free hand on your waist to still you.

“Careful,” he whispered.

You had almost stepped in a puddle of spilled wine, soaking the floor.

“You shouldn’t ruin your pretty dress.” He removed his hand after making sure you had your balance and continued to travel.

Quickly you two had made it outside into the cool night.

“You think my dress is pretty?” You asked, finally able to speak normally again outside of the walls of your home.

He flushed once again. “Well! You know… yes, your dress is pretty.” He looked away, almost pouting in frustration at how easily you made him nervous.

He wondered if he could make you feel the same?

You giggled at his stuttering before continuing your walk. Passing rows of olive trees and mountains in the distance. All normal until you began to shiver softly.

The second you started he placed his over coat on your shoulders, place it with such care to ensure you stayed warm. And warm it was, it felt like he was hugging him with the body heat he had left in the wool.

“Thank you, but won’t you be cold?” You looked at him, squeezing his hand.

He simply shook his head, smiling. “Knowing you’ll be warm is all I need. Let’s get going, the moon is almost at its brightest!”

As quickly as you stopped for the coat was he guiding you again. Pasting the threshold of the gates and down the hill. Into the palace garden. A beautiful sanctuary of fresh fruits, and a new edition of flowers.

Over the years they had been dying, originally planted by Odysseus for Penelope when they first were married. Petals soon drying at his absence with no one having the time to care for them.

Until Telemachus began to nurse them back to life, specifically the night he asked for you hand. If you asked Penelope the night you accepted him he ran home, told her, and then went to the garden with absolutely no experience in the craft.

So the servants may have helped him… but so what? Not like he’d tell you anyways, that the section of flowers was just for you.

“Tele!” He felt your tug at his hand and followed without hesitation. “The flowers! I’ve never seen roses so red. They’re stunning!”

You marveled at the array of florals, constantly tugging at his sleeve to show him each plant in the soft moon’s glow.

“Oh! And this one…” He loved your voice, he really did, but he couldn’t focus. Seeing you so excited at the work he’s put in for you, and the way the moon gave this soft cool light on your skin made him practically shiver. Eyes glimmering from the stars. To him, you looked like the picture of beauty.

Before you could catch him staring, he plucked a rose from the bush. He handed you the flower, carefully cradling your hands around his so you wouldn’t touch any of the thorns.

“I know it isn’t much. Gods, even this flower doesn’t compare to your beauty. How much I long for your presence by my side.” For the first time in a while he spoke completely honestly, no hint of nervousness or confidence, just a middle ground of true feelings.

Only after did he realize his confession did he begin to start to back track. Ready to stutter his way through a “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

He was completely ready for the embarrassment until he looked at you.

Calm, gentle, lovely you, who was now nervous.

Never before had you been flustered by anything, not in fear of the suitors or during his first confession when he offered to take your hand. It’s not that during his original confession you didn’t love him, instead you couldn’t be the flustered one since he took the role as a blushing mess.

But now… with his absolute sincerity you were left with the cutest, shyest expression. Nuzzling into the overcoat he had given you, looking away from him while you touched your cheek. You could feel the blood rushing to your face, butterflies in your chest and stomach, practically your entire body.

And Telemachus adored it.

All this time together he never realized what it’s like to be the one not embarrassed, and gods you looked so cute!

Right then he knew something, in the back of his mind something clicked at the sight of you so vulnerable. What would make him a hero, make him fight like his father.

Love, an absolute and undying love that he felt in that moment that would push him to fight anything that dared to hurt you or come between you two. Gods, monsters, men, no matter the cost.

All from that one flustered look he knew he was willing to be a hero, for you.

[rivereverie]

I’ve just been thinking about how important Astarion’s hands are to his identity. I feel like the brainrot is taking over that I’m trying to analyze this, but hear me out. It's more my rambling thoughts than analysis.

All of Astarion’s practical skills are intimately tied to his hands. Finesse. Dexterity. He tosses daggers, picks pockets, picks locks, disarms traps. Even when it comes to his hobby of sewing and embroidery, that’s all about hands and fingers too. He rolls coins along his knuckles to show off. Astarion takes pride in what his hands are capable of.

His hands are also used against others. A way to hold someone back. Hold someone down. To have them in his hands. Touch is a power of his, practiced for decades, to pleasure and manipulate others. Wrapping them around his finger. In the palm of his hand. Hands are what we use to push someone back. To grab the collar of a shirt. To hold a dagger. They are tools of control. 

We get two lines about him being loath to “break a nail”, and as I once spoke about in an analysis post on Astarion’s expression of vanity, this is clearly an example of his mask, distracting from vulnerability. It’s not a stretch to read into these lines about his nails as alluding to his time in the crypt. Clawing in desperation at a coffin lid for the better part of a year would do much more than break nails. That year wore away so much of his identity, as it did his hands. It was loss and helplessness.

Hands can also be a symbol of violation. A hand being forced. Grabbing. Prodding. Taking. Hurting. Claws scraping. Curled fists. A bruising grip. The stuff of his worst memories and nightmares. Even gentle, loving touch does not feel safe or enjoyable to Astarion for a long time. He's used to hands only ever taking. His own included.

Hands are so often used as imagery for autonomy, responsibility, and guilt. Blood is on our hands specifically because they are considered instruments of will. It's interesting that Astarion’s story is all about these themes, too. In the end, the hands that were forced to drag so many souls into Cazador's grasp were the same ones that drove a dagger through the vampire's heart.

Hands are also meant to reach out. To hold on. To carry a torch to light the way. To caress. To link fingers with the hand of another. To create and build. To express and feel. Hands (both his and those of others) have the same capacity for gentleness, giving, and connection as they do cruelty, and that's something Astarion finally believes, by the end.

And his hands will never be forced again.

- (The dialogue screenshot above is from 'A Dream Of Silence' by abigailmoment. I'm just using it illustratively)

[capsyst]

Here’s my second big Procreate Dreams animation! Really challenged myself hard with this one!

Remember that storyboard I did for a Minecraft character meeting the Warden? The beginning of the storyboard involved several shots showing the character running away from mobs until they reached an area the mobs wouldn’t step foot into. I decided to make that chase scene into one continuous shot.

I modeled up a cave in a 3D animation program and moved the camera around to what I hoped would be an appropriate path. Once rendered I imported this into Procreate Dreams and began animating on top of it, using a grid to be my guidelines to help me keep the character proportional.

After a rough animation was done, I went back and refined it. Then I inked and colored it. Finally I added a shadow layer on top and a glow layer for the torch. Took me about half a month (15 days) to complete.

I’m really proud of this one. I thought I would animate it in Procreate like I did the last one, but because of the nature of needing to match the art with the background I found it was much easier to just animate it entirely in Dreams.

I’ll post a breakdown later when I have a chance.

Hope you fellow Minecraft Story Mode fans enjoy this!

(Fun little fact, all of the sound effects are from Minecraft.)

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

Play With Fire - Johnny Storm x fem!Reader

Authors Note: Well, since we have officially been introduced to MCU Johnny Storm, here's a little one shot I wrote a month ago because I am absolutely feral for Johnny Storm. We don't know much about how he's going to be portrayed so, I used my imagination. I hope you enjoy!

PS: Smut is not my forte so I hope it's...satisfactory.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, contains adult content, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, smut, lots of fire puns (I'm not sorry or maybe I am), lots of yapping

Pairings: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k+

The glimmering lights of the charity gala bathed the New York skyline in golden hues, casting long shadows on the sleek, chrome surfaces decorating the event. The décor was a striking blend of mid-century modern aesthetics—smooth, flowing lines, geometric shapes, and vibrant colors—reminiscent of a time when the future was just a few glamorous steps away and held a more optimistic approach. 

You didn’t want to be here but there you were, trapped in a sea of tuxedos and satin gowns, your father’s arm draped possessively over your shoulder like a shield. It had been his idea to bring you along, of course, a desperate attempt to put up a "family-first" front after the affair rumor hit the front pages of The New York Post a week ago.

You hated galas. You hated the small talk, the polite smiles, and the thinly veiled gossip that filled the air. You hated the way your father’s overbearing presence had turned the night into a performance, with you as the unwilling starlet.

“I’ll only be a minute,” your father whispered to you, his fingers tightening around your arm in that way that said, don’t move. “Keep a smile on your face. This is important. Our family needs this.”

You barely suppressed a groan, nodding stiffly before he was off, mingling with the city's elite. His eyes, always sharp, locked onto the wealthy faces around him, like a predator hunting for its next meal.

You took a deep breath, turning away from the throng of people, hoping for a moment of solitude. The jazz band played in the background, their smooth melodies swirling in the air. You found yourself in the back corner, near a large glass window overlooking the city.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped into the room, a confident swagger to his stride. Johnny Storm, better known to the world as the Human Torch, was hard to miss. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, his blonde hair tousled just enough to look casually effortless. He was, of course, dressed to the nines—a sleek black suit that hugged his athletic frame and a white shirt that gleamed in the ambient evening lights.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. His exploits were plastered across every major newspaper and the tabloids couldn’t get enough of his charisma and charm. He was a man of fire, literally and figuratively, the kind of person who seemed born for attention.

There was something different about him tonight. No flames. No flashy heroics. Just Johnny, looking slightly out of place amidst the formality of the gala.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when he caught sight of you and flashed a grin, as if he’d spotted an old friend. “Well, well,” he said with a teasing smirk, his voice warm with amusement. “What’s a beautiful woman like you hiding in the corner all by herself? You look like you could use some company.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Not really,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the glass. “I’d rather be anywhere but here, to be honest.”

Johnny’s grin faltered for a split second, then he chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. These things can be a pain. All the smiles and the handshakes and small talk.” He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets. “You’re not here for the free drinks, then?”

You shook your head. “My father dragged me here. He thinks it’ll fix... everything.” You waved vaguely toward the sea of tuxedos and gowns. “But you know how it is—people with money can’t stand to be seen as anything less than perfect.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his tone thoughtful, as he glanced around. “I get the pressure. I mean, being a public figure comes with a lot of... expectations.” He flashed a grin, a little wry. “You’d be surprised how many charity galas I’ve attended for reasons that had nothing to do with actual charity.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You? I would’ve guessed you'd be more of a ‘save the day, destroy the bad guys’ type.”

Johnny laughed, his expression softening as he pushed off the wall and stepped a little closer. “That’s mostly me, but tonight… tonight I’m just Johnny. No fire. No superpowers. Just a guy who’s probably as uncomfortable as you are.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, I was thinking about ditching this whole thing and heading to a dive bar. Could be more fun. You in?”

Your lips twitched upward. “I’m supposed to be here for my father. This whole thing’s a mess.”

Johnny shrugged. “Tell you what then. When your father’s done playing the ‘perfect family’ game, I’ll swing by and whisk you away for some real fun. In the meantime, if you ever need a distraction, just holler for me, doll. I’m pretty good at getting people out of awkward situations.”

You met his gaze, amused and a little skeptical, but something about his laid-back confidence and easy charm made the idea tempting. "I'll keep that in mind," you said, your voice softer now.

Johnny’s eyes flickered over to the crowd for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re probably sick of being the center of attention,” he said quietly. “I get it. Sometimes you just need a break from all the... stuff.”

You gave a short, quiet laugh. “If only it were that easy.”

Johnny’s grin returned, this time a little softer, more genuine. “Well, if you need a superhero to make your night a little less superficial, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he turned with a wink, slipping back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of well-dressed faces.

You stayed where you were for a while longer, the sound of the gala and the distant jazz playing in the background. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, was one of the last people you’d ever expect to feel any kind of kinship with, but for a few moments, he’d made you feel a little less trapped in the fake world your father had built around you.

And in a night full of forced smiles and shallow conversation, that small bit of genuine connection felt like a flicker of light in a sea of cold steel and polished chrome.

The gala was starting to wind down. The last glasses of champagne had been sipped, the tables cleared, and the final whispers of forced pleasantries echoed through the room. Yet, despite the event nearing its end, the energy hadn’t quite shifted. The jazz band had given way to a recorded track—a gritty, energetic tune that you instantly recognized.

"Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones.

The heavy, seductive beat reverberated through the room, slinking through the air with a raw, untamed edge. It was unexpected. Unusual for a place that so carefully curated its atmosphere with smiles and good intentions. But there it was—one of the most rebellious songs of the time, now lacing the air, intoxicating and dangerous.

Somehow, as if it were fate, amidst the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, Johnny Storm appeared again, walking toward you like he had some kind of magnetic pull.

He flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming under the cool, metallic lighting, his posture still effortless and relaxed despite the formality of the event. “Didn’t think they’d play this here,” he said, nodding toward the speakers, his voice amused. “I mean, talk about ruining the mood.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the deep growl of the guitar riff matching the beat of your heart. "Definitely not the kind of song you'd expect at a gala like this."

Johnny tilted his head slightly, the mischievous grin never leaving his face. “You know what? I’ve got an idea.” Without waiting for your response, he extended a hand toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Dance with me.”

Your first instinct was to refuse. You weren’t in the mood for any more attention, and honestly, you didn’t dance. However, something about Johnny's easy confidence and charms, the casual way he dared you to step out of the perfectly controlled lines of this polished world, made you hesitate.

He wasn’t asking for anything extravagant, not some perfect ballroom spin or rehearsed routine. He was just... offering a moment.

For a heartbeat, you just stared at him. And then, as the chorus of “Play With Fire” blasted louder, you shrugged and took his hand. "Alright, Mr. Storm. Let’s see what you’ve got."

His grin spread even wider as he gently pulled you toward the center of the floor. The room seemed to narrow around you. Those who had been murmuring and sipping champagne suddenly halted as they took in the scene. 

But you didn’t care. Not now.

Johnny’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other still holding yours as the two of you moved together. The pulse of the song matched your quickening heartbeat, and, for once, you didn’t mind the eyes on you.

The music seemed to speak to both of you, something unrestrained and reckless—something wild that had been suppressed by all the proper rules of society. Johnny’s movements were smooth, fluid, and effortless. He had the confidence of a man who knew exactly how to make the world bend to his will, and yet, somehow, his presence didn’t feel as overwhelming as you would assume.

You stepped in time with him, your own body moving with a freedom you hadn’t expected. The lyrics about temptation and fire seemed to mirror the electrifying pull between you. There was something present that was dangerous but exhilarating. Forbidden but impossible to resist.

You looked up at him, half in surprise, half in something else you couldn’t quite name. His eyes flickered back to you, almost searching, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. No, it was more like he was giving you the space to decide just how far you'd go, how far you'd let this wild, reckless moment carry you.

“You know,” Johnny said as he guided you through a slow turn, his voice low, “they say if you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned.”

You raised an eyebrow, the edges of your lips curling upward. "You know what they say about fire, right?" you teased, spinning under his arm. "It can warm you up just as easily as it can scorch you."

He gave you a roguish wink, pulling you close again as the song picked up speed. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The world around you seemed to fade away as the music built in intensity. The room, the gala, the whispers—everything was irrelevant in that moment. All that existed was the two of you moving in sync to the rhythm, bodies close, the heat of his touch igniting a spark in you that you hadn’t expected.

The song surged toward its climax, the pounding drums pushing the beat faster, wilder. Johnny’s hand slipped lower to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and the space between you vanished entirely. You could feel the heat of him. His body was a living furnace against yours, the friction of his energy igniting something within you, something that had always been held in check by the carefully constructed life you’d been forced to live.

You danced like you were both on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the line between control and surrender. Johnny’s laugh was infectious as he spun you one last time, a wild, unrestrained sound that made you realize how much you’d been holding back all night. He twirled you back into his arms, the song roaring in your ears as you laughed. 

The moment lingered there, suspended in time. A brief but intense escape from the world you’d known.

When the final notes of "Play With Fire" echoed through the room, you stood there, breathless and laughing softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well,” Johnny said, grinning down at you like a devil. “I think we’re both burned.”

You caught your breath, a little dizzy from the rush but you didn’t mind. “Yeah. Maybe. But it was worth it.”

He gave you a knowing look, eyes full of something that was both playful and... something more. He was the Human Torch, but in that moment, he wasn’t just fire. He was a spark that could have burned everything or lit a whole new path. 

And maybe, for the first time all night, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something that wasn’t entirely out of your control.

Johnny winked, lowering his head so his lips were resting at the crest of your ear, his voice just above a whisper. “Sometimes, the best part about playing with fire is the burn.”

You smiled, feeling the heat of it in every fiber of your being. You hadn’t expected to find anything real tonight, but then again, you hadn’t expected to dance with a superhero to this song either. It was dangerous. Reckless.

It felt like freedom. That was the best part of it all. 

The last notes of "Play With Fire" still echoed in your ears, even though the beat had long since faded, replaced by the hum of a million voices, all of them too eager to return to the business of looking perfect.

You had somehow ended up on the edge of the dance floor, your breath still uneven, your pulse racing from more than just the rhythm of the music. Johnny stood beside you, his smile more subdued now, a knowing glint in his eyes as if he understood that something in you had shifted—something you hadn’t expected to feel tonight. The dance had been reckless, free, but the moment you’d stepped back, the world around you had tried to pull you back into place.

His presence, however, still felt like a spark. An electricity you didn’t want to let go of. Not yet. 

“Well,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, the earlier mischievous tone replaced with something a little softer. “That was fun.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Fun? You could say that again.” Your laugh was a little more breathless than you intended, but you didn’t care. It felt good to be this... unfolded for once.

“You know,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, the heat of his body still too tempting, “the night doesn’t have to end here. There’s a spot… a little hidden place I go to when I need a break from all this.” He gestured toward the glittering ballroom, the clinking of glasses and forced chatter drifting in the background. “It’s up on the rooftop. Private. Quiet. I think you’d like it.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach. Of course, Johnny Storm had a “private spot” for everything. He was, after all, the Human Torch—effortless, smooth, always in control. However, there was something about the way he said it, about the quiet invitation in his voice that made it hard to ignore. Maybe you did want to escape the fake smiles and phony pleasantries.

You glanced toward the entrance of the ballroom, where your father was still busy shaking hands with some benefactor from the event, lost in his world of polished deals. You hadn’t been looking forward to more of that tonight.

A part of you, the part that had spent so long just trying to keep things together, felt that pull. You needed to break free, even if just for a moment. And another part of you? The part that had danced with Johnny, felt his heat like an actual flare against your skin? That part wanted to see where this could go.

“Fuck it,” you said, your voice quieter than you expected. “Lead the way..”

Johnny’s grin returned, the familiar flash of confidence lighting up his face. Without another word, he took your hand, guiding you through the crowd with a smoothness that barely made anyone notice. His fingers curled gently around yours, warm, sure, the touch casual yet intentional. It was like he knew exactly how to move in this world—his world—while making it feel like it was all about you in that moment.

You followed him through a door to the back of the venue, into a dimly lit corridor that led to a discreet elevator. Johnny pressed the button without a word, his eyes briefly meeting yours. There was something unspoken between you two, something that felt like it had been building without either of you realizing it.

The elevator ride was quick, almost too quick, and when the doors slid open, you stepped out onto the rooftop.

The air hit you first, the cool night breeze sweeping through the garden, carrying the scent of the city mixed with something sweet and floral. It was a sharp contrast to the glossy, manufactured world of the gala below. Here, on the private rooftop, everything felt different. The towering buildings of Manhattan stretched in all directions, but above, it was quieter. More intimate.

Johnny led you through the garden, where lush greenery contrasted against the stark steel and glass of the city around you. The lights here were soft, golden, hidden beneath the plants, casting just enough light to make the space feel almost like a dream. The far-off hum of the city was muted here, and the distant skyline stretched like a canvas of muted lights.

“This is… nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. The silence, the peace, the fact that for a moment, you weren’t anywhere but right here with Johnny. No cameras, no whispers, no obligations.

“I come up here when I need a break from the chaos,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, matching the serenity of the space. He stopped beside a stone bench, and you both stood for a moment, taking in the view together. “Sometimes it’s good to just… get away. I don’t know about you, but tonight felt like I needed to breathe.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of that. The gala had been suffocating in its own way. Full of too many expectations, too many eyes watching. Too much of your father’s mask.

Johnny leaned against the edge of a low wall, hands in his pockets, his body slightly turned toward you. His eyes, usually so full of energy and fire, seemed softer in the dim light of the rooftop garden. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come up here,” he admitted with a small smile. “Most people aren’t exactly keen on leaving the spotlight. But I like that you did.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the rush from the dance still lingered, making it hard to keep your calm exterior. “What can I say? I needed a change of scenery. I guess you could say you have a way of making people want to step out of their comfort zone. Besides, the spotlight isn’t my thing. Never was.”

He chuckled, and there was a genuine warmth to it. “I don’t know if it’s me, or just that sometimes you need someone who isn’t afraid to break the rules.”

You met his eyes again and for a moment, it felt like the world around you had gone still. The wind was the only thing moving, brushing through your hair and ruffling Johnny’s shirt just slightly. And yet, there was an electricity between you two, quiet but undeniable.

“You’re a rule breaker, huh?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

Johnny’s smile turned a little more wicked, that familiar mischief lighting up his face again. “Maybe,” he said, pushing off from the wall and stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe it’s just that… sometimes the rules are there to be bent.”

He was close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the same heat that had burned so bright on the dance floor. His presence was magnetic, inescapable, and you had to fight the urge to step closer to him.

“Well, I think you’ve already set my night on fire,” you said, voice a little breathless.

Johnny didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he took another step closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. His touch was electric, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

You could feel the tension building between you—every heartbeat, every breath. The city below, the skyline, and the quiet garden was all just background noise now.

“Maybe we should just let the night burn then,” Johnny said softly, his voice deep and seductive, like he was speaking just for you. 

You didn’t know what you were stepping into, but right then, under the stars with Johnny Storm, you didn’t need to. You let go of the last of your reservations.

And for the first time tonight, you let the fire take you.

Johnny was close, closer than you’d expected. His presence, that electric heat that never quite seemed to dissipate, was undeniable. His eyes were on you, dark and steady, but there was something different in them now. There was now something softer, more deliberate than the playful energy that had defined their banter earlier in the night.

You stood beside him, heart racing, mind whirling. The dance had been the first spark, the moment when something unexpected flickered between you. But now? The air felt thick with unspoken words, each one hanging in the space between you like a slow-burning fuse.

“You know,” Johnny said, his voice low and surprisingly serious, “I don’t come up here often with anyone. It’s usually just me and the stars, you know? The chaos gets too loud sometimes. But tonight… Tonight it feels different.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t talking about the view or the quiet of the rooftop anymore. He was talking about you. Something about his tone, about the way his words wrapped around you, sent a shiver down your spine. The fire in him had shifted. The flippant hero, always surrounded by chaos and light, was now speaking softly, his words like an invitation, a promise.

“I get that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is nice. Peaceful. I could see why you wouldn’t want to share it.”

Johnny took a half-step closer, the space between you narrowing until his breath was warm on your face. His blue eyes—those beautiful stormy, electric eyes—searched yours like he was looking for permission, or maybe waiting for you to make the first move. The gravity between you was palpable, magnetic. Everything else faded into the background. All that mattered was the two of you standing there, in the heart of the rooftop garden, this space between chaos and quiet.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his lips curving into a slow, unsteady smile. “I’ve been thinking... maybe I’m the kind of guy who can burn things down and fly, but I also know when it’s time to stop and just... feel. Not many people know that about me.”

His words wrapped around you like a firestorm, the heat of them sinking deep into your chest. It was too much and yet it was everything you’d been craving all night. No pretense. No walls. Just the raw pull of the moment, the intensity that was flaring between you two like a flame in the dark.

With no more hesitation, Johnny’s hand lifted, slow but sure, as though he was asking for permission even now. His fingers brushed against your cheek, warm and light, his touch like a spark against your skin. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, the touch so intimate that it made your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, his voice low, just for you. “I won’t burn you.”

You swallowed, your own breath a little shaky. Something wild had taken hold of you, some primal urge that told you not to hold back. You stepped into him, closing the last of the distance between you.

“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” you said, your voice a little hoarse. 

Johnny’s eyes flickered with something hot, something unrestrained. And then, without another word, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that matched the fire he carried inside. The kiss was everything you’d imagined and more urgent, intense, full of heat, yet strangely soft. His lips were warm, the taste of him a mixture of whiskey and something electric, something undeniably him.

His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the warmth of him. His body. His energy. It surged through you like a live wire. You kissed him back, your own hands rising to tangle in his hair, feeling the wild heat of his touch consume you, like he was setting a fire inside you that you didn’t know how to extinguish.

For a moment, there was nothing but the heat of the kiss, the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing through your chest. The world had fallen away. There were no rumors, no expectations, no father or gala or fake smiles. There was only the two of you, locked in this perfect, intoxicating moment, a kiss that felt like it could burn down the whole city and leave nothing but the ashes.

When you pulled back, just for a breath, Johnny’s eyes were darker than before, smoldering with something that went deeper than the fire he controlled. His chest rose and fell with each breath, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his forehead leaned against yours, and he whispered your name, like it was a secret he’d been dying to share.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your chest pressed against his. There was a quiet calm in you now, something that had been absent the entire night. Something that told you, even with all the fire and heat, maybe this was just the beginning.

“Maybe you’re more than just fire, Johnny Storm,” you whispered back. “Maybe you’re something a little softer. Less dangerous than you put on. Fire can be beautiful too. It’s not always destructive.”

Johnny’s laugh was low, his lips brushing against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Maybe,” he said, voice teasing but tender, “but I still have a few flames left to share.”

As the night stretched on, with the soft breeze swirling around you and the city still pulsing below, you knew one thing for certain: there was no going back. Not after this. Not after the fire had burned so bright between you.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to go back.

The city lights below flickered like a sea of stars, but up there on the rooftop, the night felt different. The soft hum of the wind moving through the plants, all of it was a contrast to the tension crackling between you and Johnny. The kiss you’d shared earlier hadn’t been enough—it was only the beginning of something more. Something you couldn’t quite control.

You needed more. 

Johnny stood close to you. Too close. But you didn’t want him to step back. His scent lingered in the air around you, a mix of the fresh outdoors and something smoky, something undeniably him. His eyes, dark and electric, never left yours, and every beat of your heart seemed to echo between you. His lips were slightly parted, his breath shallow, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” Johnny says breathlessly. “You’re playing with fire.”

You felt a thrill run through you at the words. Everything about him. From his cocky grin, the edge of danger in his voice, the way his body practically hummed with heat… He was irresistible. You tilted your head slightly, daring him with a soft smile.

“I think you’re the one who started the fire, Johnny,” you said, your voice low, teasing. It wasn’t a challenge, not exactly, but it felt like one all the same. Something between the two of you had shifted and now there was no going back.

Johnny took a step closer, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. You could feel the air between you thickening, crackling with an energy you hadn’t known you craved until now. His hand reached for you, slow and deliberate, but he didn’t touch you just yet. Instead, his fingers hovered near your waist, the slightest of touches, making you ache for more.

“You sure you can handle it?” Johnny murmured, his voice almost playful, but there was an underlying intensity in his words.

You swallowed, your pulse racing. “You’re the one who’s burning up,” you whispered, taking a small step forward, closing the last bit of distance between you.

Your pulse quickens at Johnny's bold words, your  breath catching in her throat. You look up at him through hooded lashes, your heart racing in anticipation. 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you ask, you voice barely above a whisper. With a sudden burst of courage, you wrap your arms around Johnny's neck, pulling him flush against your body. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the cool night air. 

“Because either way, I'm willing to take the risk,” you confess, your lips hovering tantalizingly close to his. You close the final distance, pressing your  mouth to Johnny's in a searing kiss. Your tongue darts out, teasing the seam of his lips before delving inside to tangle with his.

Johnny groans into the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist to pull her tighter against him. He returns your passion with equal fervor, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual duel. The taste of you is intoxicating, and he drinks it greedily, lost in the heady rush of desire. Breaking the kiss, Johnny trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses your back against the cold stone wall. The hard planes of his body molded perfectly against your body. Johnny grinds his hips into yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

“Tell me you want this,” Johnny said breathlessly, his intense gaze on you.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pins you against the wall. The rough texture of the stone contrasts sharply with the heat of Johnny's body, making you acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Yes, God yes,” you moan, your hips bucking against his in a desperate bid for friction. “I want this. Burn me alive, Mr. Storm.”

Your words are punctuated by a series of urgent kisses, your mouth seeking out Johnny's with a hunger that borders on desperation. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his suit. You want to tear the fabric away, to expose the man beneath and claim him as your own.

“That's the spirit,” Johnny praises, his voice thick with lust. He captures your lips again, devouring you with a primal intensity that leaves you breathless and wanting more. His hands roam freely over your curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Johnny slips a hand beneath your skirt, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties before pushing them aside to delve into your slick heat. Johnny groans, his thumb finding your clit and starts rubbing it in slow, tortuous circles. “You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to taste you.” 

With a swift motion, Johnny rips open your dress, the fabric ripping with ease. He palms your bare breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. 

“You're perfect,” he rasps, leaning in to capture a pert bud between his teeth.

You cry out, you back arching as Johnny teases your sensitive nipples. The sensation of his hot mouth on your skin sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core, making you throb around his invading fingers. “Oh fuck, Johnny!” you gasp, your hips grinding wildly against his hand. “Don't stop, please…” 

Lost in the haze of desire, you fumble with the fastenings of Johnny's trousers, desperate to free his straining erection. You need to feel him. All of him. As if reading your mind, Johnny relieves you of the task, swiftly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock springs free, thick and pulsing with need. You wrap your hand around it, stroking the velvety length with reverence.

A hoarse cry tears from your throat as Johnny thrusts inside you completely, stretching your inner walls to their limit. The sudden intrusion triggers a wave of intense pleasure that courses through your veins, leaving you trembling and breathless.

“Johnny... oh god, yes!” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to his size. You start to roll your hips, experimenting with the delicious friction as Johnny remains still inside you. The sensation of his hot, hard length nestled deep within your core is almost overwhelming, stoking the flames of your desire to new heights. Impatient to move, you clench your inner muscles around Johnny's cock, urging him to start thrusting. “Please, Johnny,” you beg, your voice husky with need.

Johnny's restraint snaps at your pleading and he begins to move, setting a relentless pace that has you crying out in ecstasy. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air. 

“You're so damn tight,” Johnny growls, his eyes locked on your face as he watches you come undone beneath him. “I can feel every inch of you milking my cock. It’s driving me crazy.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. The rooftop garden blurs around them, replaced by a world consisting solely of heat, hunger, and the primal urge to claim and be claimed. Johnny breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin. 

“Come for me, baby,” Johnny mutters into your neck, panting as he kept up with his relenting pace. “Come for me.”

The combination of his rough treatment and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge. Your inner walls begin to flutter and clench, signaling your impending climax. You wrap your legs tightly around Johnny's waist, locking your ankles behind his back to draw him impossibly deeper. 

“Johnny, I'm gonna—!” you scream as the first waves of an orgasm crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his pistoning cock. The intense pleasure is almost too much to bear, sending you hurtling into a maelstrom of bliss. Through the haze of your release, you feel Johnny's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more urgent.

Johnny's grip on you tightens as he feels your pussy convulsing around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. The sensation of your clenching walls and the sound of your ragged breathing spur him on, driving him to new heights of pleasure.

“That's it, baby, squeeze my cock,”  Johnny grunts, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes. “You're mine, all mine.” 

With a final, guttural roar, Johnny buries himself to the hilt and erupts, painting your insides with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the sheer ecstasy of the moment. As the aftershocks subside, Johnny collapses against you, his weight pinning you against the wall.

Breathless and sated, you cradle Johnny's face in your hands, gazing up at him with adoring eyes. 

“That was... incredible,” you whisper, your voice trembling with residual pleasure. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at the way his heated skin seems to glow in the moonlight. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the lingering effects of their passion, leaves you feeling vulnerable yet deeply connected to Johnny. “I've never felt anything like that before,” you confess, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and wonder.

Johnny's chest rises and falls heavily as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. He's still buried inside you, their bodies intimately entwined. The sensation of your warmth wrapped around him is almost too much to bear.

“You're something else,” Johnny murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were trouble, but fuck, I wouldn't trade this for anything.” 

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, and sees the same awe and vulnerability reflected back at him. It's a moment of raw honesty, stripped of pretenses and societal expectations. Johnny brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle compared to the fierce passion they just shared.

Your heart swells at Johnny's words, your soul feeling as if it's been set ablaze by the intensity of their connection. You reach up to frame his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you search his gaze. 

“It was a good reprieve from all the formalities,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers trace the contours of his jawline, marveling at both the strength and unexplored tenderness etched into his features.

Johnny nods, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, definitely a nice distraction from all the pomp and circumstance,” he leans in, capturing your mouth in a tender, exploratory kiss. It's a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy that preceded it, but no less potent in its own way. When Johnny finally breaks apart, he rests his forehead against yours once more, his breath mingling with yours. “I should probably get you back downstairs before anyone misses you.”  

Despite the practicality of the situation, neither you nor Johnny make a move to disengage. The moment stretches on, heavy with unspoken promises and the knowledge that their lives will soon return to their usual trajectories.

You sigh softly, the sound caught between your  lips as you reluctantly pull away from Johnny's embrace. The sudden chill of the night air against your overheated skin is a jarring reminder of the world beyond this hidden alcove.

“Yes, we should…” Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow across his face. There's a bittersweet quality to the moment, a sense of longing for something that may never come to be. “But what if I don’t want to?” 

Johnny's eyes flash with a hint of mischief at your words, a devilish grin spreading across his face. 

“Then we stay up here all night and let the world keep spinning without us.”

[hydrus101]

One thing I haven’t seen anyone post about yet is the “should’ve used our left hand” conversation, and it is so so so important to me.

It’s very rare that we get any verbal confirmation that John—who for all intents and purposes only exists in a meaningful physical capacity through Arthur’s left hand—interacts with the world at all unless it’s in dire circumstances where he has to, like the mines in Addison.

We don’t hear him say “let me get that” or anything active almost ever, and we have to infer that maybe he’s moving around, touching things, gesticulating, guiding Arthur in some small way when he says “here!” but it’s never really said explicitly that he touches things idly sometimes. He usually only helps Arthur, like holding the torch, and doesn’t do much for himself. And yeah, perhaps that would be clunky writing, but it bothered me for a little while.

I’ve always wanted to see him interact with the world more, touch more things, take a little initiative with the body they’re sharing, even if for practical reasons, but if it’s important to him that Arthur has some semblance of control? If he is considering Arthur’s feelings constantly by tamping down the urge to find and seek and know for himself, increasing that sense of isolation? If he’s trying even harder now to take up less space, to make himself small, in order to assuage the prickling guilt he feels for threatening taking that control back from Arthur? If he’s going to do his fucking damnedest to resist the urge to manifest even when the power is right there at his fingertips? Well, then that’s fucking delicious.

[anthurak]

So here’s an interesting through that came to me thanks to the discussion on a recent ask:

We still don’t actually KNOW where or who Cinder picked up archery from, do we?

And this feels particularly significant given Cinder’s now very consistent trend of basing her weapons, fighting style, dress, mannerisms, really ALL aspect of her identity on mimicking others. Either those who have molded or hurt her, or those she has fought and killed.

Cinder’s use of swords, either single or paired, is clearly based on the swords she got from Rhodes. To the point where her weapon ‘Midnight’ that she used pre-Maiden powers may have simply been modified versions OF those swords, while the flaming/glass swords she’s been using post-V3 are just straight up copies of Rhodes’ swords.

Meanwhile, post-V3 Cinder has also started making use of a spear, just like PYRRHA used.

And of course, Cinder’s choice of dress and overall mannerisms are very much a mix of Salem and the Madame of the hotel.

So with all that in mind, I think it makes this question all the more curious:

Where, or more likely, WHO did Cinder pick up her use of archery from?

This really feels like it ties into a ‘missing piece’ of Cinder’s backstory that we haven’t seen yet. After all, we still don’t know how exactly Cinder was taken in by Salem. So I have to imagine Cinder picking up archery is somehow tied into whatever was happening when or shortly before she first met Salem.

Given Cinder’s trend of taking aspects of people she’s known or killed, it feels like a safe bet she picked up archery the same way. Perhaps a huntsman that was pursuing Cinder who she ended up killing. Or perhaps this huntsman wound up cornering her, only to be killed by Salem as she suddenly appeared to ‘rescue’ Cinder. Given everything we’ve seen, and the fairy tale allusions, I think it’s easy to imagine Salem appearing suddenly before Cinder to ‘help’ or ‘rescue’ her in a scene darkly reminiscent of Cinderella meeting her Fairy Godmother.

Alternatively, for a really dark scenario; what if this hypothetical bow-wielding huntsman didn’t actually mean Cinder and just wanted to help this clearly lost and scared girl on the run from something. Only for Cinder to kill this huntsman anyway out of the overwhelming fear and paranoia she’d developed towards huntsmen after what happened with Rhodes.

All in all, I’m feeling pretty confident that where/who Cinder picked up archery from represents, if not a core piece of her character, at least an important part of her story and development that we haven’t seen yet. Particularly given, as @kkglinka pointed out here, Cinder has some very notable potential allusions to Paris of Troy. Not just in Cinder’s use of a bow and being the one to shoot Pyrrha, our Achilles, in the heel, but also in how Cinder’s fire motif and bringing destruction to Atlas parallels Paris having been prophesized to bring destruction to Troy via his mother dreaming of him as a torch setting fire to Troy. Or how Cinder’s fixation on the maiden powers parallels Paris setting off the Trojan War by kidnapping the maiden Helen.

Basically, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if us finally learning where/who Cinder picked up archery from happens to coincide with at least a few references to the Iliad. Say, whoever Cinder picks up archery from happening to be a sheep farmer. Or perhaps a sheep faunus.

[omartinyosef]

ST5 POTENTIAL SPOILERS!!!

GUYS I FOUND THIS ON REDDIT AND ACTUALLY IT'S QUITE INTERESTING

ST5 Leaks/Fleaks

Gen Plot

Season picks up briefly where we left off in 1986 before jumping into either late 1987 or early 1988. The season is contained entirely in apocalyptic Hawkins. Things with the government are shaky. Owens doesn't appear in the beginning of the season and it's unclear if he's returning, but Ellen Stinson is the new Owens. Hawkins is like a combination of the UD and Kamchatka.

Labyrinths/Mazes being important to both the supernatural plot and the interpersonal relationships. They're inherently linked.

Two songs to be featured are 'Listen to Your Heart' and 'Alone,' both of which were apparently foreshadowed in a previous conversation between Hopper and Joyce, similar to how Hopper's "I'm the puppet, you're the master" to Joyce in S3 basically foreshadowed Eddie's 'Master of Puppets' in S4.

S1 and 2 scenes being referenced are "Nancy and Mike's conversation in the bathtub" and "Hopper + Lando Calrissian"

Lots of importance in COLOR CODING and blocking from the final shot of S4, and a good chunk is told in the costuming—like passing the torch from one character to another as their arcs overlap. For example, Hopper and Will share the "am I the curse and therefore putting my loved ones at risk by being near them?" sentiment for S5, therefore their wardrobe in the final shot of S4 is similar. Joyce/Jonathan and Nancy/Mike's costuming also similar for the same reason, whereas Eleven stands out because she's the first one coming into her own this season. The white for her represents shedding of false skins.

Character duos this season will be primarily dressed in colors of blue/green and yellow/red.

There's lots of symbolism and foreshadowing for every character in S5 from the moment Will touches his neck in the last sequence of S4.

S4 focused on themes of lies and miscommunication, and everyone is going to have to work through these lies before they can defeat Vecna.

Murray and Argyle are both back. Dimitri and Yuri don't seem to be in the beginning of the season.

One thing left unresolved with the Russian plot. Something important will happen involving the machine and the green liquid from the Starcourt bunker. Reference of Dustin vowing to die with Steve when they initially discovered it.

Hopper, Joyce, Mike, Will, and El had to be away from Hawkins, otherwise Vecna wouldn't have won.

An important death that they're nervous about given the reception to Eddie (not Joyce or Jonathan—see details below).

Eleven

We'll see her unlike we've seen her before. A badass who doesn't take shit from anyone. Not a Monster, not a Hero, Jane. Think: adult El could be headed for a Charles Xavier type role.

Erica, Lucas, and El will share scenes together.

El has significant blocking and development with many characters this season.

Max, Eleven & Max

The "kaleidoscope of colors" from a script the writers posted makes a feature in both the scene where young El remembers her mother's love in order to defeat Henry in the lab, as well as the scene where El revives Max. This is significant because it's the first time we see El using her powers on someone in a non-violent way.

El was able to revive Max because of she, herself, being revived in the bunker by Brenner and Co. It's a show, don't tell moment from the writers.

Max getting Vecna'd was foreshadowed in the beginning of 2x01.

Will, Henry/Vecna, The UD

Filming was supposed to commence mid-June, but Noah and Jamie were set to begin in May due to more complicated costuming. Will is going to require heavy prosthetics at some point.

Will's character design is blocked in three stages. The more the UD bleeds into Hawkins, the more connected to it he feels. The gates being open will physically influence him, especially when he's not as mentally strong.

He's kind of like "the card up Vecna's sleeve."

It appears they want to confuse the audience about Will.

Will wrestling with his own morality

Henry/Will mirrors. Will will sympathize with Henry because, unlike El, he knows how and what Henry thinks, and he can feel him.

Vecna and Will are very similar, but the difference is Will is made stronger by love not hate. They will play into that duality.

Vecna was nerfed in S4 compared to how we see him in S5. He'll be much stronger.

At the beginning, he'll be taking a hiatus while he plans how to divide and conquer now that everyone's back together in Hawkins.

Soteria will be the key to saving Will. If they want Will to be untraceable to Henry, they'll have to insert it into his neck and it'll be painful. Vecna not having access to Will fucks up his ability to leave the UD.

Byler/Mileven Triangle

Apparently, it's complicated and up in the air as of now.

Mike dealing with guilt this season. He feels guilty/responsibility for El. He feels stuck in a loop that keeps him from a truth he's scared to face.

Will and Mike to spend a good chunk of the season together based on character designs and blocking.

Will telling El that Mike won't like being lied to comes back with the painting. During a pre-time jump scene in 5x01, while everyone's together plotting how to defeat Vecna and brainstorming how to save Max, Mike brings up the painting El commissioned for a D&D analogy. Will has to pull Mike aside and confess he lied about El commissioning the painting. Mike gets angry, because he doesn't know about Will's feelings and feels embarrassed that Will thought he was that pathetic he needed to be given a pep talk. Their own version of a "fight you can't come back from." Immediately after their fight, we get the time skip.

Mike's character motivations are unclear and seem to be kept under wraps. After the time jump, he and El won't be talking as much because he's keeping the details about Will's painting from her. She's gonna ask what's wrong between him and Will, and he lies/is very vague.

Joyce, Hopper, Jopper

Joyce feels immense guilt/responsible over Bob's death since she's the one that asked him to help in S2, which is why she pushed Hopper away at first.

Hopper has a secret from S1 that was never addressed, and it comes back to haunt him.

Joyce sustains an injury in S5 that is reminiscent of the way someone was injured in S3, but it isn't critical and she'll be okay.

Jopper are the most established couple after the time jump. Lots of bickering still, but Hopper trusts Joyce more than he ever has.

Jonathan, Nancy, Jancy

So far, does not seem like a breakup is happening.

Jonathan's still lying about the college letter and distant because of it, and Nancy thinks he's not as into the relationship and that there might be someone else. She confronts him, which leads to a talk. She's touched by the lengths he would go to try and protect her and any of their future children even from himself.

A moment where we're led to believe Jonathan dies but doesn't, like Hopper in S3.

Hopper-Byers Family

These five characters slowly unraveling their arcs together and have always been closely linked. Their perfect endings are together.

We see the family combining, especially in relation to El.

Joyce gets to witness Hopper being paternal and tender towards the boys.

Scenes with Joyce, Jonathan, and Will

Hopper being back lifts a weight off Jonathan's shoulders.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, now time to shine.

''(...) sentiment for S5, therefore their wardrobe in the final shot of S4 is similar. Joyce/Jonathan and Nancy/Mike's costuming also similar for the same reason, (...)''

Okay. How did we see Nancy in S4? Confused. Confused with the love triangle between Jonathan, her and Steve. Jonathan is her actual boyfriend. And Steve is her posible love interest again.

So, putting this in byler language: Nancy = Mike Jonathan = Eleven Will = Steve

If Mike's and Nancy's character's clothing is important at this point of the time line and that means they feel similar feelings, this could mean that byler has a chance. BUT then we read this: ''(...) He (Mike) feels stuck in a loop that keeps him from a truth he's scared to face.'' And

''Mike's character motivations are unclear and seem to be kept under wraps.''

THIS LITERALLY MEANS BYLER. FOR REAL. Like byler could be endgame. Also, remember Eleven's injury in S3? Do you remember the leak of a shoe covered in blood?

It's Joyce. ALSO YOU CAN READ THAT WE'LL HAVE SCENES BEFORE THE TIME JUMP. And here it comes. Look at this freaking hair:

Does this look more like this

or this?

The season 4 bowl cut right? So maybe this is right in some part? I dont know. But that could make sense why Will is wearing Mike's pants, because his clothes were in California by that moment. But i really do think that the pic that was leaked a few days ago is before the time jump.

Im so late with this info haha :) but i kinda think some things here make sense. Even if this is too well explained to be a leak.

[koiiiji]

fantasy AU x lookism

previous parts 1 2 3

starring ; Ma Taesoo, Vasco (separately)

author's note ; this supposed to be part of halloween special, but i fucked up with deadlines... just a little...🥹 also i planned to add ji gongseop, and i got an idea which fantasy creature he can be, but i haven't any ideas for scenario and wanted to post this one too badly....

tw ; kinda possessive in Taesoo part 🤔

Ma Taesoo — gladiator

the roar of the coliseum was deafening, but Taesoo heard none of it.

he stood in the center of the bloodstained sands, the glint of his sword dulled by crimson, his chest heaving with exertion. another victory. another step closer to his so-called freedom.

but the only thing that mattered was you.

seated high above, in the imperial box, you sat like a vision, untouched by the filth of this brutal world. draped in the finest white silks, fabric so sheer it seemed woven from moonlight, empire’s finest import from the farthest reaches of the world. you were a ghost among men — a creature of purity in a pit of savagery.

you sat close to your brother, the general. delicate fingers holding a single stalk of lavender to your nose, warding off the stench of the arena.

Taesoo had seen it before — the way nobles recoiled from the stench of sweat and death that clung to the air like a curse. the scent of the underground pits where fighters lived, where the wet, rotting musk of decay mixed with iron and blood, the stale breath of men who had long forgotten what it meant to be clean. he understood it. the gap between you.

you lived in a world of polished marble, of silken sheets and golden goblets. he was nothing more than a beast in a cage, a spectacle of violence for the amusement of empire. a wild dog meant to kill and bleed and die on command.

and yet, you always were there. watching.

always dressed in white — the sheer silk clung to your when the summer heat rose, the golden cuffs on ypur wrists glinting in the sunlight, your hair pinned with delicate ornaments befitting your status.

at night the pits were quiet and the only sound was the distant echoes of dying torches. the air was thick with the heavy breath of exhausted men, the metallic tang of rusting chains, the faint murmur of prayers whispered in the dark. Taesoo lay on his cot, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, the cold light of the moon spilling through iron grates. his body ached, fresh wounds burning against his bruised skin, but the pain didn’t matter. pain had never mattered.

not when his mind was filled with you.

you was always there, just out of reach — an untouchable phantom, wrapped in white silk that clung to your delicate frame in the city heat. you sat above him, behind veils of power and privilege, your scent of lavender and something sweeter lingering in the air, something he had never been close enough to truly breathe in.

and yet, he wanted.

at first, his thoughts of you were gentle. Taesoo imagined the softness of your voice, whispering his name in quiet reverence. he imagined your small hand reaching for him, offering something impossible — tenderness, understanding, mercy.

but the deeper he sank into his thoughts, the more it rotted.

he saw himself standing before you, unshackled, unchained. no guards, no nobles, no rules. just the two of you in a room of flickering candlelight and heady silence.

would you tremble if he stepped closer? would you try to run?

would you cry?

he imagined your wrists in his hands, fragile things, pulse racing under his fingers as he held you still. would you gasp, fight, plead? or would you whisper his name, breathless, overwhelmed, yielding?

a low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and he turned onto his side, eyes squeezing shut. it was madness. a sickness he had no cure for.

but the worst part?

he liked it...

the sun was relentless, beating down upon the arena, turning the sand into fire beneath Taesoo’s feet. blood soaked into the ground, staining it darker with each passing drop.

swords clashed, bodies fell, and now only two remained.

Taesoo stood tall, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. his grip on his sword was firm, unwavering. he was stronger. bigger. deadlier. the fight was already over. and the warrior before him knew it too.

boy before him was young, barely a man, panting through split lips, barely able to keep his sword raised.

Taesoo had fought a hundred like him.

this one was not meant to survive.

the crowd roared for blood, some voices breaking through the chaos, screaming for death. others begged for mercy, pleading for the young warrior’s life.

you sat in your usual place — left of your brother, close to the high officials, where power resided.

you sat with your back impossibly straight, your hand was raised to your face, fingers curled around that same stalk of lavender, shielding yourself from the stench of death. and yet, despite it all, you looked at him. not the way the others did, not with amusement or sadistic pleasure or boredom, but with something else. something he didn’t dare name.

Taesoo lifted his sword, pressing the blade’s edge against the boy’s throat.

he should have finished it. it would have taken no effort at all.

and yet, Taesoo hesitated.

not out of pity. not out of weakness. but because he wanted permission.

your permission.

his eyes locked onto yours, unwavering, unreadable. his blade didn't waver, nor did his stance, but the question hung heavy in the air between you.

'what is your decision, my lady?'

he watched as you turned sharply, grabbing your brother’s hand, nails digging into his forearm.

“Dagyeom, i beg you…”

your voice didn't reach Taesoo, but he read your lips with precision. begging. pleading. not for yourself — but for the boy.

your fingers tightened around brother's wrist, your wide, desperate eyes darting between him and the Emperor. Taesoo knew you were risking your position. you were not meant to question. you were not meant to interfere. and yet, here you were, openly choosing mercy over the spectacle of death.

your brother let out a heavy sigh. mischievous grin.

he turned his head, exchanged a glance with the Emperor. another bored chuckle. a condescending imperial glance in your direction. it's just another life. Dagyeom knew perfectly well that the Emperor had a soft spot for his sister.

then, a single, bored motion.

a finger raised.

mercy.

Taesoo’s grip loosened, his blade lowering, the tension bleeding from his shoulders.

and above, in the imperial balcony, your lips parted in silent relief.

he had won countless battles. had bathed in blood, had broken men, had earned the title of a champion.

but this was the first time a victory felt real.

Vasco — shark hybrid

the ocean was vast, a never-ending expanse of blue that stretched beyond sight. schools of fish darted between coral formations, their shimmering scales catching the dappled sunlight that filtered through the waves. among the reefs, Vasco and his pack moved through the water with effortless power and grace. their bodies were built for the ocean — powerful, streamlined, and fast. gray fins jutted from their backs, sharp-edged and sleek, cutting through the water like blades. smaller, more flexible fins adorned their elbows and sides, aiding in swift, precise movements, for both speed and control their sleek forms slicing through the currents.

as shark hybrids, other sea creatures avoided them, and for good reason. most hybrids had a reputation for being territorial, picking fights, and asserting dominance wherever they swam.

but many of his breed, and Vasco himself were different. he know a lot of good guys!

Vasco wasn’t driven by senseless violence or the need to strike fear. he was curious, filled with an unstoppable determination to understand the world around him. and at that moment, his world narrowed to a single figure among the reef.

it started with color, something bright flickering near the coral, weaving through the coral in soft, fluid movements. at first, he thought it was just fish, maybe some rare ones he hadn't seen before. but when he looked closer, really looked, his chest tightened in quiet wonder.

your tail shimmered in the dappled sunlight, gliding effortlessly through the water. it was long, delicate, with few additional fins, it stretched along your body and tail like the finest silk... nothing like the strong, sharp fins of his kind. mermaids weren’t built for chasing or hunting — you were something else entirely, something mesmerizing.

Vasco had never seen someone so effortlessly beautiful, so serene in the water, and he found himself slowing down to watch.

he had heard of your kind before, stories whispered among his tribesman. mermaids were elusive, soft creatures that stayed near the shallows, away from the deep waters, where predators roamed.

he watched, fascinated, as you and your friends floated near the coral, your voices carrying like soft ripples under the water. you were talking, laughing, completely unaware of him and his pack at first. Vasco tilted his head, eyes wide, taking in how different you all were — your tails flicking gently in the water, your delicate fingers brushing against the reef, when you were looking at something in corals.

yours was the first he noticed. your tail shimmered like liquid silk, soft and smooth, its scales catching the sunlight that filtered through the waves. each shift of your body sent ripples of color cascading through it — hints of pearlescent blues and soft iridescent pinks blending seamlessly with the water around you. it was nothing like his own rough, battle-worn form.

he wanted to come closer.

his tail moved without thinking, just a little, just enough to shorten the distance between you. he wasn’t sure what to do — maybe he should say hi? maybe mermaids liked to be nudged like sharks hybrids usually did? he didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

but then, you saw him.

and everything shifted in an instant.

your eyes went wide, your whole body tensing as if you had seen something dangerous. your friends gasped, gripping your wrist, their tails flicking wildly as all of you darted away, disappearing behind the reef with a flurry of bubbles.

Vasco stopped, confused.

why were you swimming away? he hadn’t done anything. he had barely even moved.

he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the blue, your colors fading like a dream slipping away.

Vasco blinked, his broad shoulders slumped down and eyes filled with sadness. he turned to Bumjae, one of his packmates, his best friend, who swam up beside him with a knowing smirk.

“guess we scared them off,” Bumjae chuckled, flicking his tail idly.

“but… we didn’t even do anything.” Vasco furrowed his brows, his sharp teeth pressing together in frustration. “why did they swim away?”

Bumjae shrugged. “mermaids don’t usually stick around when they see other hybrids. it’s kinda normal.”

Vasco frowned, his gaze dropping to his hands, to his broad chest, to the dark fins cutting through the water.

“but we weren’t attacking them.” Vasco’s tail flicked behind him, his mind racing. he replayed the look of fear on your face, the way you fled so quickly — like you thought he was a threat.

he had never thought of himself as scary before. strong, sure. big, yeah. but scary?

maybe mermaids were just… shy?

Bumjae was already leading the pack away, their figures blending back into the depths of the ocean, but Vasco hesitated for a moment longer. his gaze lingered on the reef where you had vanished.

he had never seen anything like you before.

with one last glance, Vasco turned and swam away, but you never left his mind.

you will meet once again, right?...

[templeofelysium]

hekate: a history

hihi!! recently my friend expressed interest in learning more about hekate and I thought that I could do some research and put it into a post. I have an altar to her but I don't necessarily commune with her often, and I didnt know as much of her lore as I probably should've. let me know if there's another deity yall would like me to do another deep dive on. i will link the sources that i used at the very end!

Domain: magic, witchcraft, the night, the moon, ghosts, crossroads, boundaries, herbalism and necromancy. she ruled over sky, earth, and sea, and was often venerated as a part of the household deities. she is widely respected and revered, even by the other gods

Parentage: Perses, titan of destruction and known for his great wisdom; Asteria, titaness of falling stars and nighttime divination

Important Imagery:

-she is often depicted holding two torches, a key, a dagger, or snakes -her familiars include a dog--the Queen Hecuba who committed suicide or was received as Odysseus' consort after the fall of Troy--and a polecat (like a ferret)--or the midwife Galinthias who was transformed by the goddess Eileithyia -she was often given three heads or three bodies -her arrival is often preceded by the howling of dogs -she is sometimes shown flanked by lions or (multiple) dogs -in some depictions she will have an animal head, including anything from a cow, dog, boar, serpent, or horse -wheels and caves

Associated Offerings: garlic, cypress, oak, aconite, belladonna, dittany, mandrake, yew

Other Offerings: the typical historical offerings like myrrh and frankincense, wine, and barley. eggs or eggshells (cleansing, protection), black salt (protection from spirits), chocolate (underworld), coffee (underworld), lavender or cedar or sage (cleansing, magic), asphodel (underworld), black pepper (banishing, protection), camphor (dreams, psychic divination), clove (exorcism, wealth). evil eyes if its not cultural appropriation for you to use them. then of course keys, mirrors, bones, imagery of deceased, triquetra, jewelry or magic items like

Crystals: obsidian, smokey quartz, black tourmaline, black moonstone, lapis lazuli, amethyst, labradorite, jaspers (especially dalmation or star), howlite, opal, angelite, celestite, lepidolite, larimar, aventurine, citrine, malachite, jade, blue calcite, gems, gold/silver

Associated Holiday: Hekate's Deipnon (which I covered in my last post)

Lore:

-In Hesiod's Theogony he describes Hekate allying with Zeus against the Titans and how "Zeus the son of Kronos (Cronus) honored [her] above all. He gave her splendid gifts, to have a share of the earth and the unfruitful sea." -In the Homeric Hymns Hekate is described as a close companion of Persephone, as she (along with Hermes) helped deliver her back to Demeter after her capture by Hades -During the Deipnon she is said to lead the souls of the restless dead out of Hades during the night and must be placated with offerings -Hekate is also seen as a kourotrophos (probably because of her association with Eileithyia and Artemis), or protector of children, and is often invoked as such -Hekate is often seen as Medea's (from Jason and the Argonauts) patroness and the one who advised her of what to do to get over Aeetes' trials -Sometimes she is considered the mother of Circe and Medea

Epithets: (used like a surname to call upon her different aspects)

-Perseis: destroyer (after her father) -Aionios: eternal, ever-flowing -Apotropaia: the one that protects -Brimo: angry, terrible one -Indalimos: the beautiful -Aidonaia/Chthonia: of the underworld -Propolos: who serves -Soteira: savior -Trimorphis: three-formed -Trioditis: off the cross roads/three-way -Enodia: of the way/road -Propulaia: before the gate -Nyktipolos: night wandering -Phosphoros: light bringing -Atalos: tender, delicate -Kourotrophos: nurse of the young -Skylakagetis: leader of the dogs -Kleidouchos: holder of keys (of Hades) -Liparokredemnos: bright-coiffed -Anassa eneroi: queen of those below

Things That Are Probably Neopagan But I Can't Tell:

-Hekate being seen as a maiden-mother-crone triple goddess -Hekate's wheel symbol

Sources:

theoi.com

wikipedia on hekate

wikipedia on the deipnon

wikipedia on kourotrophos

some ancient greek holidays

hekate: a history

[azaharinflames]

Okay, I come here for my weekly post-ep delulu. It usually comes on Thursday, but I was in a state of shock and, honestly, I was feeling emotionally drained, so. Now it is when I can finally verbalise something I've been suspecting for a while, but that I saw a bit more possible after yesterday's ep.

I think (heavily on something I think, I'm not saying it's a definitive thing) that the show is gearing up to, potentially, have Buck be the new Captain.

Now, per Tim's words, we know the captaincy question won't be answered this season. We'll have an interim Captain (Gerard, this we know), but he'll be there temporarily. The new Captain will be something we'll see come Season 9. So. From here on.

I know a lot of us also wanted to see Hen in this position. And if they go with Hen, please know I will be fucking ecstatic, because I think she deserves it and has worked so incredibly hard for it. But I also think that the incidents from 805, and her NDE in 815, and even the way that almost losing Mara was tied to her job... well, that might make her step down, or decide that captaincy is not what is best for her family. And if the show chooses this path for her, I will only be able to respect that and her choice. Because she deserves to finally be happy with her family, and I get that she does not want to jeopardize it. Even more so after Bobby's sudden passing. I think living through that might put her off the desire for captaincy, and it would ultimately make sense.

However... this past ep also let us see a glimpse of the opposite. Of how this tragedy might motivate someone to step up, take care of everyone, and be a leader. To fight for his people the same way Bobby did. Not only because that's just inherently who he is, but because we have Bobby using their last moments together to tell him he's gonna be okay, that their people will need him.

And that person is Buck.

Buck, who took control of the situation quickly, who has been taking control more and more lately, and who has been shown to be increasingly more comfortable with that. Buck, who has, quite obviously, taken the role of caretaker during this season. I will revisit this a bit later, but the important point to make here is that the foundation is there. Buck immediately went to Athena and started fighting for his team, and they didn't stop until (almost) all of them were out. Buck, who in the preview has already been shown to go and check on Chimney, make sure he can help him.

(I know Oliver mentioned something changing for Buck professionally, but personally, I think that was a reference to losing Bobby, and not to becoming Captain just yet)

Truth of the matter is that I've always believed the end of the series would see Buck as Captain (whether that was in the 118 or, if Hen was Captain there, starting over in a different house). I think that, narratively, that makes the most sense, given that we start the show during his probationary period. Granted, I had not imagined it going down like this, but I've been seeing the potential for a long while, and last night's episode kinda cemented that for me.

They had Bobby quite literally passing down the torch to Buck. Whether that is purely on a moral level or whether that will also bleed into the firehouse, we'll see. But I think it's quite possible that Season 9 will see Captain Buckley, and that his big storyline of the season will be adapting to that. It will also make sense to have this happen to mark the start of a new era, one without Bobby.

Now, as for my guess on how this would work in general:

I think that by making Buck captain, they would also be giving him more mature storylines (which, I think, would feel natural with his character's progression). I think there would be sort of two categories in the firehouse; the OGs (Hen, Chim, Buck and Eddie if he comes back), and then the newest additions (I will include Ravi here because if he becomes a main, it also means a new start for his character. I also think there is a big possibility of having a Grant kid join the firehouse). I think this would feel like a sort of natural progression (by the start of Season 9, Buck will have been at the 118 for almost ten years. He cannot be the puppy-dog of the station much longer).

On a personal level, I personally believe Tim very much intends to settle Buck down with Tommy. Of course, they will have their issues, as every couple in this show does, but I think the intention to have Buck settle in his personal life and be in an unknown world in his professional life might be the move Tim is making. Especially because, as I mentioned before, we've constantly seen Buck feeding and taking care of his team. But the show is making a point of highlighting how Tommy is the only one doing that for Buck.

Also, a small addition to back this up, having Tommy be the sole witness of Buck breaking down is very interesting and very intentional. Because (unless I'm wrong) it speaks of Tommy being the only one able to see through Buck's bs. It also gives Buck someone safe, someone he can break apart with, and someone who he doesn't have to be strong for. The show starting to establish that in 815 feels very important to me.

I don't know. Please feel free to tell me if I'm being too delulu but like, I think this has some potential of eventually happening.

[traincat]

hey!

I recently made a post about wanting to understand the concept of Spideytorch more, and was directed to your blog! If it's not too much of an ask, could you break down their relationship for me?

Sure! I can do that. I'm going to refer back to your post just as a jumping off point -- Spideytorch is definitely, 100% a comics-based thing. Prior to the upcoming Fantastic Four MCU film, the film rights for both characters have never been held by the same company, and "crossover" films are very much a product of the MCU, although ironically Andrew Garfield did once say he wanted Michael B Jordan, who played Johnny in the 2015 Fantastic Four film, to play his Peter's love interest.

Thank you for your service, Andrew.

But while it is comics-based, it's a very different scenario than Spideypool, where the comics are very much based on their popularity as a duo in fandom. I'm not a Spideypool fan, just as like a disclaimer, but as someone interested in the symbiotic relationship between fandom and superhero comics, Spideypool is really interesting because their popularity came first -- they got that team up comic because they were already popular in fandom, they didn't become popular in fandom because they had the team up comic. So it's a really interesting look at how fan activity influences the connections comic characters have. That's not the case with Spideytorch.

(I'm not saying one of those things is inherently better than the other, but since you mentioned Spideypool and their team up comic in your post, I thought it made for an interesting comparison.)

Peter and Johnny literally meet in Amazing Spider-Man #1, back in 1963. The two premier teen heroes of the day, they have a lot of early interaction because they played well off each other -- Peter, a broke loner, was often jealous of Johnny's fame and money, whereas Johnny bemoaned his girl problems compared to chick magnet Peter. (Johnny's girlfriend at the time literally asked him why he couldn't be more like Peter.) They're both pretty big personalities, so there was a lot of pigtail pulling in the early days, but even when they argued there was always a sense that they genuinely liked each other deep down. For Peter, who didn't have friends in the business, Johnny was someone he could rely on, and for Johnny -- who just, like, did not have friends at all until he got to college -- Spider-Man was a peer, someone he looked up to and admired.

(ASM #3)

(ASM #8)

(Strange Tales Annual #2 -- this is the first appearance of Johnny and Peter's "usual place," the Statue of Liberty. Iconic.)

(ASM #19)

(ASM #127)

As Johnny and Peter grew up, the frequency of their team ups faded a little, but their lives have always intersected. In some ways, they've run in parallel. They went to college at the same time, got married at the same time. (Peter's marriage was solid until he sold it to the devil; Johnny's faltered after a decade because sometimes you think you marry someone but they're actually a shapeshifting alien from outerspace who was sent to kill your family. Peter is one of the very few people who Johnny told about that in the aftermath.) Peter unmasked to Johnny, told him his identity, one of the very few people he's done that for. When Johnny "died" (he got better), he left Peter his place on the Fantastic Four. And then, when Johnny came back from the dead, the first person he saw on the other side was Peter.

(FF #1)

(ASM #657, titled Torch Song)

(Fantastic Four #601)

They've lived together, fought together, shared their lives with each other. They trust each other, bone deep, despite their squabbles and differences. It's always been a love connection, however you define that love. It's a connection that has existed from 1963 until today, across multiple fictional universes and continuities. For me, the appeal of them has always been not just their chemistry but also their history.

Also they're just a lot of fun.

(FF #17)

(Fantastic Four v5 #14)

I have a long list of important comics for them in chronological order here, if you want to read more: https://traincat.tumblr.com/post/123691883369/so-ive-only-recently-gotten-into-spidertorch

I hope that helps clear up the history a little bit!