#when did you expect the woman that you all hate for her hostility towards her enemies ... to give them a 'fair shake' ?

[fideidefenswhore]

Thoughts on how Catherine&Henry were portrayed in BSR?

Well, they were mainly portrayed in the background, right?

I think it's from Anne's perspective, so that's what we see and that's what we hear (from her...none of the historians seem to really comment on their relationship on an interpersonal level, as such, only re: the political ramifications, because the series was not about that, so...beyond Dr. Owen Emmerson saying Catherine underestimated Anne-- I don't think this went vice versa, but I think Henry underestimated Catherine and vice versa there, too...they don't really get into this in-depth, though).

So, Anne says they didn't love each other, and that's what Anne, here, believes. The real Anne did not comment on it much that is 'on the record', beyond that "the love she bore him was far greater than that of the late Queen". That is what she believed, or, if we're being skeptical, what she thought was circumspect to say she believed. That doesn't make it true, and I don't think the creators were trying to hoodwink viewers into believing that's true-- just that Anne did.

It's been a huge complaint on Instagram circles rn, which I don't wholly understand? Why are they swearing up and down the last thing they want in the world is yet another series from Anne's POV (it was the same song and dance last year, too), then watching a series that has promoted itself, from the jump, as one that is only from Anne's POV...and then are mad when it’s from Anne's POV?

[dross-the-fish]

Victor and Adam Creating the Bride: part 2

Written from Adam's POV: Warning, some gore. Gets dark towards the end and I incorporated dialogue from the book itself.

....

 I watched her taking shape on the table, forming from loose bone and flesh into a woman under my hands. I had asked Victor to make her hideous as myself but as I carefully worked the needle through her skin, tenderly tightening the seam that extended her mouth I couldn’t help but feel that there was beauty in her features. It did not escape me that my stitches were neater than Victor’s, perhaps because I was unhurried. In the labors of my handiwork, I had newly discovered in myself the virtue of patience and it served me well. I considered that the presence of patience indicated that I still had the capacity to possess fine qualities worthy of the praise of my maker and secretly hoped me might take notice.

To my chagrin, he did not. Victor continued to remain ignorant that I had any virtues at all, every gesture of goodwill I presented was rejected and he scorned my conversation at every turn.

Such was to be expected, I supposed…

Yet still a bitter disappointment it was when the food I set for him went uneaten and I was forced to dispose of it. Rather than see it go to waste I would set it outside for the animals, birds and squirrels gratefully picked at the bread and a fox fed on the meat.

Unable to speak to Victor I spoke to my bride, though I knew she could not hear me I found comfort in our one-sided conversation. In my wandering I had heard couples whispering endearments and I began to refer to her as “my darling” and “my sweetheart” perhaps she would like these little epithets for they sounded very soft to my ears and I wanted so much for her to have softness rather than scorn when she woke.

At night, once Victor slept, I would read poems aloud, just in case there was some sleeping spirit in her flesh that could hear my words. I knew this, perhaps, to merely be wishful thinking on my part but I could not deny myself hope.

There was something beautiful in this, in the process of creation. Mapping every detail of my beloved with careful fingers and handling the joining of her limbs and skin with the utmost care and delicacy. She could not feel pain but I needed to be gentle with my treasured companion. I had never been allowed to show tenderness, to caress and care for another, and despite my resolve that she should be ugly she was growing beautiful in my eyes. There was pride in every seam and love in every crack of her bones as I brought the pieces of her together.

Sometimes Victor seemed careless with her and it took everything in my power not to chide him for handling her roughly. Still, I was glad for his company, even if my maker hated me he still toiled by my side and sometimes I could compel him to speak with me. Once, very briefly, he came very close to smiling before he remember who I was and who he was and the resentment that followed that momentary lapse was greater than it had been before.

Still, after my deprivation even these crumbs had seemed a feast and I took every scrap of joy I could when the moments of peace between us presented themselves. Perhaps that was why I felt no need to hurry, because once we had completed my bride there would be no more of these brief instances.

But I would have her then and I would no longer need Victor. I must be content. I swore that would be content and I would keep my word and retreat from mankind forever.

As we neared the completion of my mate, I sensed Victor growing anxious. His hostility towards me had only increased and my attachment to my mate seemed to upset him for he had begun to snap at me whenever I spoke to my silent bride.

“She cannot hear you! Cease your damnable chattering!”

I had cringed away, though it was not in my nature to be meek I worried that lashing back at him might incite him to renege on his promise to me. Indeed, I had become paranoid that he was searching for a way out of our deal.

I had seen how he looked at his companion, the gentle poetic youth he kept by his side. Henry, he was called, I had seen him watching the sea before we had left for our makeshift laboratory. I considered the benefit of mentioning this to Victor and perhaps indicating that it would be detrimental to his dear one’s health should he go back on our bargain.

I could not describe my feelings for Victor Frankenstein. A longing for his approval and a deep-seated hatred that made me want to hurt him over and over again until he was as broken as I was. My father, though he refused to hear the word uttered from my lips, could not escape his obligations to me.

Even God gave Eve to Adam before he cast them out of his grace.

So too, my father owed this to me and I would not be denied.

The days stretched on until finally she was whole and all that was needed was the spark. The breath of life that would waken her to me. I had been outside, gathering more wood to add to our fire before a storm brought a soaking rain to dampen it too much for use. It was then I chanced to look in the window. Victor was standing over her, his alchemical instruments at the ready as the storm crested above us. Suddenly he looked up from his work and into my face. For the first time he gazed at me and there was an absence of hatred, something almost pitying in his eyes and I felt myself smile at him, wanting to reach for him. Either to comfort or be comforted by him I knew not.

The moment broke.

Something in my face must have frightened him for he recoiled with such panic that I was startled.

Then he grabbed a large, blunt, cleaver from a hook on the wall and before I could scream out in protest, he brought it down on my mate. He chopped at her in a mad frenzy, like a man possessed.

I rushed into the cabin, yanked his arm away and wrenched the cleaver by its blade from his hands, not caring how it bit into my own flesh.

“What are you doing?! Stop this! STOP! YOU PROMISED!” I screamed shaking him so hard that his arm was in danger of dislocating. I dropped him and surveyed the damage, hoping there was something salvageable in the ruin of my mate.

I sobbed when I saw the extent of the destruction. Her head was nearly severed, an arm had become detached, her innards spilled from her split belly and hung, wet and ropey over the edge of the table.

When I turned to confront Victor again, I saw him throw his journal into the fire. It seemed he was determined not only to destroy my bride but to keep from me the method by which I could hope to make another. I shoved him hard, not caring where he landed and reached into the flames to try and salvage the book.

The fire licked at my flesh, so hot I drew back. Bracing myself for the pain I reached in again and pulled the smoldering pages out, smothering the flames with my burnt hands. Futile, the book was scorched beyond use.

I rounded on Victor, not caring that my hands were blackened and still smoking when I reached for his throat. I wanted to kill him, I meant to kill him.

He was maddeningly calm, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back as though he would welcome my lethal embrace at last. My hands stilled on his neck, leaving hot black finger prints on the white of his skin.

No.

No, I would not end this here.

Chest heaving, tears running down my twisted face I withdrew. He meant to desolate me. To render me hopeless and eternally isolated. I would not grant him the merciful reprieve of death. I could not stay here, the sight of him was driving me to madness. If I was to leave him alive, I had to go.

With a howl of anguish, I fled.

I returned some hours later to find him, sitting in the wreckage of our work. He seemed to have been waiting for me.

I railed at him, and he at me, in the heated exchange of our words I grasped him and lifted him so his face was before mine.

“Slave,” I growled, no longer had I the desire to call him father. My teeth were mere inches from his cheek, flecks of my spittle wetting his skin, “I before reasoned with you but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power! You believe yourself miserable but I can make you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master-obey!”

He rebuffed me again. He was resolute that he would not return to our work. How infuriating that this sickly little man seemed to find his spine at the most inconvenient moments.

“Shall each man find a wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of affection,” I stressed the word and shook him a little, “and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man,” so I consigned him as one of my enemies, no more father, nor maker, nor even Victor, simply man now. His kind had declared war upon me so to would I deliver it back, “you may hate, but beware, your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness forever.”

I continued with my threats for some time, he trembled a little but did not break under my abuse.

“Man,” I said again in a sharp hiss, the word a curse and a brand upon him, “you shall repent of the injuries you inflict!”

“Devil,” he shot back at me with equal venom, “cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I have declared my resolution to you and I am no coward to bend beneath words. Leave me; I am inexorable.”

I dropped him, deriving some small satisfaction in watching him claw for purchase at filthy floor and struggle to his feet. Though my anguish seemed endless his had only begun. As I glanced once more at the sad heap of lifeless flesh and bone that had once borne all that had been my hope to find love in this world, I vowed that my revenge would be tenfold.

The ruin I left in my wake would be of such a magnitude any who heard of it should weep for Victor’s fate. As I turned to leave, I issued one final warning to him.

“It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your wedding night…”

[starblightbindery]

Editor's Note from my bind, Designs of Fate, an anthology of Star Wars stories by Patricia A. Jackson.

Patricia A. Jackson is a criminally underrated Star Wars author.

I’ll explain.

Growing up in the late 1990s and early 2000s, it was challenging to be an adolescent Star Wars fangirl, particularly an Asian American one. Back then, fandom meant negotiating male-dominated online message boards where identifying as a teenage girl meant inviting a ‘fake geek girl’ grilling at best and sexual harassment at worst. Most of the published Star Wars books were about Han, Leia, and Luke. Han and Leia were in their thirties and the parents of three children...not super relatable for preteen me. As far as character development was concerned, our “Big Three” had established characterizations coalesced firmly on the side of good. For our heroes, there was no moral ambiguity as, novel by novel, they tackled the galactic Threat of the Week.

Bildungsromans, those books were not. When Jackson started writing Star Wars in the 1990s, there were no women Jedi or protagonists of color. If you wanted stories with original characters coming of age, your primary recourse was the West End Games’ Star Wars Adventure Journals and their published anthologies, Tales from the Empire (1997) and Tales from the New Republic (1999). I remember avidly poring over my dogeared paperback copies and stalking the internet for scans or transcriptions. Although I never played the D6 role-playing game, the short stories from the Star Wars Adventure Journals helped me envision that a character like me—a young Asian girl coming into her own—did have a place in Star Wars after all.

As evinced by the vitriolic reactions towards John Boyega and Kelly Marie Tran during the production of the sequel trilogy, Star Wars fandom can be a hateful environment for proponents of diversity and inclusion. A small but irritatingly loud faction of fascist-leaning, cishet, white male fans are actively hostile towards fans who advocate for change; they are more troubled by the presence of queers, women and BIPOC than our absence. Because of the ubiquity and popularity of Star Wars in America’s cultural milieu, the sentiments from these self-appointed gatekeepers have been—and continue to be—amplified by right wing extremists, and, to some extent, even by the Internet Research Agency as tools of Russia’s psychological and cyber warfare against the United States. During his Ph.D. candidacy with the Department of Information Studies at UCLA, Morten Bay, PhD., studied negative tweets about The Last Jedi and found that 50.9% of negative tweets were “bots, trolls/sock puppets or political activists using the debate to propagate political messages supporting extreme right-wing causes and the discrimination of gender, race or sexuality.”

“Russian trolls weaponize Star Wars criticism as an instrument of information warfare with the purpose of pushing for political change,” he wrote, “while it is weaponized by right-wing fans to forward a conservative agenda and for some it is a pushback against what they perceive as a feminist/social justice onslaught.”

The creation and inclusion of characters with minoritized identities in Star Wars is, therefore, an act of resistance. As far as I’m aware, Patricia A. Jackson was the first woman of color and Black author to write for the Star Wars expanded universe. Jackson has described the fan environment in the 1990s thusly; like many minoritized fans of color, she would be given pithy justifications such as "Well, there’s no Africa in Star Wars, so there are no Black people." Jackson noted, aptly, "That was just translation for “’You don’t matter. You don’t need to be here.’” Jackson's work for West End Games, particularly her sourcebook The Black Sands of Socorro, is a subversion of those expectations.

Before anyone else did, Jackson showed fandom that dominant mayo masculinity did not have to be the only way to tell Star Wars stories. Her stories existed before the prequel trilogy and three decades of Star Wars publishing, before FanFiction.net, Archive of Our Own, or Wattpad. She is the forerunner for BIPOC writers in Star Wars, followed by other luminaries like Steven Barnes, Daniel José Older, Nnedi Okorafor, Rebecca Roanhorse, Ken Liu, Greg Pak, Alyssa Wong, Sarah Kuhn, Saladin Ahmed, C.B. Lee, Justina Ireland, Alex Segura, Zoraida Cordova, Greg VanEekhout, Mike Chen, Charles Yu, R.F. Kuang, Sarwat Chadda, Sabaa Tahir, and Renée Ahdieh.

Jackson had and continues to have an incredibly prescient understanding of what makes a good Star Wars story. Any of the stories in this anthology could find a home as an anime short from Star Wars: Visions (2021). Ideas from Jackson’s Star Wars short stories have appeared in later media, sometimes decades later. Whether convergently evolved or directly influenced, the parallels are astonishing: Kierra, the snarky feminine droid consciousness who inhabits Thaddeus Ross’s ship, is a spiritual predecessor to L3-37, Lando Calrissian’s snarky feminine droid companion from Solo (2018) who ends the film uploaded to the Millennium Falcon. Jackson addressed concepts like slavery and Force healing predating the prequel and sequel trilogies. In “Idol Intentions,” she created an adventuring academic on the hunt for artifacts long before Kieron Gillen brought Doctor Aphra to life. Squint and the upturned red salt on the planet Crait in The Last Jedi becomes flying red soil on the planet Redcap. Dark haired, dark side tragic emo boy starcrossed with a fiery girl Jedi?—I think Jackson understood intuitively the appeal of this trope to a woman-dominated contingent of fandom well before “Reylo” topped Tumblr’s fan favorite relationship charts in 2020.

Jackson’s work is also significant for deepening world building. Much like how Timothy Zahn introduced analysis of fine art to Star Wars with his villainous art connoisseur Grand Admiral Thrawn, Jackson’s stories introduced concepts such as the evolution of Old Corellian, the acting profession, and Legitimate Theatre. These elements added verisimilitude to the expanded universe; it makes sense that different cultures in Star Wars would have archaic languages, folk songs, and old stories of their own from even longer ago in galaxies far, far, away. More recently, the franchise has started to flesh out in-universe lore in Star Wars: Myths and Fables (2019) by George Mann. Still, Uhl Eharl Khoehng in “Uhl Eharl Khoehng” (1995) remains the finest example of mise en abyme in any Star Wars related work.

Themes from Jackson’s Star Wars works, particularly around Drake Paulsen and Socorro, also connect contemporaneously with our real world. When the Seldom Different is essentially ‘pulled over’ by Imperial authorities in “Out of the Cradle” (1994), stormtroopers lie about Drake Paulsen having a weapon as a pretense to terrorize the teenager. It’s a collision of space opera with Black youths’ past and current experiences of police brutality and state-sanctioned violence. Accordingly, this capricious encounter is the rite of passage that jars Drake out of his childhood. I cheered when I read The Black Sands of Socorro (1997) and saw that the Black Bha'lir smuggler’s guild is named for a bha'lir, depicted in the book as a large...panther. Few Star Wars expanded universe authors—particularly in the 1990s—leveraged their influence to center characters of color or to allude to racial justice movements. Jackson did both.

For this anthology, I have copy edited and also taken the liberty of, when applicable, substituting some gendered or sanist language with more contemporaneous wording.17 The stories are otherwise intact. It would be remiss of me if I did not note; however, that one of the stories, “Bitter Winter” (1995), has sanist and ableist tropes that could not be contemporized without making dramatic changes to the story. In this story, the fictional disease brekken vinthern drives those impacted to violence; while it’s real world correlate of major neurocognitive disorder can include symptoms of aggression and agitation, extreme violence is rare and people with this condition are also at great risk of being harmed by violence. The tropes “Mercy Kill” and “Shoot the Dog” are depictions of non-voluntary active euthanasia, typically from the perspective of the horrified “killer” placed in an impossible situation. These tropes frame murder and death as “putting someone out of their misery” while downplaying any alternatives (ie: sedation to alleviate suffering, medical attention, or, say, ion cannons to render a ship inoperable without killing.)

Like in our society, the societies in Star Wars have consistently framed mental illness pejoratively. There are certainly valid critiques of the utter inadequacy of health care in Star Wars. Ableism is ubiquitous in entertainment media, and even with it’s problematic tropes, “Bitter Winter” remains one of the more humanizing depictions of a mental health condition in Star Wars fiction. I have included it in this anthology as a rare example of moral ambiguity in the franchise.

With the exception of “Fragile Threads” and “Emanations of Darkness,” the stories here are presented not in published order, but in chronological order as they would have occurred in the Star Wars universe. Ordering the stories chronologically helped clarify timelines; it also allows the anthology to begin with “The Final Exit,” which was a fan favorite back when it was first published. I’ve interwoven the Brandl family stories with Drake Paulsen’s coming of age adventures, as the Paulsens are such a strong foil to the Brandl family.

Since “I am your father” dropped in 1980, Star Wars has been big on Daddy Issues—intergenerational trauma, parental relationships, broken attachments, identity development, and initiation into adulthood (or, as Obi-Wan Kenobi would put it, “taking your first steps into a larger world.”) With Drake, we see that Kaine Paulsen is a father who is gone but ever-present. With Jaalib, we see that Adalric Brandl is a father who is ever-present but clearly far gone. Drake knows his Socorran roots; he has community and found family. Fable’s identity is adrift; she was torn from her roots after her fugitive Jedi mother’s death. Jaalib’s roots are scaffolded by disingenuous artifice. There is a diametric interplay of identity formation and parental legacy in these short stories that captures classic themes from Star Wars. And, the stories challenge readers to consider how we interact with shame, guilt, and obligation. Through the morally ambiguous dilemmas that are her oeuvre, Jackson’s characters discover who they are and where they stand.

While the thrill of having an Imperial Star Destroyer drop out of hyperspace is pure Star Wars energy, Jackson’s stories also disrupted what fans had come to expect. Published online as fan fiction, “Emanations of Darkness” (2001) polarized fans of the previous Brandl stories, particularly with Fable’s decision to throw her lot in with Jaalib and his father. At the time, Star Wars fan commentator Charles Phipps noted how the story dealt with the insidiousness of the dark side by taking potential heroes and crushing them. “Star Wars, I've never known to leave a bitter taste in my mouth,” he wrote, stunned. “I don't like what it's brought out in my feelings or myself...Bravo Brandl, you have your applause.” Although the Brandl stories were written and published before Revenge of the Sith (2005), Fable and Jaalib’s relationship mirrors the relationship between Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, down to both Jaalib and Anakin selling their souls to the same Emperor in hopes that will spare the women they love.

The prequel trilogy introduces the Jedi Council’s detached approach to attachments—don’t feel it, emotions like fear or anger are to be shunned, else suffering will follow. Anakin Skywalker’s broken attachments to his mother and Padmé lead him to turn against his values; his inability to integrate or tolerate his attachments is his downfall. It’s the same in the Brandl stories where, trauma bonded, Fable and Jaalib cannot let each other go. While Jaalib credits this as how he was able to preserve a bit of himself while under the Emperor’s thrall, his inability to extricate himself from his father’s influence or to let go of Fable ends up dooming her.

This is why I was thrilled to discover “Fragile Threads” (2021) on Wattpad twenty years later. In this story, Drake Paulsen helps his lover Tiaja Moorn save her sister, at the cost of losing their relationship when she decides to remain on her homeworld. Drake doesn’t fight her decision, he accepts it. He can hold onto that connection to Tiaja, just as he knows he will always be connected to Socorro, his father, and the Black Bha'lir. Drake can love freely because he knows what Luke Skywalker told Leia in The Last Jedi: “No one is ever truly gone.” He is able to straddle the fulcrum of attachment and love without letting it consume him, and that is balancing the Force.

Contemporary fandom discourse is also a struggle with attachment; the parasocial relationships we form with characters and stories are similar in process to how we attach to the important people in our lives. We imbue with meaning and carry these stories with us. As Star Wars storytelling enters its fifth decade, the divide between affirmational fandom (allegiance to manufactured nostalgia) and transformational fandom (allegiance to iterative and transgressive fan engagement) has factionized fandom. When Star Wars is seen as a totemic object, right wing fans have agitated for a return to a mythic past where white men were centered and morality was Manichean. From where I stand, at the heart of this debate is whether or not the reader or Star Wars is permitted to “grow up”—to leave the cradle, to evolve new identities and explore shades of grey.

To me, Jackson’s stories are a reminder that characters of color and complex moral dilemmas have always been a part of Star Wars. We have always been here. No other Star Wars author has been as exquisitely aware of the significance of storytelling; how it can help people challenge existing beliefs and discover themselves. Since the beginnings of the expanded universe, Patricia A. Jackson has spun yarn, and those fragile threads have tethered readers like myself to a galaxy far, far away.

Ol'val, min dul'skal, ahn guld domina, mahn uhl Fharth bey ihn valle. (Until we next meet, may the Force be with you.)

[babeyvenus]

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 51: Shadow Woman

After learning about Sam's history, Derek felt as if he understood her a bit better. He lightly dragged his thumb down her cheek as he frowned softly.

“I'm just glad you didn't die on us. I don't know what I would've done.”

He understood why she was the way she was.

“You're not alone, Derek.”

He understood why she and the boys were so close. Why she stayed with her mother. Why she acted the way she acted toward the others that they've come across.

“You haven’t given up trying to push me away, yet? It doesn’t get old?”

It made sense now.

“I'm not leaving you. I won't leave you.”

He was so curious about her and why she felt the need to be so persistent in helping him and Scott to begin with.

“I'm not gonna let you go out there if it means you're gonna die and I won't be able to do anything about it.”

It wasn't just because she cared… she was afraid. She was afraid of being alone.

“I don't wanna do that without you.”

He sighed softly, laying back against her pillows, and closed his eyes. With her brother and father missing, it messed her up. The abandonment dug a hole in her being and her friends only filled it so much.

This entire time… Derek was worried about himself. Thinking about himself and how he was the bane of everyone's pain but now he knew he wasn't just that. This wasn't his fault yet he felt like it was.

He wasn't here to protect her either.

Despite all that she's been through, she was still caring and not as cold as he expected her to be after hearing what happened.

In the beginning, he was just a stranger to her. The boys were right to have their suspicions and guards up around him, but she wasn't like them…

She could've been hostile toward him, but she wasn't. She was definitely crazy brave for standing up to him and Peter, regardless of their supernatural status. But she welcomed them all the same.

He frowned at another thought that plagued his mind. She could've been just like the Argents.

However, she was the opposite. She wasn't as threatening when she found out who bit Scott. Hell, she was on the Hales' side the entire time.

She could've hated him. He anticipated it. He wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to gather betas for revenge. So was Peter. And he did.

But he lost his betas. His alpha spark and this girl, this once human girl, stayed by his side.

She made him think of Paige. Maybe… maybe this was his new chance. A chance to do better. To do right. To make sure he didn't relive a repeat.

He was… scared when Sam had gotten bit.

He hid it well, but he was terrified. Terrified that he'd let another innocent girl die because of his mistakes.

She could've lost her life and she didn't blame him for getting bit. She made it seem like it was a normal occurrence when she told her mother.

He thanked his lucky stars. That was, if he had any.

Even laying next to her, he felt lucky. The dim moonlight that peeked through her curtains, he saw how her usually plump cheeks were less swollen from crying so hard.

Her eyes were still a little puffy, but it didn't bother him much. She slept peacefully. At least he hoped.

This wasn't something he expected to come home to. Another family reunion? One that wasn't mysteriously his?

He wondered about her father and brother. Was the trip even worth it? Was it worth tearing her apart so emotionally?

Did they really miss her?

Derek lifted a hand to hover his fingertips over her cheek. He glanced at the small faded scar over her eyelid. He felt guilty that it hadn't healed completely before she got bit.

She'd probably tell him that it wasn't his fault. She was always like that. He kinda wished she'd just yell at him, tell him to get lost, to never see her or her friends again.

Maybe it'd hurt less if she had. He can't imagine why anyone would hurt her so bad even as a kid. She sounded so sweet and kind hearted from what Stiles had described.

It made him wish he'd met her earlier. Before the fire. Before Kate.

His thoughts paused as he heard a soft groan come from her and watched as she woke up. Her eyes slowly opened and met his, a relieved expression washed over her face.

"Hi.", she whispered softly. A small smile lifted his lips. "Hi.", he responded. "How're you feeling?"

She let out a muffled noise and rubbed her face on her pillow. "Still kinda tired, but I'm okay. You okay?"

He let out a snort. Worried about him as always… "Yeah. I'm okay."

He watched as she lifted a hand, the tips of her fingers pressed against his scruffy cheek. "You're really here…", she muttered.

He nodded. "I'm back."

She dropped her hand with a small huff and a smile. Derek returned her smile and brought her into his hold. "I missed you.", he muttered in her hair. She nuzzled into his chest. "I really missed you."

He laid a kiss on top of her forehead and looked down at her. "How come you were sick?", he asked softly.

She looked up at him, a questioning look on her face. "When I came home, I smelled you all over my couch. I smelled your pain. You were sick. Why?", he responded.

"I got drugged and kidnapped.", she muttered, looking down. Derek's face hardened. What the hell happened while he was gone?

"By who?", he asked. "A guy me, Stiles and Scott knew when we were younger.", she responded. She told him everything that happened from meeting Theo to him being dragged to hell by his dead sister.

Good riddance, Derek thought. The boy was power hungry and it didn't set Derek in a good way. Even going as far to get everyone to hate Stiles and getting Liam to kill Scott. It was too much.

He wanted to ask her so many other questions. How much had he missed out on since he left?

There was one thing that also bothered him. While he went to visit Cora, the sky suddenly changed one night. It tripped him out so much, he thought he hadn't even slept yet.

"Did a weird thing happen here? Like a sudden change in the sky?", he asked. Sam felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment as she shrunk under her covers. That was one detail she left out of her explanation.

So her powers did reach around the world…

She hadn't meant to do that. It was an accident.

Derek looked at her in confusion. "What? What happened?", he asked quietly.

She looked up at him. "I did it…" He raised a thick eyebrow in question. "Did what?", he asked. She grumbled in embarrassment. "I changed the sky. It wasn't my fault. I had this stupid hallucination. When Stiles snapped me out of it, the next thing I know, it's night outside."

She waited for him to laugh. To let out a teasing chuckle. To tell her she was being a big baby and that it was reckless of her to do that.

He did neither of those things, to her surprise. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her, his thumb rubbing at her back. "You wanna tell me what the hallucination was about?", he asked softly.

He didn't wanna pressure her, considering the last hallucination almost made her drown herself out of guilt. He couldn't imagine what this one was like.

She frowned softly and told him what she saw. In the end, Derek was jumbled with emotions. They were bouncing everywhere. He was worried, relieved, pissed and pleased all at the same time.

He was relieved she couldn't sense chemosignals.

"I don't know. I know that house meant a lot to you, but it brings me comfort too. I don't know why. I used to get relieved when I saw it. Now the loft holds that relief for me too.", she says. He looked down at her, but she didn't meet his eyes.

Her safe place was where he resided…

He wondered if the boys had figured that out already. Maybe Peter did. It was no wonder why they smelled her all over the couch.

It was a faint smell, but potent nonetheless. If her comfort wasn't something she could explain, he wouldn't question it anymore.

She sighed and sat up. "What's wrong?", he asked.

She looked at him. "We gotta figure out who's been kidnapping people for youth.", she said.

He sat up on his elbows. "You actually wanna help them?", he asks, referring to the two that came with the info.

She frowned. "I'm not helping them. I'm helping the people who are in danger.", she corrected. "Even if it meant you had to work with them?", he asked.

She paused. Would she have to work with them? It'd be awkward and annoying. If she could avoid it, it'd be great.

She sighed through her nose. "If it can't be helped…"

She lifted herself out of the bed, floating softly on the carpet floor as she stretched. Derek watched in surprise, fully sitting up now. He really missed out on a lot.

"You can fly now?", he muttered. She turned to him. "What, jealous?", she asked, teasingly.

He scoffed with a smile as she went to freshen up. When she disappeared in her bathroom, he turned on a lamp and laid back down on her bed, looking around her room.

It seemed bigger than the last time he came. There were things that he hadn't noticed. He knew about her little bookshelf that she had acquired before he left. Her desk was neater and she ended up getting a new alarm clock.

She had a slightly bigger TV sat on an entertainment center that stood next to her bedroom door.

Looks like that spot's taken if he ever were to come back by himself. But he didn't think he'd need to sneak in the house anymore now. But, it was a force of habit.

The entertainment center was neatly occupied by DVD cases, PlayStation controllers, the console and games.

Why hadn't he noticed all of this before…?

Maybe because they were constantly running around trying to stay alive from any possible threat that harmed their lives…

Had he been doing a good job teaching her to stay alive…?

He'd like to think so, considering she was still alive.

"Your thoughts are loud.", he hears and looks over at Sam who emerged from the bathroom dressed more comfortably.

He lets out a chuckle. She smiled and walked over to him.

"What else have you learned about your new powers?", Derek asked. She hummed and used her shadow to make her float and sat on top of the black blob that floated below her.

"Well, now that I know I can change the day to night, I have to work on that before I unintentionally do that again and cause a worldwide situation.", she said.

She frowned in thought. There was a new thing she tried, but it was worth a shot. She reached for his head and plucked a strand, making him reel back, and place a hand on his head in reaction. "The hell was that for?", he fussed, scratching at his slightly sore scalp.

She floated to her carpet floor, creating a glowing resin that she had done before and placed the strand of dark hair in the middle.

It was a harmless thing, of course. She knew that, but it was still shocking to him.

He watched as the small, illuminated crescent moon appeared on her forehead and looked at his hand that seemed to glow as well.

He lifted his hand and saw a similar illuminated moon on the corner of his wrist, inspecting it as it faded.

He looked at Sam as she looked at him with a sheepish smile. "I kinda made a link to you. It'll let me know if something's wrong with you.", she explained. He understood now.

It was creative. Smart.

He smiled. "Thanks for that.", he said. Her eyes nearly sparkled at his smile. It always brought butterflies in her stomach, but brought her relief that he was still able to even after everything that happened.

She smiled.

The next day, the pack met up at Scott's house, discussing what they should do about the kidnapped.

"Where should we even look first?", Lydia asked.

"They said there were people running away from Beacon Hills, but they weren't far. So that just means that whoever's doing the kidnapping is still here.", Stiles said.

Scott turned to Sam. "Why don't we ask your grandma?", he asked. Sam looked at him in confusion. "Why my grandma?"

They looked at her, confused as well. "You… don't know?", Liam asked. She looked at him then looked at her packmates. "Know what?"

Stiles frowned. "Your mom told us your grandma pretty much knows every single supernatural thing in Beacon Hills. Including the Argents."

Sam frowned deeply, and glanced at Derek who looked at her with an expression that gave the confirmation.

The truth dropped into her stomach with a nauseating wave. Her eyes weakly blinked. "I feel sick.", she muttered.

"It's not your fault.", Derek quickly reassured.

Sam rubbed at her temples as she sat down. She knew her mom went to her grandma for help as far as protection spells, but…

It made sense that she knew about the supernatural things in Beacon Hills, but…

Why hadn't she gone to her for help before?

Sam let out a sigh, dragging a hand down her face. "Fine. We'll go to her to see what she knows."

They couldn't go to the store since it was closed on certain days so Sam drove the girls and led the boys to her grandma's house.

She stared at the house with a frown. It brought back memories that bothered her a bit. Shaking it off, she got out of her car and walked up to the porch, knocking on the door.

The pack stood behind her and waited.

Three more knocks and they could hear the old rickety door opening. To the pack's surprise, they saw an older woman that was shorter than Sam despite having some of her features.

She didn't have grey hair, rather dark hair with white streaks. Her eyes seemed approachable whilst she wore a smile that could warm anyone's heart.

It definitely warmed Sam's. She smiled and gave her grandma a hug. "Hi, granny.", she softly greeted.

The older woman greeted her back with a hug and scolded the girl. "You should've told me you were bringing company. Y'all come on in."

The pack looked at Sam for confirmation and the girl only smiled, nodding her head towards the door as she walked through.

As she looked around, she felt a sense of familiarity. She hadn't exactly been to the house in years. Seeing her at the shop was enough and she wasn't always exactly invited. Especially not recently with everything going on.

Sam was trying to avoid giving her grandmother any type of hints that she was now involved with supernatural mysteries and fights.

Now, she had no choice but to tell her. "So, why the visit?", she hears her grandma ask.

Sam turns to her, "We came here to see what you knew about the recent supernatural issues that's been happening. Something about someone kidnapping people to make themselves younger."

The older woman's face turned into a frown as she looked at her granddaughter's friends. Taking one good look at them, she pointed at each. "Werewolves," She said pointing at Liam, Scott and Derek. She pointed at Malia. "Coyote."

She looked at Kira and huffed. "Kitsune." She pointed at Lydia, "Banshee." She looked at Stiles. "You were possessed…"

Stiles looked down, scratching behind his neck. Anita turned to her granddaughter. "How long have you known?"

"About the supernatural or the recent issue?", Sam asked.

"Both, while we're at it.", Anita responded, crossing her arms. Sam sighed and glanced at her pack before looking back at her grandma.

"For a while now.", Sam responded. It wasn't completely a lie, and it was an avoidance. Anita sighed, rubbing her temple.

"I know a lot of what's here in Beacon Hills. I know what's what and weaknesses and strengths. But what you're looking for will be hard to find.", Anita determined.

Sam frowned as her grandmother walked into a hall that was lined up with bookshelves. She pulled a book out of the bookshelf in front of her.

She opened it, and walked back to Sam. "The thing you're looking for is normally called a shadow person.”, she says, handing the book over to Sam. “They drain people of their energies and life force in their sleep. But if what you're looking for is a woman, then that would be a shadow woman, of course.”

Sam looked at the description in the book then paused as she looked up at her grandma. "How'd you know it was a woman?"

Anita scoffed, "The shadow man doesn't drain people to make himself younger. More powerful, maybe, but definitely not younger. A shadow woman may be trying to make herself more physical, hence draining people out of their youth to make her look young."

Sam closed the book. "If it's just a woman, that'll be easy.", she determined, walking past her.

Anita stopped her. "Hold your horses. Why are you so confident?"

Sam turned to her, an eyebrow raised. "You don't know?", Scott asked.

Anita looked confused. What had her granddaughter not told her?

"I thought you knew every supernatural thing that happens in Beacon Hills?", Malia asked. Anita frowned. "I know of every supernatural thing in Beacon Hills. Not what happens in Beacon Hills.", she corrected and turned to her granddaughter.

"Mom's leaving you out of the loop, too, huh?", Sam said and sighed. "I can control shadows and apparently the night as well.", she confessed.

Anita was more than surprised, she was intrigued and almost seemed expectant.

"Your mom had you do some studying too, hm?", Anita asked. Sam frowned a bit, but agreed nonetheless.

If she didn't know about everything that's happened, she doesn't need to now. Sam felt no need to explain more.

"Who's been protecting you?", Anita asked. "Who's your entities?"

"Nyx and Hecate. Sometimes Eris.", Sam confessed, shocking Anita a bit.

Sam sighed. "I've done all my research and if that's all then thanks for the book, granny. I'll see you later.", she said, smiling and pushing her friends out of the door.

Anita followed and watched from the porch as the pack piled into their cars and pulled out from her driveway.

She has the power to manipulate shadows to her will and has the power of the moon…

Anita smirked.

[kitskame]

Ok this is @viviook and @mossy-forrest fault

So we were bullshitting around and were thinking about what would happen if Vio was with somebody else instead of Claude, and since Vio pointed out, it’s an inevitability for them to end up together; we thought of this fuck shit scenario.

Mostly smut

(Scenario: An argument has boiled over in one of the many break rooms of the studio the Crépuscule photo shoots were occupying)

“—We can’t keep doing this”

“So then tell him the truth.” He responds cruely lighting a cigarette.

“Claude,” Vio feels a headache and frustration welling inside of her all at once, everything’s falling apart and it’s mostly her fault, her relationship, her job, her parents, HIM; all of this is just a big clusterfuck!

“Listen, this should never have happened, alright? I’m sorry, but I can’t continue doing this to Jack—“

“We did. And we did all of it. You’ve done this to me, to us and you really believe I’ll let this go?”

“You have too! I HAVE TOO, I’m with someone else already!”

“Tu penses que j'en ai rien à foutre?I have more to offer than he wishes he ever could!” He scoffs out a puff of smoke as his eyes flicker with hostility.

“Well at least he treats me with the respect I deserve than some old pompous ass!” She shot back.

Claude only looks annoyed, which was an emotion that had been raised on the verge of every occasion between them for a long time now.

“No offense, Vio, but you’re the one who fucked up this entire situation by dragging this out for so long.” He snaps. “We both know why.”

It doesn’t make any sense, she shouldn’t feel anything about this and yet she does… She wants him, but she hates him too. It isn’t fair to Claude and yet it is, it is like something is missing from the balance in their equation. Something wrong, she doesn’t understand it and she’s afraid to touch what they do have together, afraid of diving head first into the forbidden , where they will be damaged, maybe irreparably so.

“We shouldn’t have started in the first place, What we… had, needs to stop, alright? I— I know I can’t stop feeling this way for you, don’t ever think otherwise, it’s not as if you don’t mean a damn thing to me! But it needs to end before it becomes anything else.” His stare was blank, almost empty of humanity and judgment. Her voice shook.

“And— and if you…love me, then you have to leave me alone” she said and she could see he didn’t believe her, she couldn’t tell him how much it hurt when he didn’t even try to give her a sign that he cared or understood what she was saying. His cigarette burned bright orange in between his fingers and flicked ash onto the floor beside him. He held the lighter close, smoking between words.

“Just walk away, huh?” There was amusement in his voice, bitterness and disappointment, “Pretend nothing ever happened, that this this doesn’t kill you every fucking day? I do agree… that would be nice, it’d have been perfect if we had never met, things would’ve been simpler if I never had to deal with such an annoying, stupid, ill-cultured, childish, noisy woman like you—“

There were tears filling her eyes, flowing down her cheeks and falling to the ground. It had been a while since she cried in front of him and she had always found it infuriating.

“Well…There so—“

“I can have everything. And not have to worry about any inconveniences that comes my way, because if any person tried to they always fall sort of my expectations…you should’ve fallen even shorter than that” he drawled out slowly. The his blank expression painted on his face nearly made her want to cry harder, but instead it felt numb, cold and distant.

Refusing to hear anymore she walks towards the door without another word and before she could take three steps he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, looking into her teary eyes. He bent his head forward, pulling her mouth to his, tasting the cigarette on his lips. She felt cold, all at once, but she leaned into his embrace and parted her lips, offering him her tongue. The kiss was deep and full, it almost felt like she could drown just from this alone

He parts from her lips, “All of that and still you drive me putain de fou.” He mumbles against her lips.

And digs in for another kiss, she was shocked at most at how passionate he was being, she barely even noticed that he has slipped his hand into her hair and starts tugging her closer. She groans and wraps her arms around his neck, letting him have his way with her lips tasting the tobacco on his tongue. He doesn’t hesitate to pull her closer, sinking his other hand under her skirt and clutching onto her thighs. He only pulled away for air, but the look of absolute sexual hunger in his eyes made her shudder.

“Claude,” she whines weakly, desiring more, greedily rubbing her body against his.

And like a cruel twist of fate he pulls away, but he walks back and leans back against the table almost in a taunting manner, Vio was pretty sure her face looked pathetic right now, feeling heat creep up her cheeks looked at him through with a hooded gaze in desperation.

“You only have one correct choice here petit oiseau, either out there or right here,” he says emphasizing with a slap against his thigh, no emotions whatsoever in his voice.

Vio swallows hard, her pulse racing wildly. She hadn’t realized how intense her desires had grown until he actually acted on them and there wasn’t anything she wanted more in that moment. So it wasn’t a surprise to her when she found herself approaching him, stepping between his open thigh, throwing her arms around his neck and arching up toward him in complete submission, “Yes sir,” Her thighs trembled with lust as he slid his hands up under her shirt, pressing himself to her.

“That’s my good girl, now take off your skirt and straddle me” he purred heavily, his other arm wrapped around her waist holding her tight. The strong firm pressure on her body was causing sparks to ignite throughout her lower half. She couldn’t take it anymore, quickly removing her skirt and panties leaving her completely naked in front of Claude, he kept his eyes locked on hers, burning holes through the side of her eyes as she crawled up onto his lap, and started a grind against him.

His exhaled heavily grabbing ahold of her hips , “Mon douce Vio, I love the way you move” He sighed running his fingertips across her spine in slow strokes, giving a sharp bite on the shoulder that caused her to whimper slightly, “So delicate, so obedient and so responsive. You look divine, and even better than that, the sounds you’re making while riding me is driving me insane, very impressive,”

And after giving her that mental checklist he shifts to undo his pants, revealing a massive thick bulge straining against his fly. The heat of his palm pressing against her mound sent an unexpected shiver running through her as she had lifted her hips in anticipation. She gripped the fabric of his turtle neck shirt firmly, fighting back the urge to claw at him.

His erection springs free and presses into her wet heat and she moaned lightly as she reached down and grasped it, trying to drag it further into her body, tightening her muscles in her grip and bucking upwards against his hold, muffling another moan into his shoulder. The sensations shooting through her veins cause her to scream, her whole body rigid with pain and pleasure alike as he slammed against her repeatedly, gripping her hips tightly to keep from coming undone. He continued kissing and biting her lips softly, dragging their tongues through each others mouths, moaning wantonly.

“Claude, *hah*, Claude, a-AH CLAUDE~”

“Merde, don’t—ngh, don’t squeeze me so tight cher,” he moans out muffled and muffles her name, Vio arches into him, feeling that hard length slide along her slit as she bounces against him.

He flips her around swiftly and pushes her against the table, pinning her body to the solid surface, leaving little space between them, crushing his chest into hers, pushing their bodies together violently. She moans out loudly, looking up into his focused glaze and clumsily kisses him, pushing her tongue in between his lips to taste him, desperate to feel him even closer. He groans tangling their fingers together and thrusts deeper, gripping the soft flesh of her breast in his large palm as he slams into her.

She lets out a loud squeal into his throat, gritting her teeth, “Fuck! Fuck!”

Through her lust ridden state she still managed to hear a phone ringing in the distance, it was a cute little ringtone and was likely to be her phone, a small impulse in her neck had her turn involuntarily to the sound on the brightly lit puppy pawed screen was Jackson’s name in bright blue letters.

Jack, I’m so sorry.

Claude firmly grabs her cheeks and turns her gaze back towards him his dark eyes alit with passion he crushes his lips over hers, “Regardez-moi,” he growls into her mouth as his hips hitched up, his cock sinking into her quivering pussy. She could feel herself starting to unravel and wrap her legs tightly around his waist leveling her hips to find the edge.

“Claude— Oh god yes! please I—“

“Are you mine Violina?” he breathes out between kisses, digging his nails into her skin with just the right amount of force. She needs to cum. Right now.

“I-“

“Tell me, * mmph*~ hah, tell me you’re mine mon doux canari, dis moi— FUCK! Hah~dis moi que tu m'aimes and I’ll give you what you want” he promises and it fills her with butterflies.

It’s the wildest thing he’s ever said to her, such intent hidden in those words that make her heart swell in her chest, sending chills running through her body.

“I— Ah, *Hah*, I love you Claude,” she moans in a low guttural tone that makes his eyes flash, “je t'aime tellement,” she gurgles back into his mouth again, twitching with need.

He ruts so harshly against her it was almost painful, pushing inside her, forcing more air from her lungs as she came into him. She felt like she was going to break apart from sheer ecstasy. With a final, fierce thrust Claude holds her pinned against the table, she was gasping as he tumbled after her releasing himself in a rough flood. She buried her face into his neck, drawing the warm fragrance of him into her senses and closing her eyes. His smell filled her mind, bringing her thoughts back to him.

The only sounds left were their panted breaths and the still ringing phone……

[titaniaoftheseasons]

@farenduil location: Araushnee's Grove, Arvandor notes: one last thread with mother Araushnee’s grove was void of any life, Lloth’s betrayal had stripped it of its splendour and while it would have been a small matter to sow seeds and new life into this soil, it remained as a warning. Mneme and Aegnor’s repulsion from this realm was a message, Titania’s amputated limbs another. Her ruined sister would kill Meryasek, and with him her people’s last hope would flame out. They were emotional creatures, void of leadership; their grief would just consume them. Perhaps it was better to be over, when a limb became necrotic you cut it off, you didn’t cling to it and hope that it didn’t take your life with it. 

“I was a terrible mother,” Titania whispered, “I put everything I was into being Queen of a people that came to hate me. I wanted to be a mother, and I failed. I wanted to be Queen, and I failed at that too.” The archfey wasn’t the type to purposefully invoke sympathy or to petty self-pity, but the long years tethered to so many of her people had addled her mind alongside the spellplague. While the pharmakis had restored her and the Gods of Elysia had healed her, Titania wasn’t the woman who’d left the mortal realm behind. She’d promised so much to Zahrya, to Meryasek, but even in her resurgence she’d vowed vengeance and made them pledge the same. Everywhere she looked there was fault etched in the lines of all that she had written, Farenduil had not held back, she knew that he despised her: and he’d been right to. Titania despised her too. 

“I thought for so long that it was within my power to control everything, that if I just held on tight enough then we wouldn’t have to lose anymore than we already have.” Titania turned towards her son, worried hands wrung in front of her, “You and your friends came here seeking aid but you won’t find any: Corellon turned his back on the mortal realm long ago.” Farenduil, the son with whom Titania had expected the world and Meryasek, the son with whom Titania had never expected anything. How they’d both surprised her, and how she’d ruined them both. She could feel the pain of his broken soul as his magic ran keenly through her, the death of a warder was an insufferable loss. All because they had hoped to find aid in a hostile realm. Boons, perhaps, but nothing more: these elves sought worship, as all Gods did, nothing more. “As have I.” It was time for the eladrins to come home so they might at last be restored.

[1yyyyyy1]

What do you think of radfems obsession with beauty standards? For reference, I'm single, never had a boyfriend, don't feel attraction for men whatsoever. However I hate the fixation that radfems have when it comes to beauty and beautiful women. Being from an middleeastern origins, and growing up in a western country where being white and pale and hairless was the norm I was basically conditioned to start shavin very early. And to be honest? I don't mind doing that, why? Because between me and my sisters I'm the only hairy person, I was the one being considered ugly and slightly overweight while they were always skinny.

I always wanted to like myself, my body and I did and still do everything to ensure that I keep liking myself. Does that mean that I have no aspiration or goals? Absolutely not! Didn't grow up surrounded by male attention, I feel good on my own skin, I don't wear make but I still take care of my skin, ensure that my body stays fit and yes I do shave and I would even consider doing a laser hair removal.

But to some radical feminists what I'm doing is bending over to patriarchy even thought the people who always noted my acne, body fat and body hair were women, all the mean comments came from girls and grown ass women. Are they all brainwashed by patriarchy???? Maybe, but, try being the only foreigner in a small Conservative village and on top of that being compared to your sisters all the time, that creates complexes. And even if today all women would stop shaving and taking care of themselves I would still do that because ultimately feeling good on my own skin helped me tremendously with my self confidence.

First of all, I want to say that Middle Eastern women's body hair looks great and I'm not even trying to be flattering. It pains me that it is stigmatized because it is a beautiful feature. I don't think it is fair to frame shaving as 'taking care of yourself' because it would imply that the opposite is neglect, which is not at all the case, and I hope you don't see it that way. With that said, I understand why you would be upset with women shifting responsibility from women to men when it comes to bullying. Radical feminist spaces, in theory, question the status quo and detail the extent of men's contribution to the social injustices women face. Many women's background is defined by internalized misogyny and the inability to challenge men's authority, and an environment where women are allowed to freely hold men accountable becomes a necessary reprieve as to even the scales. It is a psychological tactic that a person can easily tunnel on, in which case it becomes overbearing and lacking nuance. There is a reluctance to explore other reasons behind women's hostility towards one another even though there is no shortage of self-aware OSA women who are willing to report on the principles behind their attraction, including myself. Women who find solace in the pursuit of female liberation are limited in their ability to reflect on women's role in undermining female solidarity, it threatens the idea of women ever organizing and makes them feel hopeless given how averse women are to being critical of heterosexuality. Women are people, and people can possess and exercise qualities like envy and greed; I would fully expect a woman to be capable of weaponizing common insecurities against her female co-workers as to instill incompetence and remove competition at the workplace. I understand why you would want to conform to beauty standards not for men's sake but to escape women's scorn because it can absolutely happen.

cont. in the post below 👇

[frostcorpsclub]

idk if you've posted about it but i'd love to hear more about the childhood jack had!!

There's no shame in a recap and further elaboration! Supplimented with some art!

Jack's mother is Shannon Puttle, the owner of Mrs Puttle's Pies which she inherited from her own mother. It's more of the name of the family business. "All around the midwest," in my headcanon refers to Shannon travelling when she can to sell her pies or give them to friends to sell and split the profits with during the time she stays in her home state.

Jack's father was a Norweigan immigrant named Gunnar Frost who charmed Shannon seeking sex and free shelter. He most likely has multiple families throughout the world, he's that kind of guy.

Shannon was a sweet woman with a heart of gold who would do anything to keep her family close, safe and warm. She was always a little bit naïve and a hopeless romantic, not to mention a sucker for an accent. Whenever he was distant, when he refused to get a job of his own, she convinced herself things were just different where he was from and that he'd eventually get used to it.

When she got pregnant Gunnar got a lot more distant year after year, most of the time he shunned Jack. As Jack got older and Gunnar felt more responsibility looming on his back the shunning turned to outright verbal hostility, mocking, like he wanted his son to hate him.

Shannon still saw the good in Gunnar but she felt that talking badly about his father to Jack would only make things worse.

The sixties obviously weren't a progressive time and Jack wasn't the only one with a family headed by an emotionally distant father and a mother who carried. I say this because I don't like the "it was all the mothers fault" when it comes to male serial killers, Shannon made a lot of mistakes and what she did shouldn't have happened when she was caring for two children, but her praise of the little good qualities Gunnar had weren't the only reason Jack continued to strive to his expectations.

Jack had violent tendencies from a young age. The usual setting fires, chasing neighborhood cats, leaving kids bloody and bruised for snitching to his parents. Jack wasn't taught healthy outlets for his feelings. He was violent but still only a child at the end of the day. His sensitvity became a hair trigger temper very quickly. When he was bullied and caught crying he learned that beating his classmates to a pulp, humilating them in return, made him feel better.

Eventually Shannon once again fell pregnant and the day she told Gunnar the news was the last day she ever saw him. He didn't say goodbye to her. He didn't say goodbye to Jack.

When April was born Jack knew one thing to be true. This thing was the reason that his father left and he wanted it dead.

He blamed Shannon a bit too but she was the only person who ever outwardly showed him love, their relationship is complicated. He couldn't comprehend why she kept trying to stop him from fixing what April broke.

He was never explicitly violent towards Shannon, his behavior towards her was as blatant of disrespect as you could get to it though. Part of Shan felt like it truly was her fault, that she should have seen who Gunnar really was. So like with many other things, she focused on comforting her children.

With April, on the other hand, well she learned to fight back quickly and Jack often found himself locked out of the house for the night until he "cooled off." Shannon couldn't bring herself to call the cops on her son. April was never violent but between the pain Jack caused her and the pain Jack caused their mother, she felt like she was only making herself a victim by cowering and waiting for things to get better. Jack didn't come to genuinely love his sister for many years, most likely once he left them for good.

Before this he first dropped out of school and got odd jobs, if his family wasn't going to become whole again then he'd just have to be a man and start on his own way. Coming to visit and stay at his mothers house here and there. Ending up in prison and not seeing her for months or even a full year at times if she didn't know where he was locked up.

Very soon, he would begin suceeding in his attempts to kill, going beyond assault charges and the like.

April cheated and stole as a small way of adding to the family income but at this point in her life she didn't have to do it often, especially now that Shannon didn't have three mouths to feed.

See: https://www.deviantart.com/artinandwritin8/art/Commission-Crime-Siblings-890034365

"Little bits of people started turning up in Mrs Puttle's Peacan Pies all over the midwest-" this dialogue, in my headcanon, refers to the fact that when she didn't have her pop up stand at home Shannon would make trips to give her pies to friends and family who would sell her pies and give her a split of the profits.

Shannon as you may remember found out he was killing people long ago. It was right in front of her face there was no denying it.

Yet still, she kept quiet. She would take the growing guilt with her to the grave, anything to keep her baby safe. It was an open secret between them for a long time. When he would come to visit her he would help her make pies just like they used to when he was little. They had to make a lot of pies to keep up with orders so he was able to begin slipping in flesh that he didn't have time to get rid of, it got to a point where she definetely noticed and once again, kept her mouth shut.

You know how the story goes from there! As the last glimpse of the little boy she loved he didn't let the cops think for a second that she knew what he was doing. He said some horrible things about her to convince the jury he wasn't just saying it to protect her.

It worked.

[ingen18]

And she lived.

Rita Castillo is a fierce woman, a tigeress in the hostile society of late 1949 Los Angeles. In the eyes of the people, she's unstoppable... but that was until the news of her "killing" her now ex-husband, Carlo Castillo came out. All came crashing down for the once famous Rita Castillo. Well, she did became infamous, even got labeled as the "Black Widow" killer in the front headlines of the newpaper. But that was all in the past now all because of a certain woman named Alma Fillcot. She was nothing compared to the monumental image of Rita Castillo. But, alas, from nothing did all the things came to be. She climbed her way all through the top of the social pyramid ladder, and thanks to her now ex-husband, she got there fast. Subsequently, she also brought the demise of the Rita Castillo. It all seemed perfect... not until that fateful rainy night. It was dark, about after 8 pm, but the city is bustling with the loud cheers and bright lights from the Chez Magnifique. It was the presidential inauguration for the prestigous Elysian Park Garden Club after all, and unsurprisingly, Alma was to be inaugurated. But before all that happens, of course, disasters stucks. A dead woman in the alley. That's what she faintly heard as she slips back and forth from consciousness. What the hell made her get in this exact position, she thought. Well, she's lived a long and quite adventurous life after all. From being a beaten-up houswife then a prostitute to sustain herself and her cousin, Rita never had it easy. She had to be a tiger, a fierce predator, and that definably, made her a common enemy. She knew at least from all the people she's stepped on, at least one would have fought back. But for heaven's sake, dying in an alley was something she never expected. To make it worst, she was dying as hated, poor, and lonely woman dressed in a commoner's clothes. She can feel it, the blood, pooling beneath her porcelain-skinned face. She can hear the metal backdoor opening but she can barely make figure of who was coming out, but she knows that there's a lot of people coming out that door. Everything seemed distant, the crowd, the noise, and for once, she thought to herself, is this how peace feels like? The feeling of being detached, wherein there's no prying eyes always looking. She wanted to chase that feeling, to just simply let go of life. It was tempting, for sure, but being the person that she is, she refuses to let go without a fight. If she's going down, she wants every bitch who attacked her to go down with her, most especially, Alma Fillcot. But how the hell would she do that if she can't even move her own muscles. For god's sake, even thinking about how to fix this mess is becoming a challenge for her. The noise is increasing and everything is coming out as a blur. She can hear distant murmurs and she can see people crouching down to look at her. Oh, how she hates being looked down at, the pity and shame was something she can never stomach. But all that went away when she saw blue and red flashing lights. Men in white were rushing towards her, holding something. Then the next thing she knows was that one man was talking to her. "Miss, can you hear me?" Idiot, she thought to herself. Despite how much she would like to answer that idiotic question, all that she could offer was a small grunt. Everything was slowly growing darker and a few moments after that so-called interaction, she was already rested on top of stretcher, oxygen mask placed on her as she is being rushed inside the ambulance. The ride was fairly smooth aside from the constant ringing in her head from all the irritating noise (and the constant "encouragement" from the responders for her to "stay with them"). To say the least, everything hurt and the pressure from her stab wounds made it a lot worst. She doesn't know how far longer she could hold on, what's far worst is that she can slowly feel the panic sinking in as she can't actually move her body, be in control of herself. For once, it was all too much for her, she doesn't know anymore.

[the-rainbow-lesbian]

the small group of blackpilled lesbians on radblr get talked about all the time and I see so many osa radfems trying their absolute hardest to drive them off radblr yet this energy is never used when it comes to racists and homophobes/lesbophobes. like radblr hates the mean lesbians so much but they’re all too happy to reblog/interact/be besties with racists and lesbophobes. Tbh I don’t even like the blackpilled group & think some of the stuff they’re doing is absolutely disgusting but why is that a bigger problem for radblr than women who actually have systemic privilege over some of us being racist/lesbophobic like 🧍🏿‍♀️

because radblr is a fucking joke and it’s more of a social club than any tangible feminist movement and like that’s to be expected because this is tumblr and we are all anonymous and it doesn’t take a lot for someone to put “radfem” on her bio and suddenly we make assumptions about who she is and what she believes, but hostility towards lesbians and woman of color is not unique to this space unfortunately and anytime you try to call it out it’s just “drama” and “infighting” because these women don’t want to engage in any meaningful way with other women in a way that helps them reflect on their own views and actions, instead they martyr themselves “woe is me I have been burned at the stake like a heretic for being a straight woman” and I just roll my fucking eyes because you know this person has no intention of actually being an ally to other women, open themselves to challenging world views and possibly engage in any feminist meaningful action. and where is that meaningful feminist action anyways? radfems are already a small group of women and mainstream feminism is just rebranding the patriarchy to make it seem appealing. it’s true we would face a lot of opposition but so did every feminist movement that forced real change for women’s rights.

honestly anon, I am afraid. women in the west might have been deluded into thinking they achieved a post-feminist world (because women who suffer the most specially in the sex industry are carefully made invisible) but it doesn’t take a lot for our rights to be taken away like Roe v Wade, specially when men are becoming increasingly more violent when they are not guaranteed a wifemaidmother like before where women had no options but to rely on men. everyday they are getting radicalized with the most vile rhetoric and we just pretend that it’s not happening and I am worried by the time we do wake up to it will be too late. so yeah I am so fucking exhausted of seeing “radfems” complain about nonsensical thing like “stop being heterophobic 🥺” they don’t care about themselves and women in their own countries let alone women in the global majority unless they want to fake admiration (Asian feminists) or pity them without doing anything meaningful, worse even using them to shut us down.

[jonroxton]

What do you think of Alicent? I always liked her and Rhaenyra and I feel like it's weird how much Targ stans hate her and how much blame they place on her for the Dance of Dragons. Viserys chose to marry her and he chose to have multiple sons with her. Given that she's a Hightower from the Reach (very conservative) and Jaehaerys I and the Great Council of 101 screwing over female inheritance, why would she never think of crowning her son?

I'm not saying she's a good person but why is that thought considered a huge betrayal of Rhaenyra- she has no relation to Rhaenyra (in Westeros that is) and again, she gave birth to boys which is what every woman is expected to do. As a result those boys get to inherit- that's the trade-off.

Again I feel like people have such a visceral reaction to her that they don't see the logic behind her actions.

fire and blood encourages hostility towards both of them and fandom is notoriously horrible to women. feel like that explains 90% of it. seeing them as nuanced, complicated people? thats already asking a lot, but fire and blood also encourages examination of the text. where asoiaf says: here are the characters thoughts and no one is a raliable narrator, you still had people not examining what is actually on the page, what is actually done, and why and what it results in! and that's WITH characters full thoughts. fire and blood purposely tells you it's unreliable and WANTS the reader to doubt everything they read. if a fan loves rhaenyra and hates alicent, or vice versa, that's literally their problem.

i really wasn't sure what to make of alicent and had a whole ass journey with her in my fire and blood tag. it was never really do i like her or not for me, it was always WHO IS THIS PERSON?

i started to pay attention to just how... neutral fire and blood was irt alicent. i realized i couldn't get a concrete reading of rhaenyra bc there was too much and it was contradictory, and you'd think that''d draw me closer to alicent, but nope. i couldnt' get a concrete reading on alicent because there was nothing there, nothing within the world mythos to even create someone to think about as either goor or bad, to give context to her choices (that are incredibly complex and just HAVE to be informed by various things, and we only have fractured glimpses into what those could have been). i wasn't neutral, not at all, and if asked, i'd say i probably didn't like her, but that dislike was not based on alicent herself. i could come to love rhaenyra bc there was just more there to dicpher, (and bc her choices by process of elimination did a lot to figure out which rumors were likely and which weren't) but i could only wonder about alicent, and bc there isn't much there, i had to look beyond her, to otto, to his place, to the hightowers, and to her position in general in westeros. and that worked really well for me because i have many opinions about westeros and my most vehement are for the reach. i pretty much love every place in westeros (SKAAGOS 4eva), but i abhor the reach and find it represents everything rotten with westeros (more or less lol)

so i hate the reach, and the only actual house i liked from there ironically before starting fire and blood, was house hightower (and the mallisters) especially in relation to the reach. the hightowers, who maintained immense power and could have obtained more, had they wanted it, chose to remain vassals to the tyrells. i liked the hightowers bc they seemed to go against the reach grain. i like that the tyrells are forever the second choice lol, since the hightowers i believe turned down being wardens of the south. the reach is the most performative, the most self-deluded. they genuinely believe they are bastions of chivalry, of the best ideals, when really what they have is unity and money. other families are just as arogant, but they fall apart not because they're horrible human beings lol they do so because they can't remain united against a common foe. the reach has managed to survive mostly because it tends to stick together. i'm not certain of it, but i imagine the marriage alliances are tighter there than anywhere else, with people rarely marrying outside that collection of great houses, redwynes, tarly, hightower, whatever the apples are called, the F OSSAWAYS! even when there was a rift there, they didn't get up and move like the mermaid dudes what's their name? AHHHHHHHH MANDERLAY??? maderly! one of those.

alicent is in a very unique position narratively bc she comes from one of the more mysterious ancient houses. the hightowers are extremely secretive and seemingly deferential, but in this scenario they’re reaching for the throne. so im curious as to how they will actually play the game, having the history of the reach ambition and superiority, with the long con patience and secrecy of the hightowers.

the actual true difference in rhaenyra and alicent i think in is their mythologies within fire and blood, the reason why rhaenyra is teared down where alicent is ignored, her motives left unexamined, i believe it's because the fire and blood writer was from the reach. and the glaring omissions of alicent overall was purposely done to protect her and guide the readers through the text in the opposite way rhaenyra's story did. rhaenyra was such a horrible ,dark, unthinking, lascivious, grasping human being twho used everyone that she probably wasn't. she was probably serious about her birthright and the rumors could've could from both everyone's hatred of her and her not keeping too many people around her. alicent was just there, doing her duty and wasn't really involved despite being part of great decisive changes at court. no one talked about her at all, so it probably meant that she did more than anyone realized and that she was probably good at it since it didn't survive 300 years the way all the rumors about rhaenrya did. SEE WHAT THIS BOOK MAKES YOU DO. if ppl let it, you can go anywhere! you can try to figure out alicent. and that’s where i was at for a long time with her. 

i remember exactly at some point during my frist read thinking: why the fuck is the reach always getting away with shit. for every thing that happens to any other house, fire and blood went out of way to tell you every possible variation of the result, usually negatively. for alicent and the reach, there was very little. it was so much fun actually, guessing that one of the maesters was from the reach, imaginging that this was reach propoganda, and then being validated there lol. that told me that in the construction of this mythology, someoen took care to give alicent the wide berth. i think viserys's death in the show will show us where she stands, if she really is the one who won't send for rhaenyra. marrying viserys was clearly forced on her by otto, she had no choice there. but when viserys dies she'll be put in a position i don't think the book clarified. if she sends for rhaenyra and her message is stopped, it speaks to integrity and to this being a real tragedy, with miscommunication, timing and the scheming of others adding to whatever smaller rifts added up through time. if she doesnt' send for rhaenrya, then her ambition is more powerful than whatever loyalty she had to rhaenyra and her husband's decision to enthrone her.

so for me she was someone who was definitely very smart and very conscious of her position and how to maneuver, like everyone in the reach, but also someone with a hightower's caution and self-awareness, her position in fire and blood is too glaring as the nothing to rhaenyra's everything. i have an idea of who she could be from how the show portrays her, but I don't like examining younger character scenes as pure indication of their future, especially not in episode one.also, children can be compelling characters, but their choices are always informed by the machinations of their parents, especially in this story, bc they have no true authority, their agency is limited. 

ultimately, whatever their motives, rhaenyra and alicent are fighting the same war, likely for similar reasons but who they are as people whill put things in perspective. i don’t think fire and blood gives us their true actual perspective, so it’s hard to land anywhere. the show will provide good context.and olivia cooke is a real cool actress, that i was always pumped for since hearing of her casting. 

one last thing about that. so i really like olivia cooke, when i don’t care about actors at all. haven’t seen everything of hers, but her projects show a lot of range, from drama to humor, and she inflects real pathos into her characters. this is going to make alicent compelling no matter what she actually does. so i’m very excited to see her work with this character.

[jasperlion]

[ I have Thoughts on the FB, let me tell you. ]

lets divide it into bits:

The fairies

Idc about them sorry.

Peony was wholesome and good on Triandra for finding out nightmares aren't hated. That's about all I have to say. I'm not sure how I felt about the Tharja segment tbh.

Sonya's Solo Story

For this I have nothing bad to say at all. I think Niime as a choice for someone for Sonya to talk to was a great idea, especially because they have a very similar history with the kind of magic that took away some of their family. Granted, the circumstances were Very Different, as is highlighted in the FB, but at least they have this to share in and research on together.

The Celica bit took me by surprise, I actually did not expect her to show up. However, I think it was also a good idea, seeing as Celica is probably the only person alive who has been turned into a witch and lived* to regain her true self. (*she did, however, have to die for it) Clearly, her circumstances were Special to say the least, but the fact it happened means saving a witch could be possible, perhaps even without the death part, they just have to keep looking. "The day I give up on trying to save my sisters is the day they truly die." Damn.

Mycen's Solo Story

It was nice to see FEH acknowledge that Alm was his own war tactician and is quite experienced and knowledgeable as a commander.

That said, we really could have done without Fjorm here beyond perhaps her role in being the player stand-in explaining Alm and Rudolf's beef if they hadn't played Gaiden/SoV.

I also feel it's a little odd of Rudolf to be avoiding Alm considering the Paralogue for Valentines literally ends on Alm and Rudolf trying to make amends and Talk (Celica pushing for it), and all of them going to the festival together. That said, it's not TOO odd, especially since this is a *different* Alm. It does feel like a bit of backpeddaling on the valentines event, though. Idk, I think this could have been elaborated more on.

Also, very silly of two old men to be arguing on who is responsible for Alm being who he turned out to be lol. No complaints on that, as much as it shows a little bit of what each other believes.

I do think it makes sense that Alm is a little sensitive about the patricide thing towards Rudolf and not Mycen simply because Rudolf in his world is already dead. There's no way to make peace with that, or amends with that. Mycen, however, is still alive. He probably already buried the hatchet with his adoptive grandfather by the point he got sent to Askr, so there's no need for sensitivity and hostility. To a point, anyways.

Anyway, mainly, all of this is minor 'eh... huh', my main issue is Fjorm being so prevalent in the story when it feels like she's just there to be a soundboard. Poor woman.

RIP Anna btw.

The FB Story Itself

I got jumpscared by the fact that it starts off ad verbatim like one of me and Bern's (@indumasname ) threads lol

I think the concept of the nothing, and the nightmares, is interesting.

Sonya's resolution with her own nightmares about being unable to save her sisters before she dies, and how they question her resolve, were touching and ended on a strong note. Very good stuff.

Mycen's, however...

That's the one I take issue with, of course, lol.

Mycen doesn't do anything to disprove what Alm and Celica say, he just speaks over them. Sure, they're nightmares, but they have a good point — he kinda threw two kids in a conflict he should have lead or at least could have assisted in.

In a way it felt more like writers trying to justify Mycen, but having no actual reasonable reason for him. Just "Well, he's right because they weren't shouldering it alone". Except adults around them forced them to take responsibility, and so did he, over a situation and world they had no hand in making at just 17.

It'd have felt more resolute if he had faced the children he harmed and admitted they're right, he DID put them in that situation. Maybe they weren't alone, but he set them on a path that forced them to grow up and suffer when they were barely adolescents, because he believed there was no other way to end the reign of the Gods. He believed in the prophecy, and while it worked out, they suffered for it. That would have at least felt like he was answering what the nightmares said… not just speaking over them and ignoring what they said. In a way, it made Mycen look like he constantly avoids the responsibility of what he did to those kids, and the writing put him in the right for it.

Closing thoughts

Alm vc

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

11: Hostility

Heal my Wounds

hostility/locked away/doused

Warnings: Lady whump (environmental) mentioned, some very mild violence

This is part of a series. If you haven’t, I suggest starting at Part 1.

.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

With the healers crowding around Josephine’s bed, Valadan retreated. He paused before leaving the hospital, looking back. From this distance, he couldn’t make out words, but the whole mood had shifted. Where before there had been only hushed words, coordinating the healing, now they spoke to her. If she replied at all, he couldn’t hear it.

He just hoped he had retreated quickly enough, so she might not have truly noticed his presence. She had enough to deal with, without being bothered by him. There was no way she’d want him to see her like this. 

Actually, he was pretty sure no one would want to see him in his current state in the first place. Valadan looked down at himself and grimaced. He was still wearing the same clothes he had picked up that morning. Now they were wrinkled and stiff, with a few more faded stains here and there. Two or three times a day, when the healers had continued their work, he had taken the opportunity to visit the washing rooms, and find something to eat on his way back. Other than that, he hadn’t left her side, even sleeping on that damn chair. His dizziness and his aching back told him that all of it probably had been a bad idea.

Well, whatever. If he had managed to keep even a single nightmare at bay, it had all been worth it. Now that she was awake, he could return to his room. Get some food, sleep for a day or two. But first he should probably take a bath and find some clothes that didn’t smell like he had been wearing them for a week.

He left the hospital, closing the door quietly behind him. Hands buried in his pockets and gaze lowered, he started to make his way back to his room.

“Are you Valadan?”

“Yes?”

He stopped, turning around to face the speaker. It was a middle-aged woman with pale skin, long, blonde hair and gray-blue eyes, boring into him. And a strong hand, which connected with his face as soon as she had crossed the distance between them. The sudden pain was accompanied by the taste of copper on his tongue. Valadan resisted the urge to raise his hand to his cheek. 

“And what was that for?” he asked, trying his best to ignore the nausea the taste of blood caused.

“You almost got my wife killed!”

Her wife? A sudden flash of fury drove the pain away. Well if she was Josephine’s wife, where had she been those last— oh. Marian’s wife. Probably.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was all he seemed to be able to say, and it was never enough.

“That’s all you have to say?”

Valadan half expected another hit, but she only shoved his chest, pushing him against the wall.

“Do you really think ‘I’m sorry’ is gonna cut it, when you didn’t even have the decency to check in on her? To ask if she’s okay?” 

Well. He probably should have; he might have, if he hadn’t been preoccupied. As it was, he hadn’t had the time to think about anything else. After all, Marian only had a broken leg — which was still bad enough, and still his fucking fault, but nothing compared to Josephine’s condition.

“I was busy,” Valadan said quietly. He was too exhausted to deal with this. If it would make her feel better, she should hit him again already. Wouldn’t be the first time. But he didn’t have the energy to talk to her, to defend himself.

“Busy.” Her voice was dripping with disgust.

“Valadan. I’ve been looking for you.” Another voice, a familiar one. The tone was icy, and the ‘all over the place, and you know how much I hate wasting my time’ implied.

Valadan closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing. Barnett Graves. His boss. When footsteps approached, he opened his eyes, turning his head towards the man. The woman kept him pinned to the wall, but stayed quiet.

“Did she attack you?”

“No, sir.” His cheek was still throbbing. “We were just talking.”

“I see.” Barnett let his gaze wander over Valadan, frowning. Yeah, he probably wasn’t close to holding up any kind of dress code. “If you would be so kind,” he continued, his tone almost as venomous as the woman’s, “to finish your little talk? Because you are expected somewhere, and I am here to make sure you arrive.”

The woman shoved him one last time, pressing her palms against his shoulders. If the movement was visible, Barnett didn’t comment on it. Valadan resisted the urge to rub the aching spots, looking after her as she stalked away. He surely wasn’t making any friends here. 

Looking at Barnett’s grim expression, and the motion with which he gestured Valadan to follow him, he got the sinking feeling that soon, it wouldn’t matter anymore.

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup​ @whump-in-the-moonlight​

[toastandjamie]

You know C!Eryn and C!Aimsey are really interesting characters and both are immensely tragic.

/rp for everything

Starting with Eryn because <3: so C!Eryn has just spent months mining because he just- had nothing else to do apparently. Though I’d bet he’s more just trying to avoid everyone at this point, I’ve said this before but I think the way Eryn and Tommy’s characters parallel is really interesting. They both have similar mannerisms and react to their problems very similarly. They lash out and avoid awkward conversations with abrupt topic switches and humor. Like I don’t know if it’s because the cc’s are childhood friends but it shows man. Not to mention waking up drowning… Aside from that this stream got me thinking of what c!Eryn was expecting to find when he arrived here. He knew Tommy was there, he sought Tommy out for a reason. Did he just miss him? Did he hear Tommy was around and wanted to stop by? Was it a coincidence? Was he just bored???? Whatever it was he clearly wasn’t expecting how different Tommy was. They haven’t seen eachother since they were kids. Eryn himself has changed greatly but I think it’s pretty clear that Eryn hadn’t expected Tommy to change so much. I mean think about it like this, you haven’t seen your best friend in years, you finally see them again and they’re angry, bitter, scared and want nothing to do with you. They’ve moved on. They have their own life, and that life sucks ass. Tommy won’t tell Eryn what happened to him but between how Tommy acts now and the fact that Eryn literally had a auditory hallucination of Tommy’s death, he knows SOMETHING happened. But Tommy won’t open up about it and Eryn isn’t going to force him too. Eryn solves problems with violence and destruction, but he doesn’t know what to fight to help Tommy so he tries something else. He builds the Dream shrine. That backfires on him and Eryn is suddenly being told that he’s a bad friend by some woman that he’s only met once. How could she possibly know more about his best friend than he does. But here’s the thing… is Tommy really his best friend still? I mean Tommy barely talks to Eryn, and he’s not at all the same kid he taught how to hold a bow and arrow. The same kid who taught him swimming. The kid he used to watch the sunset with. Instead of hanging out with Eryn, Tommy is busy following around Wilbur. Some dude Eryn’s never even met, some guy who is apparently so much more important than him. I can’t be the only one who heard that undercurrent of jealousy. Eryn is alone on the server, he clearly wasn’t anticipating it. But he lacks the ability to get along with anyone here because their all traumatized and suspicious of his motivations. Pretty much everyone is outright hostile upon first contact, ready to jump into a fight at a moments notice. He has Bad and Sapnap now but they aren’t around much either and Eryn heard those screams. Of course it must’ve been an accident though. Do you think Eryn hates Wilbur? The idea of Wilbur. The idea that he’s been replaced. Replaced by someone who couldn’t even keep Tommy safe. Yet Tommy clearly likes this stranger more than him. Eryn is probably really angry, at the world, at himself, at everything. But he had no target for his anger. Until Ponk gave him one. Eryn jumped to go fight Sam, to kill Sam. Finally there was someone he could direct all this anger towards. But Aimsey insists that he shouldn’t. That vengeance is a meaningless pursuit. He doesn’t want to lose her friendship, but he can’t believe that vengeance is meaningless, not after everything he’s done, not after everything he’s lost and given up.

[carolina-skies]

Just Me

Pairing: Will Halstead/Natalie Manning

Word Count: 1.7k

My Published Works

Read on AO3

Requested: Yes, by @flyingpotstickers! Thank you for the idea, friendo!!

Tags: Manstead, Season One canon-compliant-ish, mentioned death, death of parent, hurt-comfort, comforting a friend, crossing romantic boundaries

--

Summary: With the stress of Jennifer Baker threatening to sue the hospital, Will finds himself making career-altering mistakes and friendship-ending comments. The trauma of losing his mother was hitting him harder than he expected. After a particularly sensitive conversation with Natalie, he finds himself rushing to see her.

--

The energy in the ED was something just under hostile. The tension could practically be sliced with a knife, and a large one at that. Will Halstead screwed the pooch with the Baker family, wrongfully convincing the husband to retract his wife’s DNR. Not that he’d ever admit it, though.

One thing that made Will an excellent doctor was his persistence in ensuring that his patients received the best of care, even if he had to bust someone’s balls to get it done. He truly believed that he had good intentions in persuading Zoe, the new pharmaceutical representative, to make an exception for the dying woman on a drug trial she’d mentioned. Nosy nurses and even some of their fellow doctors would’ve argued that Will went as far as he did with the drug trial because he had gotten quite friendly with the pharm rep.

Hearing these rumors made his blood boil. That was the furthest thing from the truth. When Will looked at Jennifer Baker, he didn’t see a patient that hated him. He saw his mother. The red-headed doctor watched his mother give up on her cancer treatment, and he couldn’t watch it again. He made his way to the elevator with a mission in mind, unknowingly being spotted by Dr. Manning. 

“Will!” She called, chasing after him. 

The sound of her voice stopped him in his tracks. He spun around to face her with a pained expression. This entire situation was killing him, but she didn’t know why. 

“Will,” she repeated. “What’s going on?”

He let out an exasperated sigh as he tried to gather his thoughts. 

“I can’t watch that woman die, Nat. I can’t just sit back and do nothing as she leaves her child motherless.”

Natalie reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“That’s not your call to make. Jennifer has tried everything to beat this, but she’s done. She just wants it to be over.” She explained. 

“How can you say that? With a brand new baby at home, you can’t see why I’m still pushing for this? She has to keep fighting.” Will pressed. 

She took in a sharp breath, not expecting such a rash reaction from her attending doctor. 

“Will, don’t-,” she tried.

“No, come on, Nat. As a parent you should want to do everything in your power to be there for your child. I was hoping that you of all people would get that,” he said, turning back around and stepping into the elevator. 

“Don’t expect me to save you, Will,” she spat. 

“I don’t expect to need saving,” the red-haired doctor called over his shoulder. 

Natalie couldn’t describe what she was feeling. She was hurt by Will’s words, especially because they came from him. He’s been so supportive of her ever since Jeff’s death. They’d become really close over the past couple of months, some would suggest they’d gotten too close. She’d even had similar thoughts recently, contemplating that his motives were more than platonic. Still, she couldn’t think about that right now. 

She walked towards the elevator, knowing she wouldn’t be able to catch him before he got to the Baker family, but she could get to Ms. Goodwin’s office. As the elevator brought her to another floor, she tried to calm her nerves. She didn’t want to bring administration into this, but she didn’t have a choice. 

“Ms. Goodwin?” She asked, poking her head into the woman’s office. 

“Yes, Dr. Manning, come in.”

Natalie stepped into the office, wringing her hands as she carefully considered her words. 

“What can I help you with?” Her boss asked. 

Natalie let out a nervous sigh, bringing a hand up to her head.

“I think Will- er, Dr. Halstead is currently on his way to doing something very stupid, both for the hospital and his career.” 

—

“Goodnight, Dr. Manning,” the ED charge nurse called.

Natalie looked over her shoulder, waving at her friend. 

“Goodnight, Maggie.”

She walked to her car, trying to forget the stressful workday and leave it behind her as she walked away from the hospital. The drive was uneventful, as she’d mostly zoned out during the entire thing, relying on muscle memory to bring her home. 

She didn’t really pay attention to where she was until she was walking up the stairs of her apartment building, careful not to trip over one of them. The brunette sighed as she fumbled with her keys, searching for the right one. As she finally selected the appropriate key, she heard the sound of someone coming up the steps she’d just ventured. Assuming it was one of her neighbors, she didn’t think anything of it, and went to unlock her door. 

“Natalie,” a voice called. 

She turned towards the sound of her name, practically startled to see the last man she wanted to be around right now. He had a desperate look in his eyes, and another emotion written across his face that Natalie couldn’t quite read. 

“Will,” she nearly gasped. “What are- what are you doing here?” 

He ran a hand through his messy curls, disheveling them even further. Whatever was on his mind was eating at him. 

“Ms. Goodwin came to me. I, uh, I’ve been suspended for a few days.”

She dropped her shoulders, feeling bad for him. Part of her wanted to feel guilty for reporting him to Sharon, but she didn’t feel that she had a choice. Will was on a fast track to doing something that would cost him his career, and she couldn’t stand by and let it happen. 

“Will, I’m so sorry. I went to Ms. Goodwin and told her everything. I was only trying to help,” she admitted. 

He shook his head.

“I know, I know. It’s okay. Look, I just wanted to come by and apologize for the way I spoke to you today. You didn’t deserve that, especially from me.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head as a concerned look spread over her face. 

“Why don’t we go inside? We can sit down and talk. Helen won’t be home with Owen for another hour or so,” Natalie offered. 

He hesitated for a moment, not knowing if this was a boundary they should cross. Finally, he nodded and followed her into the apartment. She set her purse down on the kitchen counter and grabbed two glasses from a cupboard, filling them with water. On any other night, she would’ve been desperate for a glass of wine and a relaxing bath, but alcohol was the last thing Will needed. 

She guided him over to the living room, expecting him to take a seat on the couch. Instead, he took a seat on the floor in front of it, letting his head fall back onto the cushion.

“What’s going on, Will? What’s with you and this family?” 

He let out a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them, staring at the ceiling. After what felt like a lifetime, he opened his mouth to speak. 

“My mother. I saw my mom when I looked at Jennifer Baker.”

Natalie paused, trying to understand.

“Your mother?” She asked.

He nodded, taking a moment to breathe before continuing.

“She, uh, she died a couple of years ago. My dad was too preoccupied with getting wasted in his spare time and Jay was deployed overseas, so it was just me taking care of her.” 

His voice was shaky as he recalled the memories that he’d clearly tried to forget about. Natalie desperately wanted to reach out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but she wasn’t sure if they were there yet. 

“And then her illness got worse. She became s-so weak and fatigued, but there wasn’t anything else that they could do,” he started. “There were no experimental drugs that she could try. But Mrs. Baker has that opportunity, she has that chance. She could beat this and give her daughter many more years with her mother. Why wouldn’t she want to take that?”

As he spoke, his voice cracked. This prompted Natalie to give in, resting a gentle hand on his forearm in a comforting manner. 

“Will, this isn’t on you. Mrs. Baker has been through hell and back trying to fight her cancer, and it’s okay that she doesn’t want to fight anymore. It’s okay.”

At this point, he broke. The dam of tears that had been building up finally let loose, streaming down his face. Natalie moved closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulder. He tilted his head, leaning against her as he cried. 

“I-it was just me, I was all she had. J-Jay couldn’t come home and Dad d-didn’t care. I failed her,” he sobbed. 

Natalie brought her hand up to his face, brushing the stray tears away, shushing him. 

“Shh, it’s alright. You didn’t fail her, you did everything you could,” she murmured. 

He didn’t have it in him to speak anymore as the two sat there in silence, with Will occasionally sniffling and Natalie humming a calming tune. She sat next to him, holding him until he fell asleep. She nudged his shoulder and whispered soft instructions to him, convincing him to bring himself up to the couch. He adjusted his position, laying on his side on the soft surface below him. 

Natalie sat on the cushions, positioning herself in front of his legs so that she wasn’t entirely encroaching on his personal space, but close enough for him to know that she was there. After a moment of watching him to make sure he was asleep, the room was filled with the sound of light snoring. She took that as her sign to get up, leaving him on the couch. 

“Nat…,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. 

She turned around, seeing him still laying on the couch with an outstretched arm. She stood there, stunned.

“C’mere,” he tried again, beckoning her to him. 

She sat back down on the couch, assuming her previous position. He groaned and reached his arm out again, wrapping it around her waist to pull her down next to him. This shocked her, but she quickly recovered as Will buried his face into her hair, quickly falling back asleep. His breathing patterns were calm, and Natalie found herself listening to them like a lullaby as she drifted off to sleep next to him. 

[wack-ashimself]

Black Panther 2, or as I call it...

<SPOILERS. I am literally summarizing the movie in one sentence.>

"Pissed off sister/daughter/princess/queen makes herself super human to seek vengeance with a young tony stark and iron man army knock off by taking on evil aqua hermes's kingdom (whom look like the blue people, and part of the plot to avatar 2), who just so happen to be threatening the world."

With the tagline: 'And nothing actually cool happens till the last 1/2 hour.'

It was drawn out and boring. And for how long it is, you still didn't care that much for the lead. She wasn't interesting, or charming, or funny, or anything. She was...there. Reacting for the most part.

I came in with no expectations (ok. Maybe for it to be as good as the first at least). And tho it is not the worst MCU movie, dear god, it sure as fuck ain't even close to the best. Maybe the most average. Average-ist. lol

FYI: when a huge chunk of your movie takes place at night, in dark, in cover, in a cave, underwater, etc, WITH mostly black people, ILLUMINATE the scenes so we can see what the fuck is going on! I'm a partially blind guy, not the best at seeing, and you sure as fuck ain't helping. I could at least read the subtitles so I had that much going for me...

To me, the only thing they did RIGHT right in the movie was having the two leaders fight to the death (or yield) and not sacrificing a bunch of their army/citizens (even tho both did suffer many causalities before they did so). THAT is how war should be done: the psychos who want to send everyone out to kill have to fight, front lines, first. Wars USED to be that way. There was some honor. There's no honor murdering a stranger who never did you wrong across the world from an rc airplane...

Black Panther 2: 6/10. Barely worth the watch. Super forgettable. I will forget this by the end of the week. Without even trying.

ps-best part? How the princess turned into a woman...dictator. I mean, the tony stark girl who started this whole thing said sorry (tho it wasn't her fault: the CIA took her idea), THEN the newly formed queen (who got the seat by taking magical steroids) says the girl can't keep her iron man suit she fucking invented?! Power trip much you fuck? God, power corrupts ALL. I hate these movies about future like utopias but there's still kings and queens. Fuck outta here. They never EARN the power; they fucking are born into it. Or again, take performance enhancing magical powers paid for by the citizens.

Side note: Nothing happened from this movie. The world still thinks Wakanda is the bad guy, being the real bad guys were hidden by Wakanda, so the world is hostile toward them (Wakanda Forever? TERRIBLE title: almost no one puts their country first). THEN they do a Paul Walker F & F goodbye send off, complete with 'his son will carry on his legacy'. Ugh. They tried so many things, but 1/2 assed all of them. It was like 3 movie ideas crushed into 1 1/2 movies (based on the fucking length of it).