#trying to figure out a consistent way of talking about how the doctor senses peoples' minds and mostly failing

[disasterlesbianeldritchhorrors]

took me longer than i expected because uni, but i’ve finished part 3 of that regeneration-except-the-doctor-is-an-extradimensional-insectoid-timesquid-who-literally-moults-off-their-old-body fic! this one’s much less painful than last time, there’s no battles for their companions’ lives or nightmarish political needle-threading, just waking up nice and safe in the tardis with their friends just outside, the walls covered in moulting acid, unit on high alert, everyone on the verge of panic because they exploded into a big ol’ squid... nothing to worry about

today’s deleted scene: there was originally a bit in the doctor’s conversation with sarah jane where she mentioned that when they were flailing through the unit hallways they didn’t seem to know where they were going and they kept bashing into walls and they wouldn’t stop screaming, and it was... honestly about as terrifying as discovering they were secretly an eldritch abomination this whole time. the doctor managed to reassure her through a mix of white lies and sincere thanks, and then they hugged. it didn’t really fit the direction i ended up taking the scene, though - resolved it a bit too neatly - so i cut it. they probably do have a conversation to that effect later in the tardis though

[order-zerum]

How Zerum Ends

Well, everyone, it's finally happened. The end of Discord Whooves has occurred so now I can talk about what Zerum is and where he was going.

I've said in the past that Zerum's timeline runs parallel to Discord Whooves' timeline, meaning both exist at the same time. And by this I mean events in Discord Whooves line up to the various things that happen to Zerum, starting from the start of both blogs. How this is happening?

Well, Zerum is supposed to be the discord curse in the Doctor's head. He's a literal virus infecting the Doctor's mind, planted there to keep him captive to Discord's influence. The ways you can line up events is through 4 various types of events.

1: Sex. Most of the times that sex occurs, is when The Doctor is overcome by his lust and goes on various sexapades. This doesn't ALWAYS line up, but it does for sure whenever Discord shows up for it.

2: The Light. The light occurs any time The Doctor becomes his old self, undiscorded. It's the glimpses of hope that we get that he's still there, deep down, and the light is a threat to Zerum because if the light stays on, the virus gets destroyed along with Discord's influence. The light's appearance remains consistent with the Doctor's blog, so this is the best way to keep track of where Zerum is in The Doctor's story. I was planning for the light to manifest as a cute creature so people would try to defend it which would ultimately cause more harm to Zerum because the light is basically antibodies.

Eventually the light was going to get so bad that it nearly kills Zerum, during the time that Twilight and Minuette helped the Doctor. Discord seems to have abandoned him but really he can't get in his head during that time.

3: The baby nightmares. These nightmares happen any time Hyde becomes active in The Doctor, and eventually the 'baby' who is actually The Valeyard breaks free of Zerum and escapes the mind prison.

4: Perry Doctor. After the point where Perry appears in Discord Whooves, any time The Doctor is sleeping Perry travels into his mind to interact with Zerum. Perry is a dream traveler, which is why he is able to do this.

Also, there is a reason Perry was able to reach him. Perry travels through the dreams of various ponies and beings, he is a dream traveler rather than a space/time traveler. He found Zerum by visiting his old self's dream, because Zerum is in Dissy's mind.

How was the blog supposed to end?

Eventually, Zerum was going to be able to be convinced to fight Discord when the light shows up and weakens him, and he manages to kill Discord. The event that causes him to have his change of mind is when Discord disguises himself as Perry and attempts to destroy their relationship after he discovered it. But Zerum manages to figure out it's not Perry, and Discord reveals himself. That's when the light returns and Zerum is able to kill him.

Of course, he's accepted that he'll die with Discord, and is ready to accept his fate... but Perry found a way to materialize a TARDIS in The Doctor's mind and rescue Zerum before it's too late.

Zerum is then brought into Perry's dreamscape, where he slowly learns to recover and gain a sense of self worth.

Zerum's cutie mark was going to change to represent his newfound freedom and the self love that he found with Perry's help.

So there you have it, you now know what Zerum's whole deal was, and where the story was meant to go.

This blog was extremely personal to me, and was an exploration of the trauma I had obtained from past abuse, both sexual and mental from horrible people in my past. For a long time I had unmedicated PTSD so this was the best way I could find to cope. The blog was meant to be shocking and to manipulate people into saying and requesting horrible things to feed into the abuse and put people in the place of the abuser, or those trying to help the abused. I'm happy to say while it started out pretty awful, after a while people were much more kind and wanting to help. It started from a very basic hypnosis kink idea, but then I got to wondering why it was a kink and if it was okay to be one. The blog itself wasn't meant as me being kinky, but me exploring 'why does this make me feel this way', and I was able to come to the conclusion that many abuse survivors have these kind of kinks because it gives them a sense of control in something they lost control over in the past. It's a safe way to explore a traumatizing experience, and their own way of having consent in exposing themselves to it. A lot of people assume people are getting turned on by the idea of being abusive, when in actuality most of us are putting ourselves in the victim's role. These are complex feelings but it gives us autonomy over our experiences. It doesn't mean we're turned on by being victims, or that we enjoyed what happened to us. It just means we want to have control over when we feel submissive and vulnerable. We're not 'sick fucks' who get turned on by the suffering of others, most of us would never want anyone to experience what we went through. But we want a safe space to come to terms with our feelings, to feel power in exploring a fantasy situation of powerlessness. This is a process that we need to cope with trauma, and it doesn't hurt anyone but the fictional characters we put ourselves into.

That said, I will be deleting all the posts of this blog besides this one, because it is much to sensitive to me and I've closed that chapter in my life. I don't want this series to be easily found or associated with my original works, so it's time to say goodbye to Zerum. I will leave the posts up for a month so people can read and see all the clues and how the story lines up with Discord Whooves, but after a month is up I will delete the rest of the blog and leave this post in its place.

Thank you all for following, and especially thank you to all who approached this story with understanding. I hope I helped people come to terms with their own traumas, or at least informed people more on what trauma is like.

[dairy-farmer]

Look, Talia already knew Tim was smart right? So why didn’t she manipulate things so Tim and Jason would have been Damian’s left and right hands!? The advisor and the muscle?

to me talia is more of a side character in bruce's comics and i really only care about tim and the characters relevant to him- but from what i've read with talia and her appearances and tim's perspective of her- it straight up wouldn't work. like talking realistically and non-fanon wise to figure it out:

talia (in current comics) is a severely traumatized person who exerts control with violence, manipulation, and corruption but at her deepest core (though it is not consistently shown) she is a VERY compassionate individual who does, in fact, hold humanitarian-like values (and in earlier comics she was an incredible gentle soul who was studying to be a doctor and stuff). but, like bruce, she's got a lot of baggage and the way she goes about achieving things in comics varies. talia is a very....difficult character to pin down because of the vastly different ways she's been characterized. generally with different writers and being an older character she's bound to change but other characters like dick appear to be somewhat consistent in characterization but with talia that's different (for a number of reasons but dc is also no stranger to racism).

in terms of how jason and tim and "recruitment" would go-

her characterization is just so all over the place so when it comes to the things she does like putting jason in the pit you can't say for sure that it was an honest act of love. in many ways it was leverage. with jason her motivations differ, as does the kindness she shows jason. but at the end of the day she wasn't going to dump a healed jason on bruce's doorstep as an act of goodwill. and jason, in his right mind, no matter what talia had done for him- does not take well to being used as a 'tool' or a soldier which is what talia would be asking of him if he were damian's "left hand" or "muscle"

so with jason it wouldn't work because jason has a resistance to being ordered or serving as an attack dog for anyone. jason seeks equals. the outsiders, his team, even though he calls it "his" team they are very clearly a group of like-minded, like-abled people who are on equal footing and he's not strictly the 'leader/boss' in the traditional sense. jason clearly has a soured impression to being a "side kick" so the 'serving' just wouldn't mesh.

as for tim, talia is nowhere NEAR clever enough to get tim to a) turn to the league of assassins b) willingly swear loyalty to her/damian c) act as the right hand to her son. because tim would never actually fall for any of her tricks and if he did he wouldn't GO with her because...he doesn't like her all that much. she's ra's al ghuls daughter, she's killed people, she's brought trouble and threats to gotham. tim's more likely to side with shiva if he goes "bad" than with talia because he doesn't really care about talia.

like...he respects her skills and the threat she poses and she does as well for all of bruce's kids since she doesn't try to meddle with them much but...it's just not realistic.

fics where tim runs off to join ra's and the LOA or is somehow fooled into going to the darkside are fun to read about because fanfic is a world of possibilities but actually considering tim's character...it's just not realistic given what we knew about him BEFORE he ever became robin. tim does not believe in killing- he didn't believe in it before operating under bruce's code- and he would never be okay with how talia conducts her business no matter what the objective is.

fundamentally, their values are at odds with each other and tim's loyalty belongs to bruce and HIS mission.

even if talia wanted to recruit him and jason to serve under damian (and the emphasis here is 'under' because they would never be equals) she'd be fighting a long and difficult battle and wasting a lot of resources to do that and it would honestly just not be worth the amount of effort she'd need to put in.

plus i don't think talia really thinks of tim as some supreme-level genius that she desperately needs on her side. at most she thinks of him as a bit clever because not even ra's fully acknowledges tim's abilities until he's one on one with him. talia would have no reason to seek tim out.

ultimatly i think her reasons for not doing it are:

-it wouldn't occur to her

-it would be too much trouble

-she would have no reason to seek jason and tim out in particular.

[variousqueerthings]

Well, you don't steer the Tardis, you negotiate with it. The still point between where you want to go and where you need to be, that's where she takes you.

We've headed to Bill's second proper episode. The Doctor is in a somewhat non-dissimilar position to back in s3, but not spiralling into a series of suicidal urges (well...) -- in the sense that we're at "taking on a new companion is Not allowed because I'm sad (and in this case because the Master is being held in the cellar), but... well, wouldn't it be nice?" the difference between Bill and Martha is manifold, it's just interesting to imagine character change in the Doctor, who's consciously got not just Martha, but all of his companions in mind when he's interacting with Bill... and, possibly, Susan a bit, considering that picture in episode 1. Bill, to me, feels correct in being the final companion of this era, she ties a lot of emotional themes together going all the way back to Rose, and her greatest trait to me is all the questions she asks/the kinds of questions she asks

right now Bill is following the Doctor with the knowledge that out there in space, her almost-not-girlfriend-turned-puddle-creature is also hanging around...

sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 10/10

sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or given agency to her emotional interiority): 7/10

interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 7/10

furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 5/10

companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 9/10

the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 8/10

doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 5/10

isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 10/10

internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 6/10

Politics (how conservative is the story): 5/10

FULL RATING: 72/100 (if I can count….)

this season, I tellya. I like this episode despite its flaws (flaws which come from some deeeply ingrained scifi tropes that are due a good Poking at)

OBJECTIFICATION: Woooo, we've done it! none of this Nonsense. also Bill's top is cute, and feels to me like something that didn't come out of a fashion catalogue -- I just mean by this that she's someone without a bunch of money, she'd probably have some Fits that she's really into and this gay top gives off that vibe

PLOT-POINT: Bill really engages with how she feels about travelling and the kind of adventures she's in (ofc we see even more of that in the next episode). in this one she's noticing that the Doctor runs into danger and tries to get her out of the way, and simply follows after, because she thinks there's something kind of destructive and lonely about that behaviour -- and this is what leads her to figuring out key parts of the plot as well

there's also this neat moment where there's a statue of perhaps Nefertiti and Bill stops and compares herself for a moment, and it feels very "I'm Black and I'm in space and I have both history and future" which is part of what her story is about -- before the Doctor she was very much floating from one day to the next, with all these questions she didn't have the privilege to be able to ask and have respected and answered. the Doctor really functions so often as a professor in their stories, being really indulgent with these questions, but still challenging her to figure things out for herself and letting her challenge him when she notices the flaws in his logic (or in the next episode, gaps in his truth)

COMPLEXITY: it's relatively easy to follow the twists and turns of this one, and they're quite good twisty-turns. the one thing I question is its ending, and a bit of its buy-in, but that's about Politics

I liked the feeling of this one though. I liked what it wanted to say, at heart, and I liked a fair bit of how it said it

CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: Bill's first own adventure. She's noticing that the Doctor has a tendency to run into danger. she's having some feelings about what the future of humanity might look like. it's not so heavy on Stuff outside of this, but that's fine, the point is really "how does Bill react to time-and-space"

COMPANIONS MATTER: yeah yeah yeahhhh! she really does! and it feels like a conscious choice to go from River Song's "we do as we're told" type line, to now where Bill really challenges the Doctor's limitations. and because she does, vital bits of the story are revealed, to us and to the Doctor

“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: I feel like I should have taken more notes on the Doctor's behaviour in this episode, because it's very much the oppossite of this/the Doctor is fallible, but I wasn't conscious enough about whether it's saying something about where the Doctor's head is at that he didn't consider that the colonists might already be there, and could have risked blowing them -- and the Vardy -- up. regardless, I think the Doctor is very happy to be travelling again and specifically to be travelling with Bill

PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: this episode is very self-contained, its narrative of colonising a planet because earth is [insert some kind of catastrophe that's not quite spelt out for us] doesn't relate to any other, similar episodes of the same, and I think it could have done. it's quite a popular theme (as we will get into)

“SEXINESS”: Bill is here to tell us we're post the need for stupid faux-sexy talk

INTERNAL WORLD: I think for where it is -- that is a "post"-colonised world, and I will absolutely be talking about that in the point below -- it's very well developed. the way also it threw the Doctor for a loop that the colonists were already there!

I am fascinated by how "post"-colonised is depicted via wheat fields. mono-culture harvesting is no good! (I may be overanalysing but that's the thing about "colony" -- it needs to be complicated as concept in modern scifi, it's well overdue for it)

I also noted in "previous doctor who" that it doesn't connect to any other narratives about Something Is Up On Earth so we must leave narratives it's done, so it's sort of ambiguous handwaved Reasons that bring them to this plot. perhaps if that was more grounded, their desperation would feel more real

but it works, the way the mystery comes together. the Vardy in the wall, the old spaceship full of memorabilia from earth, the shrine to the first dead, and the pods of sleeping people. I really like all that

POLITICS: oooooohohoo it's one of my favourite kind of stories, "everyone is people!" the way to win at the end is not destroying the robots, it's to acknowledge their rights to the planet on which they live. I also like that the majority of the colonists (we'll get to that word in a sec) are South Asian, until we get to gun-man-dude, who's not meant to be in the right. there's just a lot more casual and deliberately thought out diversity from the looks of things, making the future of humanity feel far broader

that being said, there are sooome elements to the whole thing that of course I cannot help but pay attention to- first of all, of course, the idea of colonists to begin with is always something complex that conveniently tends to pretend that wherever a colonist lands is empty before they arrive. that is the case in this episode as well, where the plot asks the audience to simply run with the fact that this planet was colonised, and we arrive to the story when "colonised" is its state, that's how we the audience first see this world. what it was before colonisation is not a part of this story

I really would be fascinated in Doctor Who moving forwards grappling with that idea of the implications of "colonist" because it's been the word habitually used in scifi for so long, without thinking about it, and although there are episodes that deal with immigration, with oppression of one species over another (notably, with humans over others), and with stripping resources without "considering" or perhaps caring for the consequences (and then there are consequences), the very concept of colonist isn't so challenged yet

actually if anyone can point me towards a science fiction story consciously writing on colonialism, which I'm sure there are, I'd be very interested

anyway, for this episode, one of the prime science fiction conceits that I would like to see challenged one day, is the "empty" planet just waiting for humans to populate it. maybe this episode has already been done, but not in nu!who, so again, if anyone knows an audio adventure, a classic story, a book, a comic, I'd be very interested

I also just watched Interstellar for the first time yesterday, so now I'm thinking about the popular narrative of "something's up with earth and it's so fucked, we have to go to somewhere else" which is... well, it's very colonialist, it's very Elon Musk and billionaires in space leaving the poor suckers to die, it's very defeatist, and dare I say it without going a biiiit into sentimentalism... it's very ungrateful to the earth, as narrative. it's time we complicated that "easy" shorthand for why colonialism must be done, the same as we need to complicate the "easy" setting of the conveniently empty planet

SO this story is not about the idea of colonialisation, but the Vardy (who have been helping to prepare the planet) are self-aware, and, according to the Doctor, were here first. I think the throwaway joke at the end lets down the story a biiiit, when the Doctor asks about discussing rental agreements for the humans being allowed there, and the Vardy then show a money sign and a ding effect

don't insert last-minute capitalism on a seemingly abundant world where everyone needs to learn to get along! I think this is partly a consequence of the episode needing to end and not having enough time, but I think drops the ball on that

however! tiny swarms called The Vardy who communicate with humans via robot interfaces are people! that society could become so in a particular Cyborg kind of way as long as it's not capitalist, but that's another discussion

FULL RATING: 72/100 (if I can count….)

this is a solid episode -- it's not perfect, and it kind of falls for "easy tropes" rather than real originality or challenge to concepts, but where it really really works is Bill, in my opinion

this makes a big difference to previous companions, where that's often been the point I've rated middly-to-low, because episodes have struggled to give companions something to do and/or a reason to care about what's happening around them

Oh Bill, you're so great

[viktheviking-author]

Clementine's Shadows (Work In Progress)

Clementine was a girl about the age of seven and was known to be the creepiest child you would ever have the misfortune of meeting. It was not her red hair that spun in circlets around her face, unsure of where to go. Nor was it her short and chubby stature that made her stick out from the rest of the kids in her class. Her freckles made a perfectly natural smattering on her face, and she had gotten past her lisp last year. Even the gap between her front teeth looked normal at first glance, as many children her age were missing baby teeth, which you would be forgiven for thinking was the case for her.

The first thing that you might notice about this girl that was unsettling, was the way she stared at you. You could be minding your own business at a grocery store, when you felt a presence prick the edge of your senses. Spinning around, no ominous figure would be breathing down your neck. Just a little girl, sitting in a shopping cart, a good many paces away. You might try to dismiss her out of hand, but she would keep staring, sucking her thumb, completely ignoring the little ipad next to her in the cart.

You might try to pretend you hadn’t noticed, or try to move away, putting a blockade between yourself and the child, but for some reason, the sense she was staring at you wouldn’t go away. This was because indeed, she had not stopped staring at you. No matter what object you placed between yourself and her, she somehow had the uncanny ability to still keep her eyes laser focused on the point of space where you were, and she would keep staring at you until either something important distracted her, such as one of her fathers catching her with her thumb in her mouth again, or if for some inexplicable reason, there was someone else she needed to focus on. This was the first reason you might find the little girl disturbing.

The second you would only find if you spoke with her for at least 5 minutes. It had to be at least 5 minutes, because that would be when she would bring it up. You could be a kid about her age on the playground, meeting her for the first time, going over the rules of a game you wanted to play. At exactly 5 minutes into the conversation, she would interrupt whoever was talking, including herself, to tell you something about your shadow. It would seem arbitrary, but also oddly specific.

“Your shadow is quite tall.” She told a little old woman on the train.

“Your shadow has pointy fingers.” She told her teacher.

“Your shadow is trying to run away.” She told a man standing in line at a coffee shop.

“Your shadow has big ears.” She told a woman scrolling through her phone.

“Your shadow is really big.” She told the mail carrier.

“Your shadow is in pain.” She told the other kid on the playground, who promptly looked at her confused, then scared, then angry, and pushed her to the ground before running away.

It was a very odd behavior that her parents did not understand. They took her to a child psychologist, a therapist, and just about every doctor they thought might help have answers. Each time, she would tell the doctors about their shadows. Each time, they would ask her what she was talking about. Each time she ignored the question and prattled on about learning to ice skate, or how the moon controlled the waves in the sea.

The only people she would talk about the shadows too were her parents, and only for a few minutes at a time. Being the only consistent people in her life, as their family had to move a lot for work, they got relatively frequent updates on the state of their shadows.

“Papa, your shadow is slouching a lot.”

“Daddy, your shadow seems angry again.”

“Papa, could you ask your shadow why it’s crying?”

“Daddy, your shadow is hugging you too tight.”

About once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less, they would get these updates, and they would often take the opportunity to ask her questions about the shadows, what she saw, and what she thought they were.

If they insisted on continuing the conversation, she would burst into tears and would be inconsolable until they managed to distract her enough with treats, activities, or toys.

(unfinished)

[dianight]

A dream I had tonight (a bit long). And a bit more too.

There's three parts to it.

The first one was some realistic Fortnite style gunfight. For some reason I had no weapon and I was running away from two people shooting at me. I hid behind some rocks in some shallow water and there's this girl that gets behind them for cover and she sees me and I just wave at her. The last part was the circle already small and a few of us just chilling. I don't know exactly how it ended because there was some loud noise (explosion?) and then it kinda warps to a different sequence. Not sure, it's blurry there.

This is a bit difficult to explain but I usually have two types of locations when it comes to dreams. There's the "random" ones like a stereotypical forest/city/beach or whatever; and there's the alternative version of the real world, which is slightly different than reality but always remains the same, doesn't really make sense topologically speaking and it's interconnected. This does lead to weird scenarios where two places that in the real world are several kilometers away are next to each other. There is a sort of consistence to the world too, when I'm somewhere and I want to go to X place I know how to get there even if in reality it'd make no sense. All of this for a bit of context.

Second part was me going to school as a teenager, maybe younger. It was just going to class and talking to my classmates but with all the memories I have and such. This went on for a while but I don't remember anything of note beyond the usual thoughts that you'd have in that situation such as "how do I hide that I'm from the future?" and "how did I talk as a 1X year old?". Eventually thought I must have realized that this set up in a dream is a pretty interesting one and tried to steer it toward something more exciting than "going to school".

This is also difficult to explain but I'll try: as it often happens when I try to control a dream it only works for a while until it either ends by itself and I wake up or something "big" happens that totally breaks the immersion and I wake up. Sometimes I manage to fall asleep again and can continue the sequence, it can even happen from one day to another although it's very rare. This time I think I woke up and kept going a few times (3-4??) but it was clear to me that each time I was more and more awake.

Third part was me trying to go some different places or try new things to see how it would change. At first it was on school and it took no time for people to realize that I was acting way off, apparently I hit my head in an accident and they were ok with this explanation. Funny thing is that what gave it away was that I was being nice to this girl that hated me; I only disliked her because she was mean to me. Then it was more of a what if scenario where I was thinking really hard to figure out how can I access HRT as a kid 20+ years ago. My conclusion was that there is no way to do it in secret, my [redacted] would have to find out so it was up to me to be convincing and then who knows if my doctor would even know what a trans person even is. I probably woke up for a bit here since that sort of overthinking tends to break sequences, but there was still a thread about how it would be like to be trans in the 90s early 00s...

At this point I was probably half awake but I wanted to still make use of the "time travel" aspect and somehow I got the idea that streaming with all my knowledge/skills would probably be a guaranteed way to make easy money. Then as I was "living through" this hypotetical scenario a lot of complications showed up: how to deal with the extremely prevalent and commonplace racism, sexism, homophobia and transphobia; how do you even explain that you are a trans woman without absurd backlash (you literally can't); getting a big public would be super easy but for a while I was in the position I've talked about before, an "entertainer" with a lot to lose by coming out, a cost/benefit analysis probably pushes people into the closet; pretty much impossible to hide that you are either a time traveler or have precognition of some kind and all the consequences that come with that. At some point while going over all of these I did fully wake up but I was still pondering about how would you navigate the overly bigoted internet that I remember from the start of the century.

And it's like. I remember getting shown a video where the "punchline" was that the woman had a penis. That's it, that was the joke. How much hatred for trans woman there was (there is). How all the focus on women is on the sexual aspect, which is and has always been baffling to me. How the public perception is mainly from porn and there's no positive representation anywhere. [As much as I dislike the concept, it is super telling that trans women don't even get that] How sad, isn't it? How few places on the internet are not downright hostile to trans women, how easy it is to push us away and how ready everyone is to come up with "I always knew" and "I always hated her anyways".

What is the conclusion here? I don't know, I had an interesting dream and then I spend 15+ minutes in bed just thinking about how difficult to exist is because people hate you for literally no reason (the reason is because you are a trans woman). Not a happy ending, eh.

[tangelo-jay]

Tw health stuff, i just need to vent a little

My dad has prostate cancer.

We still have yet to talk to the doctor to figure out what the next step is. Test results seemed to say "low grade" or something to that effect which I'm pretty sure is "good," all things considered. And these days prostate cancer is very treatable. I know that.

I just wish that the ground wasn't constantly sliding out from under my feet. My mom's breast cancer scare back in February. This with my dad. D with all his... idk, bullshit that I don't understand at all because nothing about what he said that night we got into our first fight makes any goddamn sense whatsoever to the point where I'm pretty sure it doesn't have much to do with me at all. I'm thinking it has more to do with some kind of past trauma that he hasn't gotten over yet and now I'm... triggering it somehow? By trying to get closer to him? I asked him if I did something wrong and he said that I didn't. So why ghost me then? Why all that stuff about him calling himself selfish and "looking out for himself" and "not giving a fuck about most people because it's easier that way"? And if that was true and actually did apply to me, why the fuck would he consistently show me a side that cares? Everytime I needed someone to pull me back from the edge of giving up, he's done it. INCLUDING once when I didn't ask him for help. He could have just gotten in his truck and left but he didn't. He knew that something was wrong, he could see it on my face. He stayed and tried to calm me down and reassure me and I didn't ask him to do that.

He always knows when there's something wrong. He always has. He's the only one that has been able to recognize when I'm having a panic attack and he's the only one that's been able to calm me down and talk me through it.

During the fight, I... I turned his words back on him and threw them in his face. I said "So just to be clear, you don't give a fuck about me." He sighed and said "If that's what you took from that..."

I know that he cares. I do know that. I spoke from a place of fear and insecurity and put words in his mouth. Words that he didn't dare repeat or directly confirm. Not even in anger. That's... something.

It's been... weird and tense since that. Last class was the first time we worked together since then. I could feel the tension on him. He wasn't sure about it. Neither was I. By the end of it though it was okay, more or less, and we were able to have a relatively normal conversation after class.

I don't understand how we got here. Leading up to the fight things were good, maybe even great. And then it just came crashing down out of nowhere.

But the universe keeps telling me to not give up. Keep going. You're almost there.

I hope the universe is right.

I hope things will be fixed with D.

I hope my dad will be okay.

I hope my top surgery will go off without a hitch.

Can't I just have a happy and stable life?

Please?

[stormy333]

Gemini

Hello and welcome back to our second Wrap Up Wednesday! Today unlike with the September W.U.W. we are not wrapping up a month of blog challenges but doing a wrap up of a mundane month I suppose? In this post I’m going to be covering a few things about this past month (June) and adding a few things about the month(s) to come. But to start us of I figured I’d share a new picture of Bellamy ❤️

They grow up so fast! He’s already being accepted into the family and EVEN Molly is beginning to like him! ❤️

A quick recap of May/June...

Since May I’ve been doing a tad better at consistently posting, in my own way. I have also been doing classes online for blogging and writing in general. With those classes I have learned a bit more about myself. And my writing. For instance, I have learned that I love creative writing! Currently, on the site there's only the one but I am actually working on two. One is just in the beginning phases while the other is already on second draft phase I’d feel safe in saying. The best part is these two posts tie together! Plus finally you all will meet something that has deep meaning to me!

So as a result of learning more I’ve also learned that I need to keep reading to help with the creativity. Before I never really thought that much of it and just read occasionally but during recent times I’ve fallen back on the escape of reading and the escape brings creativity and the creativity brings more writing which brings me back to myself in a sense. Being able to keep my writing up and being back to my book loving self gives me another step back to being the woman I desire to be.

Now all of that being said I have still indulged myself in my TV shows when I’m not working. I recently finished The 100 and  started watching Grimm. I also have loads of other shows I watch and enjoy for instance my mom and I watch Naked and Afraid like a lot 😂 it’s actually really fascinating. My life is not all sunshine and rainbows though. I don’t like making my blog all about my chronic illnesses because well some people do good at sharing it but I’m not one of those. I suck at dealing with it and talking about it. Working pushes me to a brink while my body tries to adjust while constantly asking is it just a typical pain? Typical exhaustion? Typical issue? Or is it something ACTUALLY wrong? When I’m home I’m resting and writing and trying to do what I can with what I was given for a body. I’m supposed to do physical therapy daily but I struggle to keep up with it. Generally resting and trying to be 100% for work and myself is how I spend all of my time. When I do go out it’s typically just to my aunt’s to spend time with my cousin and see him and that in itself is a lot for a healthy person. Long story short my health is a full time job that I never get a day off from. On top of it we’ve had doctor’s appointments after appointments recently while prepping for other things in the future.

Which brings me to the next topic of discussion, possibility of what the future holds for this site.

I have a new series that is in the works it’s a Creative Writing series and something special to me. The first part was originally going to post on the 12th of June but I thought better of it and began upping it’s game. Now that is said it brings me to my next point. I will be trying to stay consistent with posts here and there at the very least once a week BUT if I don’t post it’s because I’m working on really strong content. Like I’ve said so many times I am not a professional but I am trying my best to keep good content up for you all. And it just so happens that my preferred content lately is the creative writing and it may take longer for these posts though again I want to and plan on trying to honor posting at the very least once a week.

Now that all of these things are out in the open I would really appreciate it if you all like this to sign up for the email list, follow the blog and maybe comment some content you would like for me to write about?

As always Loves I hope you all have a lovely day or night whenever you are reading this👑🖤

🥀Hailey Marie

[wisteria-lodge]

Archetypes: Sorting Hat Chats

I’ve been asked about my rationale for naming different primary/ secondary combinations. I did this originally as a tool to help me sort characters - I wanted to see how these types tend to be used, so I could more easily see what subversions looked like. I'll run through my thoughts, but know there’s a lot of variation within each category. But even WITH that variation, I do think that each one has its own specific energy that makes it interesting to talk about. An explanation of the terms I'm using.

DOUBLE LION “THE REVOLUTIONARY”

Pretty straightforward. The Lion primary knows something is wrong, they know it in their bones even if they can’t articulate it, and they’ve got to go out and do something about it. Probably charging at whatever power structure is directly in front of them. It’s unlikely you find a character leading a revolution who isn’t a Double Lion. These guys are intense, inspirational, single minded.

The villain version of the Lion primary tends to be the person who “went too far" or "became the monster they were trying to fight.'' But I think that the much more interesting Lion primary villain trope is the Traitor. Since Lions work from their feelings, and their philosophies can’t necessarily be articulated or linked to individuals outside of them - they can definitely have their head turned while still feeling moral about it.

One of my favorite examples of this Revolutionary archtype is actually Christian Bale‘s character from Newsies. He’s the spark that starts the unionizing revolution, but 100% needs his Badger and Bird lieutenants to keep him focused and keep him from defecting

LION SNAKE “THE ROBIN HOOD”

These guys are similar to the Double Lion - they will recognize a cause or injustice revolutionary style - but Robin Hood doesn’t go up and bang on wicked Prince John’s door. His move is the snake secondary one: confront the problem indirectly. Undermine the regime by stealing tax money and re-distributing it to the poor. Be simultaneously Robin Hood the outlaw and Robin of Locksley the noble, infiltrating and getting information. The Lion Snake is more likely to work within society (or deliberately separate from society) versus just breaking everything down.

LION BIRD “THE LAWMAN / THE VIGILANTE”

The fact that the Lion Bird can either be the Lawman or the Vigilante shows off the very clear hero/villain split you get with Bird secondaries. We also see this with the Snake Bird (simultaneously the Mastermind and the traditional Villain) and the Double Bird (either the Scientist or the Mad Scientist.) This is why I think I had such trouble naming the Badger Bird. I wasn’t leaning into the duality of the Bird secondary enough. The Badger Bird can be the King Arthur, or he can be the Mob Boss, and he’ll look kind of similar either way.

The Lion Bird also has that Lion primary conviction and drive, but they want to follow up on it with investigation, evidence, and plans. I actually think there need to be more stories about Lawmen turning into Vigilantes and vice versa. Because Lion Birds are their Cause no matter what external alignment gets attached to it.

LION BADGER “THE LINCHPIN”

This is my own sorting - although when I came up with this name I still thought I was a Double Bird. The linchpin is the pin-axle thing at the center of a wheel that prevents the whole thing from falling apart, and I think it's a good way of talking about the energy of this combination. The Badger secondary means they’re a lot less single minded than the other Lion primaries: their power comes from being part of a group. They become the emotional “heart” a lot, and have a way of quietly keeping things together just by existing. They can be leaders, but a Double Lion will lead from up front while a Lion Badger will lead from in the middle (if that makes sense.)

I do think it’s really funny that this is a common sleeper villain trope. Peter Pettigrew, Prince Hans, and Randall Boggs of Monsters Inc. all became integral to a group, and then exploit their position within it. They’re kind of the evil bureaucrat. Maybe that's a good trope for children’s media

DOUBLE SNAKE “THE TRICKSTER”

This is another straightforward one. Double Snakes are in it for themselves (and maybe like three other people.) They're going to be clever and tricksy about how they get what they want, and will not mind doing things backward and unofficially. And they won't mind if you know that's what they're doing. There’s something very unapologetic about the Double Snake which makes for very attractive characters. They are consistently voted the sexiest... and when they’re villains they’re fun villains. You know what they want, and what they want is not that complicated. I think that’s a big reason for the appeal of Snake primaries in general. They’re the easiest primary to understand and explain.

SNAKE LION “THE LANCELOT”

I used to call these guys “The Rebel,” which... is too generic, doesn’t really mean anything. So I started thinking about the Lion secondary as the Knight secondary, and I liked that. Double Lions are the Crusader Knight, riding for their Cause. Bird Lions are Grail Knights, riding for their own personal truth. Badger Lions are Champion Knights, here to help the helpless and defend the innocent.

And if that's that case… Snake Lions have to be the Knight Errant, the knight who rides for his lady. It is that simple. Lancelot might be a Knight of the Round Table, but he’s riding for Arthur the person, not Arthur the King. And for his lady, Queen Guinevere. I feel like his dilemma is one that’s common to a lot of Snake Lions: what happens when they’re forced to split their loyalty? It’s tragic, but Lancelot can’t have Arthur and Guinevere simultaneously.

(At least not until my awesome Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot OT3 which I will totally write at some point :)

SNAKE BIRD “THE MASTERMIND / THE VILLAIN”

The classic. We see a little more of the Bird Secondary split, and well… this is your stereotypical villain. They want power. They’re going to use an elaborate plan to get it. There’s a lot you can do with this sorting, but I actually do think it’s fun that whatever you do, this slight undercurrent of villain and/or mastermind… never quite goes away.

SNAKE BADGER “THE LOVER”

The Love Interest sorting. Chances are very good that if there is a love interest (who does not serve some other role in the story...) they're going to be a Snake Badger. Devoted to one person, solving problems by caretaking. This is the Badger secondary who is likely to have the smallest group, which is just going to make them look excessively devoted to their friends. This type is pretty gender neutral, which is fun. A lot of female love interests, but also your Mr. Darcys and Peeta Mellarks.

One of my favorite things about this trope (mostly just because I think it’s funny...) is that if you write a character who is not supposed to be a love interest, but who is a Snake Badger... subconsciously I think people are going to read them as a love interest anyway. Looking at you Jaskier, Horatio, and even Captain Barbossa.

DOUBLE BIRD “THE [MAD] SCIENTIST”

I think that (especially if you aren’t a Bird Primary yourself) your response to hearing a fictional Bird Primary’s motivation is kind of …huh. That seems random. Or oddly specific. You get your Hannibal Lecters, whose entire motivation is... wanting to eat people while drinking nice wine.

Double birds seem especially unusual, just in terms of society. They are Bird secondaries and they interact with the world through gathering data, but their Bird primaries mean that data can literally lead them to any conclusion, no matter how potentially wacky. These guys consciously build themselves from the ground up, and that can make them kind of detached - either in a logical way, or an unmoored way. They're written as either really stable, the rational mentor figure. Or really... not. And that’s how you spot a Bird villain. They’re not after money/power/safety, they’re after something weird.

BIRD LION “THE GRAIL KNIGHT”

This is the trope of Perceval or Galahad, questing after the Holy Grail chalice... which is really just meaning, and truth. It’s a personal quest. Grail Knights tend to ride alone, and a lot of the things that concern them are metaphysical, to do with identity, purpose, things like that. You can have extremely different Bird Lions, but I do think there is a sort of spiritual core there. Doctor Harleen Quinzel sees freedom and truth in whatever the Joker is doing, and then once she recognizes his hypocrisy, has to go build her own meaning.

I actually think these guys are pretty easy to spot because of that Lion secondary. When they change direction, they change direction, and there’s probably a period of despair between the direction changes. I’ve talked about how Bird Lions having a habit of falling apart pretty dramatically, and that’s where this idea comes from.

BIRD BADGER “THE SURVIVOR”

A rare sorting, but an interesting one. I call this one “the Survivor” or “the Last Man Standing” because, well, they seem to be. They seem remarkably stable. This is the Bird primary least likely to be a villain, and maybe the sorting least likely to be a villain. I think what’s going on is that they are grounded and integrated in whatever community they happen to be in (because of that Badger secondary), but they can define themselves and rebuild themselves in the Bird primary way. This makes them uniquely suited to building a new version of themselves for whatever situation they happen to find themselves in.

Maybe a better name for these guys would be “The Adapter.”

BIRD SNAKE “THE ARTIST”

Like all Bird primaries, these guys are inspired by their own projects and their own worldview, but because of that Snake secondary, Bird Snakes have a more easy-going ‘take the world as it comes' kind of energy. They are “the Artist” because everything they do is art: they want to use themselves and the world around them, put all of that towards whatever their Bird primary happens to be interested in.

You can have villains like the Nolan Joker, or the Talented Mr. Ripley, who kind of turn the world into their own personal philosophical social experiment. Or Scotty from Star Trek whose meaning is solely the well-being of the Enterprise. Maybe they just like traveling, and that's all they need. (It's a way for the Bird primary and the Snake secondary exist very happily together, so I wouldn't be surprised if that was pretty common.)

DOUBLE BADGER “THE PEACEMAKER”

Badgers are interesting, because while I think they’re generally regarded as “correct,” they’re also seen as kind of boring. That’s the case with both Badger primaries and Badger secondaries, which means it is doubly reflected in the Double Badger. They often get written as simplistic, the sweet Jane Bennet type who loves everybody and caretakes everybody and just wants everybody to get along.

They are often the targets of what TV Tropes used to call “Break the Cutie.” What could be more interesting than making this character, who wants to be happily part of a community, be forced to build protective models, be all tortured and angsty? I actually think we’re seeing a return of the Double Badger as an interesting character in their own right, with people like Aziaphale, and I'm here for it.

BADGER LION “THE PROTAGONIST”

What can I say? There are a lot of protagonists that are Badger Lions. They want to help the group - so we know they're the good guys - and then they charge and make stuff happen. Lion secondaries are very useful in fiction - you drop them into a situation and stuff just happens. I also think of this as the Starfleet officer sorting - because if you’re a Starfleet officer, either you are the sorting, or can model it really well.

I will say that this is kind of the stock Protagonist sorting, the way that the Snake Badger is the stock love interest and the Snake Bird is the stock villain. There’s just something sort of generic good guy about this one, which is why I want to see it used as a villain sorting more. Badger villains - mostly people who define ‘human’ very narrowly - are insanely terrifying.

BADGER SNAKE “THE ADVISOR”

Possibly “the Power Behind the Throne.” This is another one I had difficulty pinning down. I called it “the Politician” for a while, which unfortunately came off as a little bit more negative than I meant it to, since I think this sorting has a lot in common with Lion Badger, the linchpin of a heroic team. The difference is that Lion Badger takes on that role kind of unconsciously, while the Badger Snake does it very consciously.

Their loyalty is to the group, but their skill set is all about subversion and different ways of going around the group, which is why there’s an interesting contradiction at the heart of Badger Snake. A lot of real life Badger Snakes struggle with feeling like “bad people" and it's too bad. These guys are ridiculously powerful and competent when they are sure of themselves, and I love seeing them in action

BADGER BIRD “THE KING / THE MOB BOSS”

Another difficult one, despite (or because) I really like them. I was calling them “the Architect” because “The City Planner” sounded too boring… but that’s what they do. They’re all about the community but they problem-solve the way all Bird secondaries do, by prepping, and gathering knowledge. I talked more about this in the Lion Bird entry, but Bird secondary seems to have this villain split going on, and that’s what I see here too. This is a controversial love-them-or-hate-them sorting, and I think that’s why. There’s a lot of room in whether or not you see this sorting as villainous.

[someonestolemyshoes]

Hi! Have u done any pregnant Hanji and overprotective daddy Levi already?? Yep i think im craving for more domestic levihan family, im sorry 😭

Im a bit new here in the community, and when i read ur works, i fell in love with it already, thank you for existing!!! 💖💖💖

Hello anon! Thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoyed my other fics :3 Sorry for the very long wait for this one, I've been struggling to find the time/motivation to write lately, but I'm feeling a little better and I figured I'd get to work on some of my prompts. Starting here!!

It ended up a little less domestic and a touch more angsty than I had originally planned, but only for a moment--happy endings all round! 

Warning: this does start off with non-graphic depictions of nausea/vomiting, I hope that doesn't bother you!

Hange had been feeling unwell for days.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence—Hange tended to wake up feeling nauseous some days, most often when she'd neglected to eat a decent meal the evening before—but this was the fourth morning in a row now, that Hange found herself bent over the toilet bowl in the early hours of the morning, heaving up nothing but acid and empty air. 

She retched until her stomach ached. There was nothing left to bring up, but her gut still rolled unpleasantly and there was a telling tremor under her tongue that warned her it might be best to stay in the bathroom a little while longer. She settled heavily against the wall to catch her breath.

It didn't make any sense. For most of the day, Hange felt fine. A little tired, maybe, but that was only to be expected after spending half the night every night on the bathroom floor. Tonight, no doubt, would follow the uncomfortably familiar routine: Hange would dry-heave a little longer, until the queasiness abated enough for Levi to convince her to come back to bed, and then she would toss and turn, too warm beneath the bed clothes, until she could fall into a restless sleep. She'd wake up feeling a little groggy, a little bleary, unreasonably hungry, but after a coffee and some breakfast she would feel well again. Perfectly normal.

Like clockwork, Levi appeared in the doorway just as Hange had flopped herself back over the toilet. She felt his palm, cool and soft, press against the back of her neck. Hange gathered her hair back from her face with both hands, braced her elbows on the toilet bowl, letting out a groan of discomfort as her stomach twisted, threatened to revolt again. Levi's thumb rubbed soothingly against her neck.

Sure enough, she brought up nothing more, but she gagged plenty, and found herself gasping for breath by the time she leaned back against Levi, aching and exhausted. His lips pressed into her damp hair.

Levi was as silent as always. His touch was pleasant, his presence welcome. Hange needed the hand he offered to pull her to her feet, needed his reassuring grip at her hips as she brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth out. Her quaking knees felt unstable beneath her. 

He lay facing her after they got into bed. Hange was sprawled out atop the covers, shifting restlessly to find the coolest patches on the bed. Levi watched her for a moment, then said, "This isn't normal."

Hange only grumbled.

"You said you'd book an appointment with the doctor."

Hange grumbled again. Levi ticked his tongue and rolled to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Call tomorrow."

"If I didn't know better," Hange said sluggishly, "I'd say you were worried about me."

He scowled and rolled onto his other side, his back to her now.

"No, just sick of waking up at half four every morning to drag you back to bed."

Hange managed a small, wicked snicker, but shuffled across the space between them and pressed an apologetic kiss to the back of his neck.

"Must be dreadful," she said. Her voice sounded raw, hoarse. She buried her nose into his hair and took a long, deep breath. Levi grunted, but reached back and pulled her arm loosely over his hip. He knotted their fingers together loosely.

"Call them, Hange."

Hange gave his fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I will."

**

Hange prided herself on being a reasonably intelligent person. She had two degrees, was working towards her doctorate, and already had her name on a small handful of peer-reviewed research papers. She spoke multiple languages, read dissertations for fun, kept a (in Levi’s words) disgustingly realistic human skeleton in a box under the bed for study purposes, and had spent the better part of the last 26 years of her life studying human biology and physiology.  

How she had not predicted that she might be pregnant was almost unfathomable. 

She left the doctors office in a daze with an appointment card and several pamphlets in hand. She had been referred hastily to a midwife and the hospital would soon be sending out a date for an ultrasound—“As soon as possible,” the doctor had said, “since you’re not sure how far along you are.” 

The thing is, Hange had been on the same birth control pill for years now. Forgetful as she may be about many, many things (like eating, and bathing, and washing the dishes and taking out the garbage and and and), Hange was religious in taking that damn pill at the same time every single day. She had never missed it, not even once. Without a regular cycle, Hange had no way of predicting when they had conceived, and the doctor was eager to make sure no essential landmarks in her antenatal care were missed, if they could possibly help it.

The thought had never even crossed her mind. It seemed ridiculous now, in hindsight. The sickness was one thing, but now that she thought about it, there were a whole host of small oddities that Hange could easily attribute to pregnancy. Lethargy, and bloating, heartburn, and she had been peeing more than usual—Hange groaned, and scrubbed her hands over her face. She should have suspected, at least. Should have put the pieces together sooner. 

But, stupid and naive as it may be, she hadn’t thought it possible. Why worry about it, when Hange had taken consistent precautions to avoid it? 

She felt queasy the entire bus ride home. 

It wasn’t that she was against the idea of having children. One day, maybe. When she had finished her doctorate, got herself a steady, well-paid job. When she and Levi had moved out of their tiny, cramped apartment into somewhere bigger, somewhere more suited for a family. 

And god. Levi. 

This was something they’d never really talked about. For his part, Levi never seemed all that interested. He was good with Hange’s nieces and nephews, and Erwin’s son adored him, and he hadn’t showed any express dislike for children, but—well, tolerating other peoples little brats and raising your own are two very different things. 

What if Levi didn’t want the baby? What if he did? Hange wasn’t even sure herself what she wanted to do about the whole situation—what if she didn’t want it? What if, after some reflection, Hange decided now wasn’t a good time? Could they even afford a baby right now? Hange’s money was tied up in her education, while Levi was just making ends meet at the office. They got by well enough with just the two of them, but add in a baby? A whole other person, entirely dependant on them for support? Hange could barely feed and bathe herself, some days, never mind responsibly care for a child. 

By the time the bus pulled up near the house, Hange felt more distressed than ever. Levi, at least, was at work until the evening, so she had a few more hours to herself to mull everything over, but the entire situation made her stomach clench and churn unpleasantly with every new thought. 

The prospect of having a child was terrifying. The prospect of not having this child was nauseating. 

Levi had left the flat in pristine condition when he had left for work, but Hange barely had the energy to feel even a little guilty as she shrugged off her coat and kicked off her shoes, leaving both strewn about the floor. She dumped her bag and made her way sluggishly through to the bedroom. 

Levi had made the bed. The sheet was stretched flat over the mattress, the pillows perfectly fluffed and set against the headboard. Hange’s nightshirt, one of Levi’s old, baggy shirts, too stretched and threadbare for him to wear, had been folded neatly and left on her side of the bed, her slippers lined up smartly with the bed frame. For some reason—hormones, she told herself—her eyes watered, and a lump swelled in her throat. She sniffled pitifully as she stripped off her clothes and pulled on the shirt, clambering into the bed and tugging the sheets until the cocooned around her. 

Hange passed the rest of the day tossing and turning in bed. She tried to nap, but her mind was too restless, occupied with thoughts of the baby, with the concept of having to tell Levi when he came home. She could try to lie, say the doctors had done some blood work, that she was waiting on the results of some test or other, but Levi knew her too well. She could never lie to him, and her despondent state would give her away before she had the chance to say anything. 

The sun was beginning to set by the time she heard Levi’s keys in the door. She felt exhausted, head aching with all the thinking, considering, weighing up her options; with running over every possible outcome she could imagine. Keeping the baby, getting rid of the baby, Levi not wanting the baby, Levi leaving over the baby—every scenario she could imagine was worse than the last. There was only one idea that she had hardly dared entertain, in fear of disappointment if things didn’t work out. 

She heard Levi call out for her, but gave no answer. She listened, curled up in a ball on her side, as he shuffled around, no doubt picking up her coat and shoes from where she had abandoned them. And then he made his way towards the bedroom, steps soft on the plush carpet. The bedroom door creaked open. 

“Hange?” 

She made a small, warbled noise under the bedclothes. Levi came to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His hand found the curve of Hange’s hip. 

“How was it?” 

Hange made another noncommittal sound. She wiped her nose and eyes on the sheets, but didn’t dare show her face just yet. She wasn’t ready. She had never prepared for this conversation, never even imagined it before today. It was too soon. Not enough time to rehearse. 

Levi’s hand moved to her back, rubbing lightly up and down her spine, before dropping to the mattress behind her. He leaned over her, and she felt his lips press warm and gentle to the point of her shoulder. A fresh wave of tears poured over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her face. 

She tried to be quiet, but something—the shake of her shoulder, perhaps, or the shudder of air as she tried to take a steadying breath in—gave way to her crying. Levi moved off the bed, but Hange felt his fingers prying lightly at the sheets, pulling them down until he could get a good look at her face. He was kneeling by the bed now, face level with her, and he looked at her with worry pinching deep creases between his brows. 

“Oi, what’d they say?” 

Hange bit the inside of her lip and rubbed her damp cheek on the pillow. If Levi was bothered by her using their bedding as a tissue, he didn’t show it. He simply looked at her, eyes darting over her face, searching. It occurred to Hange then how this must look to him. She had gone to the doctors due to unexplained, violent sickness, and now she is in bed, hours later, still crying about whatever news she had received. 

“I’m fine,” she said. Levi’s tense shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his face remained pinched, frowning and concerned. Hange wanted to tell him quickly, simply, like ripping off a plaster, but the words would not come. She opened her mouth, but her throat constricted painfully. 

Eventually, she said, “my bag. There’s some stuff in my bag. Have a look.” 

Levi gave her a somewhat quizzical look, but stood, dropping a quick kiss to her temple before going to fetch the bag, and dipping his hand in to fish out the contents inside. 

Hange watched with her breath held and her stomach clenched as Levi pulled out the handful of leaflets and turned them over, looking at each one in turn. His eyes widened fractionally as comprehension dawned on him. His lips pressed into a thin line. Leaden weight settled in Hange’s gut. She curled into a tighter ball, pressing the bedsheets over her mouth and nose, waiting for him to gather himself enough to say something. 

After a moment, he spoke. 

“That’s all?” 

Huh? “Huh?!” 

Hange disentangled her arms from the sheets and sat up, staring at him. Levi moved to sit on the edge of the bed again, a scowl back on his face, though there was an intriguing flush high on his cheeks as he whacked her lightly on the top of the head with the leaflets. 

“Stupid four-eyes,” he said, exasperated. “Crying like that. I thought you were dying.”  

“I’m pregnant.” Hange said the word slowly, carefully, in case Levi had somehow misunderstood. He had the audacity to look at her like she was stupid.

“I can see that.” 

“And you have nothing more to say about it? That’s all?” 

Levi shrugged a little at her. Aside from the small patches of colour in his cheeks, Levi seemed wholly unfazed by the revelation. 

“It’s just a baby. We can handle a baby.” 

“That doesn’t terrify you?” 

Levi scrutinised her for a moment, before he said, “are you scared?” 

“Yes? Yes! How are you so calm? We can’t afford a baby—we don’t have the time for a baby? Where will they going to sleep? We don’t have a spare room. Can we get time off work to take care of a baby? How will we pay for childcare when we can’t be around?” 

“Hange,” Levi said, putting a stop to her rambling. He watched her with a pinched stare. “Do you not want it?” 

Hange had spent the majority of the day mulling over this same question. Staring a family was a huge, life-changing commitment, something that required  careful forethought and planning. They had not had that luxury. Hange was pregnant now. She had doubts and fears, more than she could ever express, but the idea of simply having a baby—of having this baby—wasn’t upsetting. In the small, brief moments she had allowed herself to imagine a future where she and Levi were parents, where they weren’t wanting for money or time, where things were well, she felt happy. Giddy. The prospect was almost exciting. 

“It’s not that,” Hange said earnestly. “I do—I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I—I do want it. But I just—we had no time to prepare. We have no savings, we have no space, I’m a mess. How are we supposed to take care of a tiny person? Babies are hard work, Levi.”

“You’re already hard work.” 

Hange laughed weakly, and wiped at her face again. Levi pressed a kiss to her raw cheek. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he said.

Hange leaned into him, sighing quietly. 

“Is this the kind of thing we can just figure out?” 

Levi hummed, shrugging his shoulder. His fingers skimmed up beneath Hange’s shirt, splaying over the small of her back and pulling her closer. 

“Why not? We’ve done a good job bullshitting our way through everything else.”  

Hange laughed lightly and bumped the side of her head against Levi’s.  

“This is different, Levi. This is a person. A tiny little person who is going to need me and you to do everything for them. What if we can’t do it? What if we mess up?” 

“Hange.” Levi pulled back a little and his hands came up to grip either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “Stop. I know all that. But if you want the brat, and I want the brat, we’ve got no choice but to get on with it.” 

“I know, I know, but—wait, you want the baby?” 

Levi maintained eye contact with her, but it seemed to take a concentrated effort to do so. The flush of his cheeks deepened a little and his lips quirked at the corners. No doubt to compensate for the show of emotion, he pulled his face into his customary frown. 

“It’s fine,” he said. Hange fought the urge to roll her eyes and caught his hands as he lowered them from her face, pulling them into her lap. 

“Are you saying that because it’s already too late, or do you want to keep it?” 

Levi’s face took on a look of constipated strain. He curled his lip as though in distaste, then hooked a hand around the back of Hange’s neck and pulled her face to his abruptly, smacking a kiss to her lips. He let his forehead settle against hers and stroked his thumb over the hinge of her jaw. 

He fought to keep his tone neutral, but Hange could hear the happy tremor in his voice as he said again, “It’s fine.”

For the first time since hearing the news that day, Hange allowed herself to feel excited. To accept the idea that she and Levi were about to start their own bizarre little family. That Levi was still with her felt incredible enough, but to know that he was pleased—it was more than she could ever have hoped for. Hange gave a wet laugh and kissed him again. 

“Are you allergic to looking happy?” Hange asked as they broke apart. Levi clicked his tongue and pulled back to flick her square between the eyebrows. She laughed a little louder and leaned to wipe her runny nose on his shoulder. Levi muttered under his breath, but didn’t push her away.  

“Okay,” Hange said, after a moment. She sat back and pushed her hair back from her face. “Okay. We’re having a baby, then.” 

Levi’s rubbed the smile from his lips with the back of his hand, nodding. “We’re having a baby.” 

Hange sunk down to flop back over the pillows. Levi looked down at her, head tilted, chewing the inside of his lip. Hange reached up to brush his fringe off his forehead, warmth spilling in her chest when he held her hand close and turned to kiss her palm. 

She smiled a little playfully, and freed a leg from the sheets to dig her toes into his ribs. 

“If I’d known you wanted kids I would have been significantly less stressed, you know.” 

Levi quirked a brow at her. 

“I’ve told you that before.” 

“No, you haven’t.” 

“I have. At your sisters wedding.” 

Hange racked her brain, searching for the conversation. She remembered the occasion, and she remembered that she and Levi had somehow ended up babysitting Hange’s family brood. She remembered Levi, wrestling to keep her youngest nephew on his lap while the eldest, still only five or six at the time, was clambering up the back of his chair, sticky hands tugging at Levi’s collar. Hange fought hard to recall more of what was said, but could remember nothing at all of Levi announcing that he had wanted one of his own. 

“You said these brats aren’t so bad,” Hange said slowly. 

Levi nodded at her. Hange waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, only looked at her like there was nothing more he needed to say. 

“That’s it? That’s your idea of telling me you want kids?” 

“The hell else could I have meant?” 

Hange dug her toe at him again but Levi caught her foot this time, pushing it firmly down onto the mattress. Hange reached for him with both arms instead, curling them around the back of his neck and tugging him down quickly. He toppled over her with a quiet oof, and Hange rolled them quickly, straddling his waist and dropping her weight down onto him. 

“That is the kind of thing you say clearly, Levi! These brats aren’t so bad—you’re ridiculous!” 

Levi wrestled with her arms a little longer before giving up and bringing his hands instead to rest low on her hips. He watched her with a curious expression on his face, something open and soft, and then his eyes roved down to her abdomen and his thumbs brushed inwards, beneath the hem of her shirt, stroking over her lower belly. 

This time, he didn’t fight his smile. 

He reached up and pulled her down by the neck, and kissed her soundly. Hange melted against him, welcomed the press of his tongue between her lips, shuddered pleasantly when he nipped at her bottom lip. She went with him willingly as he rolled them both over, nudging a knee between her legs and settling his weight against her. 

She was spreading her legs to make space for him, when he paused suddenly, and pulled back, leaning over the bed and scooping through the discarded back of leaflets. Hange, winded and dishevelled, watched him incredulously as he flicked through the contents of one, then tossed it aside and opened another. 

“What are you doing?” 

Without looking up, Levi replied, “Checking.” 

“Checking what?” 

“I wanna know if we can still—” he waved a hand between them, and went back to searching. 

“We’ve been—” Hange mimicked his gesture, “—up until now anyway.” 

Levi looked up at her, looking mildly horrified. He held up one his open leaflet and said, “You’ve been drinking alcohol, too. You’re not supposed to do that. And look, here—you’re not supposed to overwork. You’ll have to take on less hours at the university. And you’ll eat. Proper damn meals. Every day.” 

Hange flopped back against the pillows, eyes rolling, watching as Levi picked up each new leaflet in turn, pointing out every little adjustment that Hange would have to make. 

“This one says you should get eight to ten hours sleep per night. Every night. And not so much coffee, the caffeine’s bad for the baby.” 

The baby. It sounded surreal. It sounded ridiculous. Levi shifted to sit against the headboard beside her after opening the chunky little What to Expect While Expecting volume Hange had been handed while leaving the doctors. He seemed thoroughly engrossed, and seemingly unaware when one of his hands reached out to pull Hange’s hair free of its ponytail and sink into her hair. She hummed happily as his nails scraped over her scalp. 

Things were still scary, and Hange was still uncertain about how this whole adventure might turn out. But Levi was still with her, and Levi was happy, and that—

—Well, that was good enough. 

[thestarsoutofyourwindow]

To Survive this Pain, Part 1 - 11th Doctor x Reader

A/n: I'm not dead, I promise! I've just been struggling to finish off fics. If this seems slightly rushed it's because I just needed to finish something. It's exam season (it's extra-long now due to a certain virus), but they're over in a few weeks. I've been trying to stretch into writing for different Doctors, and in my new formats, but good old Eleven is easiest to write. Inbox is still open :)

Word Count: 2596

Summary: After the "death" of Amy and Rory, the Doctor is devastated. After deciding to isolate himself on a cloud, he leaves you with the Paternoster Gang till Strax informs you the Doctor wants to see you.

Warnings: Angst, Cold Doctor, Doctor is slightly ooc due to guilt, mild self-inflicted Injury, Bouts of Rage.

I should try to post part two as soon as possible.

This is my first ever Full Story (GIF isn't mine).

Your shoes splashed through puddles on the cobblestone road, on your way down to the park of which you knew he would be.

You hadn't heard from him in a short while now, but Jenny and Vastra frequently advising you to pay him a visit had been getting to you. That's why, when Strax brought you the news that the Doctor wanted to see you, you leapt at the opportunity.

You were worried, you'll admit. It was clear as day that losing Amy and Rory had him tearing himself to pieces. It was only a matter of time before he sent you off, too. Before he abandoned you.

Weaving around the quiet Victorian streets, the sun still yet to grace the sky, you had arrived at the park. Looking around the odd trees that decorated the perimeter, you picked out the tree that you knew had the elusive ladder directly above it. You stepped over the beds of wilting flowers that lined the pathways into the overgrown grass.

After completing the feat of reaching the ladders, consisting of either jumping or using your umbrella handle, you had successfully pulled the ladder down far enough to climb onto.

Making your way up the ice-cold rungs, you take a moment to consider why the Doctor called for you in the first place.

It made little sense to you. After all, the Doctor had been avoiding you for the better part of two months now; what had changed?

The Doctor planning on taking you home became all the more likely in your mind as you began to climb the spiral staircase, shivering as the late-autumn air nipped at your skin. Winter was slowly breaking through the remaining life.

If you weren't so hung up on adjusting to the less-than-ideal state of Victorian England, you would've had more time to worry about the Doctor. However, he was so hung up with his own issues, and you with yours, that he only crossed your mind when you were settling down for the night.

Of course, it hurt that you too. Never seeing Amy and Rory again. You did your best to hold onto the fact that they lived a happy life together.

A life that you knew could never have. You wish you could say goodbye to them, but you chose to carry the loss with you.

You were exhausted, it was safe to say. Spending your days helping out the Paternoster Gang with new cases that come in was certainly frustrating, especially when you had to avoid so much. Milk, green dyes, dodgy stairs, aliens and gas leaks. Nothing was safe in Victorian times.

Not that you didn't enjoy the company, mind you. Jenny always provided conversation, and paired with Vastra, there were plenty of investigations to be had. You just missed them all, sometimes.

The Doctor had become such a vital figure in your life that it didn't seem right for him to not be there. When you had both lost Donna, you were there for each other, and even then, he was a wreck. You had spent those first two months together, and you had never felt closer to someone before. At first, you couldn't admit it to yourself, but after six years, you knew that was when you started falling for him.

There was so much you didn't understand about him, yet so much he had begun to explain. You had seen and done so much together, places that surprised and scared the both of you. In distant worlds and ancient times, there lay so many memories that you had forgotten. Just another thing consumed by time.

A simple flip through your diaries would confirm that through all that, you admired him: mattering not which of his faces. You had accepted from the start that he was an unobtainable desire, no matter how you looked at it.

He was old, alien and a danger-magnet. Many considered the Doctor to be a God.

It upset you to know that the Doctor could never love you, not in the way you love him. Not in the way that he had shown you what love could be, what it should be. But that was what you had to expect from the Doctor.

You assumed that consistently losing those he loved must hurt immensely. You also imagine losing someone he could spend the rest of his lives with would leave another unfixable hole in his heart.

So it made sense to you that the Doctor would never willingly fall for a human. Your short life-spans and weak bodies meant that so much as a single bullet could rob you of your life.

The thought of what a state he must've been in at that very moment was disturbing, to say the least. You had seen the Doctor angry before, and it was not an easy sight.

His heart held so much pain, so much guilt.

After what felt like a good three minutes, you stepped off the staircase. Your shoes now emerged in a cloud, which could somehow keep you from plummeting into the streets below. You felt surprisingly light, almost like you were standing in a pit of feathers, yet some odd force kept you from losing your balance. Plucking your key out of your pocket, you press your hand against the door of the TARDIS. You unlock the door, pulling the key from the lock and stepping into the Console room.

You called out for him. After listening for a moment, you concluded that the Doctor must've been elsewhere.

The TARDIS was a glum sight. Most of the orange lights were dimmed: if functioning at all. A few even had fist-holes in them. There were what looked like hundreds of books cluttering the console, all of varying topics: The Time War, Time Lord Psychology, the History of the Universe, Earth History, Greatest War Losses. Some had bookmarks; others he had clearly tabbed.

Paper littered the glass flooring, each scribbled in several handwritings. They all clearly varied in ages and sizes, some a muddy brown, others a vivid white. Quite a lot were in small clusters of pages, as though they were ripped from a book. You picked up one of the sheets to inspect closer, and your heart nearly broke.

Each page had a sort of date in the corner, which you quickly realised must've been an approximation of the Doctor's age at the time. They were diary entries, ripped out and thrown in what you assumed to be a fit of rage.

The Doctors' tweed jacket had slipped off the console and onto the floor. The contents of his pockets spilt out onto the floor.

You leant to pick it up, grimacing at just how much he was carrying around. Throwing the jacket over the railing, you avoided stepping on any more pieces of paper.

"Tidy some of this, will you?" You addressed the TARDIS, a hand on the edge of the controls, "I'll go talk to him, where is he?" The TARDIS clicked and hummed in response, showing you a blueprint on the monitor, "The Library? Okay then."

Darting out of the Console Room, you attempt to discover the library as soon as possible. You vaguely remembered the three places the library is most likely to crop up. You went from there. Fortunately for you, you didn't have to go far before the library appeared.

You had always felt as though the library was too empty. Four stories of shelves filled with books, all visible from the ground floor, the rows of shelves created a sort of maze of titles and colours. The Doctor must've owned every single book in the galaxy, judging by the sheer size. Not to mention the several dozen or so empty seats. The library could easily hold thousands of people at once, yet there is rarely ever so much as a whisper.

You had a fair clue as to why the Doctor would be hiding away in there.

There the Doctor was, turned away from the door, in an intricately decorated armchair. You could just about make out the top of his head. You loomed behind him awkwardly, unsure or not if he was aware of your presence.

"Doctor?" You faltered. His head perked up slightly, and the Doctor strained out a hum. He stood up, his arms tiredly hanging at his sides after he stretched. It checked out with your fit of rage theory. The Doctor walked up to you, and you only then noticed how fraught he was.

His expression was tired, eyes sunken and lips pressed into a thin line. His shirt was unkempt: the sleeves were torn slightly. It also appeared burnt or covered in dust. His hands were covered in dust too.

However, you noticed that his right hand had quite a few cuts and gashes, which all seeped out orange-tinted blood.

His greenish-brown eyes search yours for a moment as a tear rolls down his cheek. He inhales deeply, nodding to himself.

"Look, I..." The Doctor paused, again glancing over into your eyes, "I'm sorry- I can't, I can't do this," He took in a trembling gasp for air, "I don't want to, but I can't keep doing this. I'm sick of it. I can't keep losing people. I'm so sick of saving the universe." Unsure of what to you, you reach a hand out to the Doctors. He puts a hand on top of yours, keeping the other, bloodier fist at his side. You brush your thumb over his knuckles, his hand hot against yours. The Doctor continues, "Everyone, everyone who travels with me leaves, or dies, and I'm always alone again. Alone and in pain. I can't keep doing this..."

Smiling sadly, you nod, "I understand," You looked back up at the Doctor, "If you called me here to convince me to go home-"

"Take you home?" The Doctor's voice cracked, "I could never. That'd be just as bad as losing you. I need you."

Oh, the Doctor have his way of making you feel important at the worst moments. Your insides bubbled giddily, but you refused to show it. Instead, you ignored it to the best of your ability; what he was saying was important.

Your attention had fallen back down to his hand, and it looked considerably worse than you initially thought. Pieces of glass dug into his knuckles, the skin seeming gnarled by the force of the oncoming storm, "Doctor, your hand,"

"It's fine." The Doctor seethed, staring numbly at you, "I'm not human, it's not going to kill me."

You wanted to protest. However, given the Doctor's already fragile temperament, you weren't going to push it. Instead, after an instant of silence, you asked a simple question, "How have you been, then?"

The Doctor blinked, giving an answer careful thought. He had an earnest grimace as he finally spoke, "Furious."

"I can see, that" You hum, putting equal thought into how you should approach your response, "What do you think you're going to do, now?"

"Stay here. I'm not getting involved anymore." The Doctor spat, pulling his hand away from yours, turning to sit down, "I don't want to care."

"That's fair enough." You reassure. You didn't like the sound of the Doctor retiring too much, but you respected his choice. If he didn't want to save the world, he doesn't have to. You hoped that, in his chosen conditions, he would heal.

You vowed to yourself at that moment that you'd do everything you could to help him. Starting with his physical injuries.

You heard the armchair squeak softly as the Doctor flopped back against it, picking up a book from the coffee table and beginning to read. You headed back over to the door and grabbed the small medkit from the bracket on the wall. You paced back to the Doctor, pulling a pouffe from a few feet away to sit on. The Doctor glared daggers at you, exhaling sharply and holding his arm out in your general direction. You thanked him meekly, beginning to remove the sharp, reinforced glass shards from his knuckles.

If you were new to travelling with the Doctor, you thought that seeing this might hurt you more. However, six years of travelling was more than enough for the two of you to be used to this sort of treatment. He never seemed to care much about his physical health, more about yours. That often ended up in you worrying about the Doctor, not that you minded. You supposed it worked out, as you both fussed over each other. If the Doctor's previous face saw how he was acting, you were sure he'd have a fit. Not that he mattered, as he was still a part of the man in front of you.

You could tell by the downtrodden way he pretended to read his book, staring a hole through it, that something was bothering him.

"Are you scared of me?" The Doctor halted, voice brittle. He had taken note of how delicate you were and had drawn it up to a fear that the Doctor would lash out at you.

"No," You shushed, focusing on removing the glass from his hands.

"You don't sound sure,"

"I am." You reassured bluntly, "I'm just being careful. I don't want to hurt you more."

"I'm not hurt! You don't need to fuss over me,"

You lifted your eyebrows slightly, "There's nothing wrong with feeling, Doctor. As you said yourself, feelings enhance life." The Doctor exhaled petulantly, eyes back on his book. "But not even you can be in pain forever."

"What is my alternative?" The Doctor strangled out, "I forget? I do something selfish?"

You grimace as you remove the last small shard from his pinky. You take out a clean cloth and some water, dampening the rag as you speak, "You're forced to survive this pain, this guilt, but you will grow from it. You make mistakes so that you learn from them."

You gently clear the blood from his hands and start to apply mild pressure to the deeper wounds. The two of you continued in silence, the Doctor only occasionally removing his hand to turn the page.

He was such a different person to the goofball front you were used to. He was melancholic. However, you would see a small amount of your Doctor bubbling to the surface. He would occasionally chuckle at the book he was reading or draw circles on your palm as you held his hand still. It provided you with enough comfort to know that you weren't wasting your time.

You finished up your last-minute medical care with a bandage around his hand. You closed the medkit.

"Alright, I'm just going to go restock this, then I'll go tidy up the paper in the console room,"

"Oh- right that... Must've been a mess. I'm sorry,"

"It's okay." You smiled pleasantly, "Come find me if you need me, okay? I won't be far,"

The Doctor caught your hand in his, just as you were about to leave, he tugged at your arm. You leant down, and the Doctor pressed a short kiss to your cheek. You countered with a kiss of your own on the middle of his forehead. Just like you used to, back with his previous incarnation.

As you wandered off, you were oblivious as to what that gesture meant. Was it a thank you? Another apology? Was it even platonic?

From behind you, you swore that he said something you thought you'd never hear the Doctor say.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

where's the essay op

Okay so bayonets.  I don't know why I ever pretend that I want to talk about anything but military history and battlefield medicine.  I checked all my sources in the waiting room of a doctor's office so you're just going to have to trust me because they are Gone.  I’m pretty sure this can all be found on a few Wiki dives, though.

First of all, to recap, let me clarify a common misconception.  The triangular bayonet was NOT outlawed in the 1949 Geneva Convention, nor any future revisions—as it was originally a musket weapon, it was fading out of use by World War II and the subsequent Convention.  However, you'll notice that I opted to use to word "violates" rather than "were banned by," which is a fine semantical hair to split and, I suppose, debatable.  Most bayonets were not explicitly banned in the GC, in that there is not an article in the GC saying you can't use them.  However there IS an article in the GC, adopted from the earlier 1899 Hague Regulations, stating that it is prohibited to "employ weapons...of a nature to cause superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering" (originally part of Article 23 of the HR, now Article 35 of the GC, expanded in 1977).  Personally, as someone who knows a lot about how a lot of weapons impact the human body, I think that is a more expansive statement than most people would expect, and should be treated accordingly.  Regrettably I do not work for the UN.

Point is, triangular blades specifically are known to cause wounds that are difficult to heal, highly prone to infection, and extremely likely to never fully recover, while also having a relatively low mortality rate.  This is because the axes of a triangular wound, which is shaped sort of like a Y, make it very hard to stitch closed, and very easy for any "twisting" of the blade to create a large hole with ragged edges that's functionally impossible to stitch closed.  As an added bonus, because of the way scar tissue forms, it's possible for one "line" of a triangular wound to pull open other parts of the puncture while the scar tissue forms and pulls on the skin.  Even by standards in the 1700s, triangular bayonet wounds were phenomenally likely to infect and consistently difficult to repair, and modern medicine has made only limited improvements on that situation.  As such, cases have been made that certain types of bayonet/triangular blades in general are therefore in violation of this article, despite not being explicitly banned.

(Side note: yes, the American military violates the GC on the regular.  The American police violate the GC.  I am excruciatingly aware.  The GC is interesting reading generally, but especially if you're an American and you ever feel like being appalled for a few hours.)

Anyway, with that covered again, let's actually talk about the development of triangular bayonets, which might've been out of use by the time of the GC but DEFINITELY violated that article in a big way for a good two centuries prior and are also a fascinating insight into the fact that humanity, as a whole, is really determined to do things in the dumbest way possible.

The first thing you have to understand about bayonets is that they were originally invented as a way to integrate pikes with guns, not knives or even swords.  When arquebuses and muskets were first invented, you were lucky to get a rate of fire around one round per minute, and you still had to protect your army while they were reloading their clunky black powder guns.  Therefore, most infantries between like...the invention of the gun and the late 1600s were comprised of soldiers equipped with muskets, and also soldiers equipped with pikes (a type of spear).  The idea of a bayonet was "what if we put a pike and a musket TOGETHER and then we could give everyone THAT and have way more guns in our army because we don't need pikemen anymore." Which makes sense when you think about it.

What makes less sense is that the initial effort at bayonets was something called a plug bayonet.  You'll never fucking guess what these geniuses (first record is Chinese infantry around-abouts 1600, popular use of plug bayonets recorded in Europe around the 1630s) figured out for their first try at a bayonet.  Here's a hint!  There's not a lot of places on a gun where you can "plug in" a sword. 

Obviously plug bayonets did not exactly catch on as a fantastic solution, because these guns were either a gun OR a short spear and neither was especially good at their jobs.  A bunch of battles hinged on this problem. Which brings us to the end of the 1600s, when English forces in Scotland got absolutely obliterated by a bunch of Highlanders in 1689 because the English were so busy trying to fix their bayonets that the Highlanders literally just charged them, fired one volley, and cut them down with swords and axes. The English took that one very personally (which, you know what, fair, it was a humiliating defeat, especially since the Highlanders had been using that tactic very successfully for a while) and started developing better bayonets.

This is where we get to socket bayonets, AKA what you would probably recognize as a bayonet from a period TV series or a museum.  Socket bayonets have a metal sleeve that gets attached around the barrel of a gun (in this case a musket), so that you can still theoretically use the damn gun while it's attached.  There were problems with the development of socket bayonets (notably, it took a while to figure out how to keep them from falling off the gun during battle), but overall they worked much better and armies started getting rid of pikemen. This was also when bayonets were shortened to a little over a foot, which isn't really important but made them much easier to maneuver.  Socket bayonets were the European order of the day by the early 1700s, and mostly came in three flavors: single edge (like a knife), double edge (like a sword), and spike (like a...spike).  There were pros and cons to all of these (single edge wasn't great for stabbing, spike was ONLY good for stabbing, and double edge was kind of okay at stabbing and kind of okay at slashing), but most importantly, both single and double edged bayonets were fragile.  The heads of polearms were shaped on patterns other than "sword on a stick" for a reason, and it's because "sword on a stick" is not very sturdy.

Triangular bayonets were the solution to this problem.  Triangular bayonets are basically a single piece of metal creased long-ways, with both edges sharpened and the top fluted to form a third edge at the crease.  This makes a much more resilient weapon than a flat blade, because a twisting motion doesn’t risk snapping the blade in the middle.  It also means that now you have three edges, and human nature is to figure “more knife better.”

And don’t get me wrong, as a weapon of war, the triangular bayonet was a great one.  It was introduced in the 1710s and then got used regularly to maim and terrify through the start of the 1900s.  In fact, the triangular bayonet worked so well that it only began to get phased out of use when the style of war itself started to change dramatically during the World Wars.  When warfare was focused on pitched battle (your old school “two armies enter, one army leaves” kind of warfare), the emphasis of a bayonet was on extending the reach of a gun.  A bayonet lets a soldier have a weapon for closer range combat, where a gun—especially a long gun like a musket—is not as effective.  So when you had two armies on the field and a bayonet was first and foremost a way to keep the enemy at least gun-length away, longer bayonets were better.  

But World War I was the advent of trench warfare, which was a terrible idea and also meant that a long weapon, like a gun with an extra foot and a half of sword on top, was much, MUCH harder to work with.  Either fighting took place in no man’s land, where you probably weren’t going to get close enough to use a bayonet anyway, or in a trench, where a weapon as long as you were tall was just impossible to work with.  

(If you know anything about WWI, you’re probably asking me about bayonet charges right now, specifically the concept of “going over the top.”  Contrary to every media representation of WWI ever, “going over the top” of a trench faded out of use pretty quickly.  It was a type of bayonet charge where the soldiers in ONE trench fixed their bayonets and tried to charge no man’s land in an effort to reach the OTHER trench, but it was basically never effective because no man’s land was often heavily trapped and strafed with gunfire and mortar shells.  Also, it was the kind of battle tactic that military history books talk about with phrases like “total annihilation of whole attacking battalions,” so that’s the kind of mortality rate we’re talking about here.  The Battle of the Somme featured a good number of bayonet charges by the British, for context, so people learned and started using other tactics.)

So, since bayonets were only useful in trenches, suddenly everyone was scrambling to shorten bayonets and guns so that their soldiers could get ANYTHING DONE.  And THEN soldiers started admitting that they were literally taking their bayonets off their guns and using them as knives instead, because for trench fighting that was way more useful, and so everyone just decided fuck it, let’s just make bayonet-knives, which is why WWI weapons with bayonets usually look, very literally, like someone duct taped a short knife to the front of a gun.  This was the start of the decline of the triangular bayonet, a full two hundred years after it hit the battlefield, which is a frankly spectacular run for any weapon since the invention of the gun.  Triangular bayonets held on, here and there, through part of WWII, but they were almost entirely gone by the time of the Geneva Convention being ratified in 1949.  However, spike or knife bayonets are still issued to many armies as a weapon of last resort to this day, although they aren’t often used in actual attacks.  Now we have bigger, worse weapons for actual attacks.

 TL;DR, the development of bayonets went like this:

“What if we put a pike ON a gun?  …oh wait, you still want to use the gun?  Sucks to be you, I guess.”

“What if we put a sword on the gun instead?  Then we could put it somewhere where we can still use the gun!  Good luck keeping it on there, though.”

“What if we actually made something designed to get put on a gun and stab people effectively?  Like, what if we designed something with that purpose in mind?  Perhaps?” SMASH CUT TWO CENTURIES

“Well if you’re just gonna take your bayonet off and stab someone with it anyway, can we just go back to giving you knives, then?”

And now you’re caught up on all the dubiously successful ways we’ve tried to mutilate people with a knife-gun.

[variousqueerthings]

SO IT'S PANDORICA OPENS TIME

we'll do this episode on its own, because I think it's its own thing!

and oh boy do we get into that peak M*ffat bullshit now...

sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 4/10

sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or to have agency over her emotional interiority): 4/10

interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 4/10

furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 6/10

companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 3/10

the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 2/10

doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 4/10

isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 5/10

internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 4/10

Politics (how conservative is the story): 6/10

FULL RATING: 42/100 (if I can count….)

oh dear oh dear oh dear.... and tbh. I think I was being kind

OBJECTIFICATION: River Song dresses like Cleopatra in order to be sexy for the Doctor. Let's just... get that out of the way. Amy is I believe wearing short shorts and not a miniskirt, so that's a bit better

River Song's first outfit in Stormcage is actually kinda great (and so is ofc her hair, always), but then later on she goes full sexy but competent outfit, eh. I'm rating it this low because they're our lead female characters and that's what we're getting

PLOT-POINT: OH! BOY! Amy is wandering around, asking what's going on, not really able to contribute anything other than a big questionmark, then she gets attacked and saved by Rory, but of course she doesn't remember Rory, so it's all his POV (and we do get an eye-rolling, she's up there surrounded by Romans, so you'd better get there first joke + Rory making a jealous comment later on)

Furthering that we get... for actually the first proper time this season outside of episode one! some sense that there were repercussions of the Doctor's falling into Amy's life like that, but it's a single scene of River walking through Amy's bedroom and seeing all her figures and home-made Doctor paraphernalia and going "Oh Doctor, why do I let you out," and like... look, she knows the Doctor better than the Doctor -- and therefore we -- know her, but she's just some woman still. this is her third episode. her POV doesn't quite... work... for me

more than that though, we now get bits of Amy's past, except these things have never been brought up or been important before. Amy likes Romans now, because it's needed for the plot. Amy liked the story of Pandora's box, because it's important for the plot. ARRRHG M*FFAT! this is not character-writing! and it's only casually mentioned, it's not really anything to do with her

and then she gets shot by Auton!Rory. that thing where in Cold Blood I mentioned the tragic turnaround of Rory dying when he was trying to protect Amy, but anyway. that's now back to the status quo. Amy got shot by Rory and he's sad

COMPLEXITY: classic M*ffat bullshit. it's not actually that complicated, technically, sort of, it's just made to feel complicated, because it keeps setting up mysteries -- the Tardis is exploding (do we ever find out why or how exactly, I don't remember, we'll find out!) and there's a best-of people we've seen this season in a bit of a stupid montage that's all about River finding the Doctor, and this Pandorica fairytale thing and it's about sooome mysterious being, and now ALL THE ALIENS are there, and the Romans are autons, and River called the Doctor by grafitti'ing an ancient rock... it pretends to be complicated, but it's not really, it's just about a big universe conspiracy with the Doctor at the centre. and therein lies... one of the rubs

CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: it does better here, because it's literally season finale part 1 -- so what do we get?

Rory is back! wait, whaaat? compelling mystery -- he's sad because Amy doesn't remember him, and then she's happy to see him without knowing why

the Doctor and Amy don't have much going on... nor really do Rory and the Doctor, outside of their first fun interaction

the Doctor and River... eh, middling, she keeps saying things that make me sigh, because it's meant to be a haha wait and see why she's treating them like an old married couple, and that assumes I want to wait and see, or believe M*ffat can pull it off (I don't think he did)

uh lore and plot, the Pandorica... I think it should have been explored earlier. the myth, that is, not the box, the box is fine here. it should have been built up more, but here it is! and the Doctor is going into it and the Tardis is exploding... my opinions on this is two points down

COMPANIONS MATTER: lol. Okay. so I mentioned that Amy doesn't do anything in this episode and she doesn't. she spend the Big Doctor Speech Moment unconscious (not that she could have done anything there either, but at least have her in the scene, in awe at all the life that the Universe is full of or soooomething)

Rory does matter in a sense, but at this point I'm so frustrated by Amy not doing anything and being treated like a plot-point that I just see his character as a facet of that. he saves her life and then goes to talk with her about stuff in the hopes she'll remember him, and then shoots her accidentally -- to be fair, more might happen in the next episode

River... does River count as a companion? she is stuck in the Tardis exploding

but man. focusing in on what Amy is doing (or not doing) is increasingly making me want to tear my hair out

“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: I SHOULD RATE THIS LOWER! THE ONLY REASON I DON'T IS BECAUSE I KNOW THIS GETS WORSE LATER IN THE RUN! oh you know that mysterious being the Pandorica myth was about? that was THE DOCTOR! who is, hold on, finds quote:

"A nameless terrible thing – soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies – the most feared being in all the cosmos -- and nothing could stop it or hold it or reason with it" siiiiiiiiiiiigh sure Jan. we have begun step one of our journey of "the Doctor is not just some guy travelling around space (quite powerful, can perceive time and is near-immortal, absolutely), the Doctor is everyone's special war criminal, who destroys everything by being So Damn Cool

oh wait, let's bring up this as well: "no plan no backup no weapons worth a damn, and oh something else, I don’t have anything to lose, so if you’re sitting there in your silly little spaceship with your silly little guns, remember every black day I stopped you and then do the smart thing: let somebody else try first.”

you see, when RTD was establishing the nu!who ethos, a lot of the time, it was companions, or other people who solved the day. compare this to the poison sky, where the Doctor is about to commit suicide to stop the Sontarans, and then this kid -- this kid who absolutely fucked up and was an asshole -- tries to do better by taking the Doctor's place... and dies... and stops the Sontarans...

or Rose. or Martha. or Donna. or Harriet Jones. or Jack. or Jackie and Pete and Mickey. or fucking Wilf! Remember hiiim. or any countless single-episode people who did cool shit!

and tbh even watching Classic!who there's a fair bit of other people sorting out parts of the plot, while the Doctor does the more sciencey-whiency stuff

the Doctor didn't yell at aliens that he was better than them and then they ran away, that's not... what happened in so many of those episodes

but no, see the Doctor is the most dangerous, most important being in the world, and rather than just fuckn... destroying him (Time Lords Can Die, it is in fact so well-established that all of them are dead, except the Doctor... and the Master)... they put him in a prison, made by an elaborate trap surrounding AMY POND

so Amy is not a character who is in this story as a character. Amy is in this story as bait. for the very important Doctor. jeez.

PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: Eh, I mean technically it's a best-off with the villains, but their whole Selves are now bent towards the Doctor in a way that makes no sense, and it completely forgets why the Doctor is ever able to do anything so... on the ethos of previous DW it falls hard

“SEXINESS”: actually there is less of this once we get past the whole... Cleopatra... thing.... and the Amy and the Romans jokes.... it's not as egregious as, say, the first few minutes of Time of Angels

INTERNAL WORLD: I rated this one middly, because there isn't really any world-building in this, and I gueeesss there doesn't have to be?

Amy's world-building sucks. I put it down a point

POLITICS: apart from the sexism inherent in the writing of Amy Pond, there's not anything more. and I feel like I've gone over that enough in the other points. but like. it ain't good writing

[scuttling]

(You Want To) Make a Memory

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Word Count: 19,858 Chapters: 5 of 5 Complete Tags: 18+, NSFW, Amnesia, Anxiety attacks, Sex dreams, Dom/sub, Daddy kink, Praise kink, Unprotected sex, Vaginal fingering, Dirty talk, Choking, Biting, Hickies, Oral sex, Making love, Angst and feels, Shower sex, Size kink Summary: Sophie gets amnesia while working a case and forgets everything from the last two years: her friends, her job at the BAU, and her boyfriend, Aaron. Note: This is a reformatted, previously published work. :)

Link to AO3 or read Chapter 1 below!

The thing Sophie finds most complicated about her work at the BAU is that it’s their job to predict the unpredictable. Yes, they are all highly educated, knowledgeable profilers, with decades of experience between them, and human behavior typically follows patterns that are easily discernible if you have the right training. But even armed with all the information, all the statistics, all the data, there’s one thing they can never really know for certain: what a desperate person will do in the heat of the moment.

The unsub they are looking for is a white male, aged 25-35, who lives alone, has a steady daylight job, drives a red pickup truck, and has a problem with older female authority figures. Sophie could go on and on about this particular type of unsub—she could tell you where he shops, how he spends his evenings, his favorite sport/team/player, probably even what he’ll eat for dinner tonight—but there’s no way she can know how he’ll react to the FBI at his door, or the consequences his actions will have.

The team is canvassing the neighborhood they believe the unsub resides in, and she and Spencer were assigned the four hundred block; they each take a separate side of the street, and work their way down house by house trying to find someone who fits the profile, or knows someone who does.

“Any luck?” Sophie asks Spencer when they meet back up at the end of the the block. He grimaces, uncertain.

“There was one guy, but…” She gestures toward the SUV and they walk toward it together.

“What happened? Profile didn’t fit?”

“He was the right demographic, the vehicle fit, but he wasn’t disorganized. In fact, his home looked like it belonged in a catalog: photos on the walls, decorative items, nothing out of place.” She frowns a little, because it’s clear this guy has raised some red flags for her partner, and she trusts his intuition when it comes to stuff like this.

“And he lives alone?” she asks, confirming. That’s a pretty big part of the profile, considering what he does to the victims. He nods.

“Yes, no indication of a girlfriend or wife living there.” Sophie blows out a breath, leans against the side of the SUV.

“Okay, let’s brainstorm. Maybe... he hires a housekeeper.” Spencer shrugs.

“He didn’t seem like the type, but I guess it’s possible.”

“Alright, well… Okay, so our profile is of a man who kills older women because he has an issue with an older woman who is an authority figure in his life. We thought maybe his boss, but what if it’s his mother?” she asks, face lighting up a little. This theory makes more sense, actually. “What if she comes over while he’s at work, cleans the place up, redecorates, just takes complete control of his life, even his private space, and he loses it?” He nods enthusiastically.

“That is extremely more likely. Now that I think of it, all the photos were of him and an older woman who could be his mother.” Sophie pulls out her phone, gestures over her shoulder with her thumb.

“Let’s head back there; Hotch and JJ are just around the corner, I’ll let them know we might need backup. 412?”

“Yeah—hey, that’s the truck. That’s the truck,” he says with more urgency, pointing down the street at a rapidly approaching red pickup truck that matches the description of the unsub’s. Shit.

“Okay, get in the car, call Hotch,” she instructs, and they both barely make it in before the truck rear-ends the SUV on the driver's side; Sophie’s head hits off the steering wheel hard, and the car rocks, and she looks over at Spencer, a little disoriented, to make sure he’s okay. He’s holding his wrist, like maybe he hurt it bracing himself.

When she gets her bearings, she starts the car, throws it into reverse, ready to apply a little force and potentially keep him from striking again, but he backs up, speeds up, and cuts the wheel to go around them, striking her door and driving past. It’s then that another SUV cuts him off, and Hotch and JJ jump out, guns drawn; the unsub raises his hands, surrenders, and it’s over as quickly as it began.

“Sophie?” She can hear her name, but her head is swimming. She touches the cut above her temple, pulls back a hand covered in blood, but she knows head injuries bleed heavily, so she’s not worried. She’s more worried that she can’t tell where that voice is coming from. It’s like she’s in a fun house, sounds echoing from all sides. “Sophie, can you hear me?” She hums in response.

Kind hands are on her face, turning it toward the sun, and she scrunches her eyes at the brightness. She knows the hands are trying to help, but her head already hurts, and the light isn’t doing her any favors.

“Gotta… get up,” she mumbles, and the hands hold her waist, help her out of the car. Her left foot hurts when she puts her weight down on it, and she almost folds, but the hands hold her up, and she thinks she smiles.

“Reid—is she okay?” That voice is a voice that makes her want to answer immediately, even if her brain hasn’t quite caught up. She stumbles over her words.

“‘M okay. Just my… head.” A different pair of hands hold her up, and her brain is working enough to recognize that she loves the smell of the person attached to the hands. They are serious hands, and one of them sweeps gently over her face.

“Can you open your eyes for me, baby, please?” that good voice asks, and she wants to do anything the voice asks, but her eyes really hurt. She must say that out loud, because the voice says softly, “That’s alright, don’t strain yourself. Medics on the way. You’re going to be fine.”

“Tell him…” She is placed back in the car, can feel the softness of the seat against her back, and it’s nice. “Tell him that was mean… and not to do it again.” She feels lips on her face, turns toward them, sighs when they brush over hers. “Mmm. Or I’m going to… tell his mother.”  When Sophie wakes up, she feels like she’s been repeatedly punched in the head, thrown down a flight of stairs, and then run over by a truck, so, naturally, she groans. She doesn’t dare open her eyes at first, can already see the fluorescents flickering through her eyelids, but her mouth is dry, and since she knows she must be in a hospital, she knows that there’s a little plastic pitcher of water somewhere within her reach.

Cautiously, she cracks one eye, finds the pitcher and a kind looking woman with fair skin and dark bangs staring back at her.

“You’re awake!” she whispers excitedly, and she leans forward for a hug, which Sophie does not return, because she doesn’t know the woman. The woman must feel the tension in Sophie’s body as she sits, arms at her sides, and waits for the hug to end, because she pulls back, concerned. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she begins, unsure of how to put this politely. Her voice is dry, rough, and the woman pours her a glass of water, which she takes gratefully. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t… Do I know you?” Her face falls, and she looks confused, and then abruptly worried.

“My name is Emily. Prentiss. Does that ring a bell?” Sophie thinks back, tries to navigate around the pounding in her temples, and ultimately shakes her head.

“No, I’m sorry. And I mean no disrespect—I meet a lot of people for work, so sometimes it’s hard to keep track.”

“Where do you work?”

“I work for the FBI. Intelligence.” Sophie takes in the woman’s outfit—black turtleneck, gray pants, boots, government issued handgun—and tilts her head curiously. “And you?”

“FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit.” She pulls her bag closer on the seat beside her, pulls out her credentials, lets Sophie hold them. “Have you heard of it?”

“Sure, of course. I have an interview there next week, actually.” She hands back the badge with a smile. “Small world. Uh, do you think that what happened to me occurred because of a crime, or something? Is that why you’re here?"

Agent Prentiss gives her a sad smile, then stands, pulling out her cell phone. “You know, we’re really not sure what’s going on. Excuse me for one moment, I need to make a call. I’ll get your doctor while I’m out there.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Sophie calls as she heads out of the room, and she pours another glass of water.

When the agent returns with the doctor, she looks tenser, but the doctor just shoots her a kind smile. “Hello, Sophie. I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

“Thank you; I’m glad to be awake. How long have I been out?”

“About two days. You were in a car accident, do you remember that?” She’d catalogued her injuries while alone—laceration to the head, some pain and swelling there; aching wrist, sore but unbroken; bruised ankle, tender but okay to put pressure on—and they are consistent with a car accident, but she shakes her head.

“No, ma’am, I don’t remember.” The doctor frowns, an expression the agent behind her mirrors.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“Um.” She closes her eyes, thinks hard for a moment, but it hurts her eyes. “I was driving home from work, I think? Or about to leave for the day. It’s kind of blurry.”

“That���s alright, don’t press too hard. It should come back to you in no time.” She steps around the bed to pull her chart off the wall, skims it briefly. “We’re going to have to run some scans; I’ll give you a moment with Agent Prentiss, and then I’ll send someone in to take you down to the lab, okay?”

“Sure. Thank you, doctor.” The woman smiles and walks out of the room, leaving her with the clearly unhappy agent. “Is everything okay, Agent Prentiss? You look about as bad as I feel.” The woman sighs, drops back down into her seat, folds her hands in her lap.

“The doctor believes you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia. You don’t remember some things you should remember. Quite a bit of time.” Her throat goes dry again, her heart beats rapidly in her chest.

“That’s not possible. I remember driving home from work… or, getting in the car to drive home from work, just the other day.” She shakes her head like she’s not sure what to say.

“I know, Sophie, but that’s not a recent memory. You don’t work at the Grant building anymore.”

“What do you mean? I’m the Intelligence liaison. I mean, I applied for the BAU job…” She’s wanted to work there since she found out about it, to put her degrees to good use; to get an interview is almost unheard of, everyone told her, but she made the cut, even bought a new suit to wear. It’s still hanging in her closet.

“And you got it,” Prentiss says gently, reaching forward to take her hand. “You and I have been working together at the BAU for almost two years.”

Sophie can’t be blamed, she doesn’t think, when she leans over, reaches for the wastebasket, and promptly vomits.  “So I’m a profiler, and I’ve been one for two years. I work with you and we’re friends,” Sophie repeats as a bit of a recap. Prentiss nods.

“Yep. Those who profile serial killers together, stick together.” She says it with a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes.

“Wow. Okay. I’m really sorry I don’t remember you.” She shrugs it off, and Sophie sighs. “Any other major life events I should know about? Did I get a cat, go vegan?”

“You don’t have time for a pet, and you like cheese too much,” Prentiss jokes, but that does sound like something she’d say. Her face gets serious after that, and she even looks nervous. It makes Sophie nervous, too. “You have a boyfriend.”

That raises her eyebrows.

“I have a boyfriend.” She smiles softly, nods.

“Yes. He’s… it’s funny, because he’s actually... our boss.” Sophie blanches. Talk about a close-knit group.

“I’m sleeping with my boss? That is not like me.” She barely sleeps with anyone, too busy focusing on her career and not that into one-night-stands, but her boss of all people? That’s just plain stupid.

“It’s really not like that, trust me. You two are in love.” Okay, she’s heard enough. Maybe Prentiss is a prankster, playing some wildly hilarious joke on her amnesiac pal.

“I’m in love. Did I actually say that?” She knows herself pretty well, flaws and all, and she’s been a vehement skeptic when it comes to love for… god, as long as she can remember—no pun intended. Prentiss nods, looks very serious.

“Yes, I’ve heard you say it many, many times. You two live together.”

“We live together? For how long?” This can’t be right; one of the things she values most is her privacy, her solitude. She lives a quiet, simple life, aside from being an FBI agent, and she likes it that way.

“About six months,” she answers carefully.

“We’ve lived together for six months? How long have we been dating?” Her voice sounds a little shrill even to her own ears. Prentiss is being very cool about it all, doesn’t so much as blink.

“It’s a year next week, actually. He’s been trying to come up with a surprise for your anniversary.” Sophie feels a little lightheaded.

“Anniversary. Fuck.” She squeezes her eyes shut, which hurts, opens them only so the pain will go away. She knows they’re teary, can’t help it, but she doesn’t want Prentiss to see her like this. She hates being vulnerable, always has. “I can’t remember two years of my life. I can’t remember my own boyfriend, my own job. My friends.”

“I can tell you about them, if you want,” she offers cautiously. “The doctor said it could help, but if you feel like it’s too much, let me know.”

Sophie nods carefully. She wants to know, she needs to know.

Prentiss—Emily—is so genuinely kind. She sits there for an hour, tells Sophie about work, and their team—their friends, because the group is very tight, gets together for dinner and drinks, and they all support each other’s non-bureau endeavors, and she feels so sad that she can’t remember them, can’t recall anything Emily is rattling off so easily it’s like she doesn’t even have to think about it.

She talks about some tough cases they’ve worked on, and how they always end with a cookout or a family dinner so they can remember why they do the hard things, why they keep fighting. She talks about people they’ve helped, saved, brought comfort to. She talks about flights home on the jet, how sometimes they sit in quiet, companionable silence and other times it’s all teasing and laughter and the good things in life.

Then she starts talking about Aaron—the boss/boyfriend—and Sophie does cry, a couple of tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She’d never imagined in her life that she would be as loved as she is, if Emily’s stories are true, and the fact that she can’t remember any of it is like a knife to the gut. She wants to scream, to make someone pay for what she’s missing, but she knows none of that will bring her memory back, so she dials back the rage as quickly as it came—huh, that’s new.

Usually, her particular brand of anxiety attack would happen right about now, always worse when she’s afraid or angry. She anticipates tightening in her chest, shortness of breath, ringing in her ears that takes forever to go away, but it doesn’t come. She’s able to calm herself with a deep breath, and despite the fact that the rest of her life is a dumpster fire right now, this feels kind of good. It feels like progress, not a story told through someone else’s eyes, but a tangible feeling she can hold onto and think, I am a different version of Sophie than I was two years ago. A better version, maybe. But at least different. That, above everything else, makes it real.

A nurse walks in to take Sophie down for scans, and Emily just smiles, a bit sadly, and tells her she’ll be there waiting when she returns.

It’s a small comfort, something she holds onto as she’s taken down to the lab. When Sophie makes it back to her room, Emily is waiting there as promised, and she has a duffle bag sitting on the bed. “The doctor says you can go home while they wait for the scans,” she says with a smile; she probably thinks it will make Sophie happy, and it does, but the idea of going to a home she’s never been to is a little unsettling. Still, it’s nice to know there are people who care about her who will help her through it, that she’s not alone. That’s not something Sophie of two years ago would have been able to count on.

She smiles back, and Emily helps her change into clothes that somehow still smell like the hospital, but it feels better to be dressed and not stuck in the flimsy hospital gown that always makes you feel weaker and sicker, more injured than you really are.

She hears a voice from out in the hall, a voice that catches her attention immediately, and she walks over to the door, peeks her head out to see if she can find the man it belongs to.

She does, and he is almost too good-looking to be real. Somehow, she both instinctively knows that this man is Aaron, and can’t see how that could possibly be true.

“Emily. Is that Aaron?” she asks to confirm, pointing to the tall, serious-looking, frankly smoldering hot man having a conversation with her doctor at the end of the hall. She peeks her head out the door too, looks toward him with a smile.

“Yeah, that’s him. Do you remember him?” Her tone is guarded but hopeful, and Sophie sighs.

Remember him, no, not in the way she means, but every cell in her body feels alive and on fire just from catching a glimpse of his face, so she’s pretty sure Emily is right and she’s crazy in love with him. And his suit. Who looks that good in a suit?

Her boyfriend, apparently. Who she lives with. Who she’s been with for a year. Her mind is still a little blown.

“I don’t recall any memories of him,” she whispers, as if he can hear her from down the hall, “but, uh. I think my body remembers him.” Emily looks at her, eyebrow quirked, and she blushes. “Or, you know. Parts of it.”

Realization dawns, and Emily grins. “Okay yeah, that tracks. You two are kind of all over each other. It’s an intense vibe.” Sophie takes a moment to imagine that, what it would be like to be in a relationship with this man.

He looks intense, which can be good or bad, with the kind of mouth you could kiss forever, smile against. He’s taller than her by about a foot, which thrills her, and broad, as evidenced by the jacket stretched across his shoulders, which really thrills her. He’s older, maybe early forties, which she doesn’t feel particularly strongly about one way or another, with gorgeous dark hair and eyes, and when he shakes hands with the doctor, silver wrist watch gleaming under the fluorescent lights, her mouth practically waters.

“Earth to Sophie. You’ve got a little drool, there,” Emily teases, pointing to her own mouth, and Sophie groans.

“You didn’t prepare me. You didn't tell me he was hot.” Aaron turns away from the doctor, starts walking down the hall toward her room, and she ducks out of the doorframe, Emily following suit. She puts a hand to her forehead, not in physical pain, but mental pain for sure. “God, this is going to be so awkward. I’ve got a total lady boner for the guy I’m in love with that I can’t even remember.”

“It might be a little awkward at first, but you guys are sweet together. He’s going to be so caring and understanding, give you all the time you need.” She puts her hands on Sophie’s arms, grounding her. “We’re going to focus on trying to get your memories back, but the doctor said you shouldn’t stress.”

“That’s easy for her to say,” she mutters, crossing her arms, “she didn’t forget her big sexy boyfriend.” She hears a soft chuckle from behind her and instantly flushes, which makes Emily grin.

“Sophie, this is Aaron.” She physically turns her, and Aaron is smiling gently, which makes him look even better than when he was serious and expressionless. Her heart thrums in her chest.

“Hi. I’m sorry I don’t remember you. I want to.” She sticks out her hand for a shake, feels dumb instantly, but he takes it anyway, holds it for a moment. His hand is rough, so much bigger than hers, and part of her hopes he never lets go.

“That’s alright. Dr. Bracken is confident you’ll recover all of your memories in time. She’s given me some instruction on ways we can try to jog your memory, but no stress, like Emily said.”

“I guess we’re not considering the fact that losing two years of your life is a little stressful,” she counters, and he laughs again.

“You haven’t lost anything. Just misplaced them for a while.” He steps toward her, like he wants to touch her, comfort her maybe, but freezes, thinks better of it. She’s torn between wanting to get to know him better first and wanting to jump into his arms immediately, so she decides to let him set the pace. “So… Do you want to come home with me?” His voice is soft, hopeful, matching his eyes. “Garcia—our friend, another coworker of ours—has offered to put you up at her place if you’re not comfortable with that, so no worries either way. You have a place to go.”

Her stomach sinks a little at the thought of being anywhere but home, even though she has no idea where that is, and she looks back at Emily, who smiles encouragingly.

“I think I want to go home,” she decides after a moment, and she turns back to look at Aaron. “Is that okay with you?” He nods seriously.

“Yes, of course. I want you home with me. I just wanted you to know you had other options.” Emily slips past her, a hand on her elbow, and finishes gathering up her belongings while they talk. “The rest of the team is going to come over for a little bit, if you’re okay with that. The doctor said it would be a good idea, since you spend most of your time with them, but if at any point it gets overwhelming, let me know. No hard feelings if we send everyone home.”

“Okay,” she breathes, her head already swimming a bit just from talking to Aaron, and he does step forward, then, giving her her space but indicating that he wants to come closer, if she’ll let him.

“May I put this on you?” he murmurs, and opens his palm to display her rose necklace, the one she wears, must still wear, everyday. At least that hasn’t changed. “The EMTs gave it to me when they brought you in. I’ve been holding onto it for safekeeping.” She nods, turns around, and he slips it around her throat, clasps it, brushes a careful hand over her neck to move her hair out of the way. “That’s better,” he says, his breath ghosting over her skin, and she sighs, wants to sink back against the heat of his body; she just knows how comforting it would be, how safe she would feel. Instead, she turns and smiles softly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” They hold eye contact for a moment, and then Emily appears at her side, making a face like she knows she’s interrupting something.

“Ready to get going?” she asks, handing Sophie’s duffle bag over to Aaron. “I’m going to stop at home and then I’ll head to your place.”

“Absolutely. Thank you, Emily,” Sophie says sincerely, stepping forward to pull her into a tight hug. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I hope I remember more about you soon.”

“I’m happy I could be here, and I know you will. Just give it some time.” She pats her on the back, and then leaves the room.

Aaron carries her bag and leads her out to the parking garage, toward a standard federal issued SUV, and he opens the door for her, closes it behind her with a gentle smile.

Time to go home.

Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal

[will-byerz]

BPD MIKE WHEELER HEADCANONS!!

Disclaimer: these are all based on my own thoughts and experiences and in no way am I trying to harm or stigmatise anyone! If there are any issues with this please feel free to dm me and we can talk about it!

El is his Favourite Person

• Which is why he’s always so emotionally charged with her and why he tried to “call” her every day for a year when she was gone!

• This is also why he can’t play dnd anymore because she’s not into it, and why he can’t concentrate on anything else when they break up.

• the idealisation comes from him being a HUGE nerd (Star Wars merch etc in his basement) and El being 1) a GIRL!! Which is new to Mike cause he’s definitely never had a girl be interested in him before and 2) she’s consistently compared to ET in the show, like she’s an alien— and to his little nerd brain that’s so crazy!! He has an ‘alien’ girlfriend! He knows a real life super human!

• this is also why he’s desperate to grow up, because he wants to spend his life with her and imitate what he’s seen happen with his own family, aka he wants to create a nuclear family with her

• he would rather lie to her (nana is sick) than risk losing her for real, because the idea of that is so terribly painful that he’ll do anything it takes not to lose her again.

• constant phone calls to her house, constant visits to her, leaving early from meeting his friends so he can go spend time alone with her. (a/n when I was 14, I would hang out with my fp and my friends all the time and my favourite part of the day was when we would walk home together alone. I would look forward to home time just for that!)

• Seeing Max as a threat when it comes to El.

Pressure in home life/Origin(?)

• His dad is shown to be very withdrawn so there’s a lot of pressure there with growing up to look after his family and be an adult

• Due to Mike’s circumstances of being a guy in the 80’s, his emotions have probably been repressed so much in his household. I imagine because of this, the emotions he does feel are super duper intense/hard to handle, especially when his environment growing up was possibly invalidating due to him being the only son.

• We see a LOT of Mike’s feelings being shut down but either his parents or by the party. Aka a lot of “Mike! That’s not okay to say!” Or “Why would you say that?” And shutting down his thoughts— the way this manifests into his possible BPD is the inability to understand WHY what he has said or done is wrong. No one will explain to him why what he has said is bad, he’s just been told it was bad. Aka more repression!

• He can sometimes be blind to other people’s emotions/a little self centred. This is shown in the infamous Byler scene in season 3 when he’s outwardly harsh to Will, because he thinks Will is being insensitive to his intense feelings over his break up— so in the spur of the moment he says the most hurtful thing he can think of— insinuating that Will is gay and/or that’s a bad thing. Obviously he immediately regrets it and goes after Will, but this decision (like a lot of his other decisions) is very impulsive. He can also be cruel to other characters in the show, including his mom, Lucas, Max and Nancy.

• He blows up on his family quite a lot/has outbursts of anger! This is seen at the dinner table in quite a few episodes, or at El when she is “wrong” about Will being alive or when she accidentally hurts Lucas really bad and Mike has… a few choice words to say to her about it.

• Struggle with authoritative figures; Hopper. That’s all I’ll say.

• once again the disregard for his emotions from his family due to him being “the man of the house” or at least growing into that title as his dad becomes more and more distant.

He shows his love in extreme ways.

• a huge lack of self preservation skills (or even “suicidal” tendencies as the DSM-5 would call it) when he literally jumps off of a cliff to save Dustin from bullies with no regard for how this could hurt him. This is also an Impulsive behaviour!! He obviously cares so greatly about his friends that he is willing to do anything for them.

• Sleeping by Will’s bed when Will is struggling, ‘saving him’ on Halloween, constantly checking up on Will, obsessing over Will’s well being (especially before El becomes his FP). Don’t even get me started on the “Crazy together” scene!

• I think his saviour complex is to cover up an inferiority complex but that’s honestly off my own back I don’t have much to back that idea up.

• He’s beyond nasty to Max because he’s scared his friends will abandon him when she joins the party!

• trouble explaining his emotions! He feels a lot but struggles to label them— aka when he tries to tell El he loves her but can’t figure out what words to say, or even if he feels certain it is love.

• Gift giving to apologise (going to the mall and trying to find a gift for El)

• Suggesting that he is the only person that cares about El and her well being, which is obviously not true but it is very much black and white thinking.

• “what if you want to join another party?” Is also a very ‘please don’t abandon me’ line hdjjdksks

—

That’s all I can think of off of the top of my head for now, but I hope these make sense!

Another quick disclaimer; all of these head-canons are based off of the canon show plot, meaning Mike is 12-15 in this! Doctors will not diagnose anyone under 18 with BPD as a lot of the symptoms are similar to just normal teenage hormones and puberty and all that! I’m not saying he HAS got it, I’m just backing up my own hcs and coping!! I was diagnosed with BPD at 17 despite the under 18 rule, and I had been experiencing symptoms since I was very young!

[mrsgiovanna]

A lesson in Recollection (Don Giorno x Wife! Reader)

An awesome request from a nonnie mouse, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks so much for requesting my sweet 💕💜😘💭🐞

TW: brief descriptions of injuries, anxiety and hospitals

Word count: 1.7k

The beeps and hisses of the medical equipment were the only sounds that could be heard in your hospital room. Next to your bed sat your husband, jaw squared off, mouth clenched shut trying to contain his rage. His usually immaculate appearance was disheveled as he clutched your delicate hand against his lips.

He blamed himself for the position you were in by default, a husband was supposed to love and protect, the convention is built into the vows themselves. In reality though, the attack had happened so fast and so suddenly that nobody would have been able to preempt it. None of that mattered now… even though the offenders were severely dealt with, your condition was still the same. It had been a week, and you were still asleep. Your superficial injuries were taken care of by Giorno, but still you wouldn’t wake up. Numerous scans and brain activity tests revealed some swelling in your brain which was slowly subsiding, he simply had to be patient and wait for you to open your eyes again… and fortunately for him, it happened… unfortunately, you stared at him blankly, unable to put a name to his handsome, crestfallen face.

“Tesoro, it’s me… Giorno… your husband,”

“Tesoro? What’s that? I’m… married? I… I don’t feel so good,” you whispered, unable to find your voice after being unconscious for so long.

“Okay, okay amore, I’m getting your doctor, please hang on for me,”

You looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings, at the towering blond man scrambling around with all the white coats, you tried to push yourself up to join the conversation happening just above your head, but your physical strength was virtually nonexistent.

You were given a few days to physically recuperate, being subjected to test upon test to make sure that there was no other underlying cause for your loss of memory. The man who called himself your husband came to see you every day, bringing your favorite flowers, drinks, foods and scents with him in an attempt to help your memory recover. Even though you couldn’t remember him, you felt a sense of peace when you were around him, as if his soul was trying to connect on a subconscious level with your own. He was the only one who was able to talk you down from your bouts of anxiety, or the nightmares that sometimes plagued you. You figured he must have loved you immensely with all the effort he put into trying to get you to remember him.

“Your wife has retrograde amnesia, Mr. Giovanna. Fortunately, the swelling has subsided and her intracranial pressure has managed to consistently remain within normal levels, which is why I’m clearing her to go home. If there is any change in her condition or level of consciousness though, bring her back immediately. The road is a long one, Mr. Giovanna, there are no guarantees that her memories will return, but I have confidence that with the right care, she will be able to recover steadily.” Your doctor spoke honestly, not wanting to create unrealistic expectations, what he didn’t know was that Giorno was the type of person who always achieved whatever he had put his mind to- and right now, he was only concerned with making sure you would come out of this as unscathed as possible. Knowing that you would need all of his attention in the near future, he enlisted the help of his underboss and consigliere to help him run the organization remotely without having anyone privy to what he was actually doing. Both Mista and Fugo willingly obliged, wanting nothing than for you to make a full recovery.

“Thank you doctor, I’ll keep a close eye on her,” Giorno was relieved you were well enough to return home, the villa was painfully quiet and empty without you and he was certain that being in your sanctuary would help you remember your life with him. Looking at you sitting with your legs swinging off the side of your hospital bed and a faraway look in your eyes, you appeared so fragile and innocent.

“Good morning beautiful, how are you feeling today?” you turned to face him with a soft smile.

“Good morning Giorno, I’m okay thanks, and you?” the tender way in which you addressed him, being concerned for his well-being warmed his heart, whether you remembered him or not, you were still you… he was still yours as much as you were his.

“I’m much better now that I’m taking you home, shall we leave my love?”

“I’m ready, let’s go,”

Your doting husband helped you off the bed and took your things, you didn’t want to be wheeled out on the wheelchair, so you both walked out to the luxury car waiting for you. You didn’t expect there to be a driver, or a guard escorting you both… what does he do as job to be able to afford all this you mused. Come to think of it, you didn’t really know what your job was either… you decided to leave those questions for later. The entire drive home, you looked out of the window, the route home was unfamiliar, the imposing villa you were driven up to didn’t even feel real.

“Welcome home my love. Come, let’s get you settled in,”

“We live here? What exactly do we do?” your voice was imbued with curiosity.

“Well, I run a large, multidivisional organization, you are in charge of handing our philanthropic ventures, I’ll explain more later on… are you okay to walk up the stairs? In fact, never mind,” he said as he lifted you off the ground and carried you up the stairs despite your reassurances that you were fine. You looked at the beautifully decorated home, pictures of you both tastefully dotted throughout the hall way. Looking at his gorgeous angled face, you wondered how you both met and fell in love.

“This is our room bella, would you like to take a nap?”

“Gio, I’m fine… sorry, it just slipped out, do you mind if I call you Gio? It just sounds… right,”

“Of course bella, I’d prefer that. Ah! You must be hungry, all those days just eating hospital food… what would you like eat? Our chef will make anything you want, everyone has missed you here, so they’re all pretty excited you’re back home,”

“Really? I’d like to meet everyone later… if they’re not busy,”

“Okay my love,” said Giorno as he went into his closet to fetch something more casual to wear, choosing a simple V-neck t-shirt and jeans, shaking out his hair from its usual style, and leaving it unbound about his shoulders. He walked out to find you sitting at your vanity, looking at the products and the baubles, lifting up your favorite hairbrush and examining its engravings. He walked towards you, and took his place behind you, lifting your hair off your shoulders and bringing it to the back, he took the ornate brush from your grasp and began to gently brush your hair. Your injuries were well healed by now, but Giorno was still extremely careful.

“How does this feel? I’m not hurting you am I?

“No, it feels really nice actually… Gio… would you tell me how we met? Like, what’s our story? I see all the pictures around and we look so happy,”

“We were happy, bella, we still are, we’ll get back what was lost and create even better memories on the way… we met 10 years ago, we were just stupid ambitious kids back then, both 15 years old with heads full of dreams. I won’t go into detail, but we had very… unique occupations and abilities. We’ve been through a lot together, and rebuilt this organization from the ground up. We’ve been together as a couple for seven years and married for the past two,”

“Sounds like quite a journey for a pair as young as us… and now there’s this… I’m sorry, I’m sure you didn’t imagine something like this would happen,” the apologetic quality of your voice saddened Giorno, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like this was your fault.

“We have fought against worse my love, and just like that we’ll handle this together… come, no sad faces now,” said Giorno as he braided some flowers into your hair.

“Wow, you’re good at this… where did you get the flowers from, you didn’t move an inch?” you asked, admiring his handiwork.

With a smile he replied that he’ll show you a bit later on, which you accepted. The rest of day was spent by talking about some of the interesting things that had happened to you both in the past. Being wary of overwhelming you, Giorno didn’t go into great detail about the more tragic experiences. When it came time for you to sleep, he suggested he sleep in one of the guest rooms if you felt uncomfortable, but you asked him to stay with you, feeling guilty that you were the reason he felt like he had to behave like a guest in his own home.

As you got more comfortable, and built up your strength with your recovery, Giorno slowly started reintegrating you back into your old routine, as difficult as it was, you had made great strides in re-learning key bits of information. Your mental fortitude had constantly reminded your husband exactly why he had fallen in love with you, the least he could do with your trying so hard, was to match your effort, working tirelessly with you on the exercises that your therapist suggested, recreating pivotal events so you could experience some semblance of what you would have when it initially occurred, and most importantly, being the support you needed when things became overwhelming.

Slowly you were reintroduced to Mista, Fugo and Trish, reestablishing the friendships almost immediately. You were grateful for the wonderful people who surrounded you, from the staff at the villa to Giorno’s closest associates who constantly sought to aid in your recovery. Most of all though, you were grateful for Giorno, you were aware of how much he had done and continues to do to aid you. While you were cognizant of everything you had been through together, having regained most of your memory through your combined efforts, what had remained altered though, was how you felt about Giorno, this whole experience solidifying your bond even more than you thought possible, it had just reaffirmed that you both would be able to overcome even the most dire of situations if you handled it together.