#((death is the sort of person who finds writing essays fun))

[strangestcase]

I’m trying to start reading gothic literature, but I don’t really know where to start. What books in the genre would you recommend?

Cracks knuckles.

Start off with a selection of Edgar Allan Poe short stories. There's a reason he's considered the best Gothic writer. Most if not all of his fiction falls squarely into the gothic genre, even his non-horror production. The more you read the better, but The Fall of the House of Usher is one of the best representatives of the Gothic you can find. Also check out his poetry and scientific essays, if you can, the guy was a real Renaissance man. He also wrote one novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, which, along with Lovecraft's In the Mountains of Madness and Cambell's Who goes there? aka The Thing From Another World constitutes some sort of "trilogy" (since each story was based on the one prior).

Then you can move on to other short story selections. Short stories are easier to read and digest, I think, and plenty of fun. I recommend the following authors:

J. Sheridan Le Fanu- Irish writer that took a page from Irish folklore and legends. Madam Crowl's Ghost is a favorite of mine.

R. Louis Stevenson- usually a children's author, Stevenson liked to merge genres and used pretty interesting concepts for his horror production.

Guy de Maupassant- he was commisioned to write, so he often recycled entire concepts and plots, leaving us with many different versions of the same story (and a lot of heavy-handed morals. god bless).

Charles Dickens- predictably enough, he specialized in ghost stories

M. R. James- James' short horror stories have some of the most interesting monster concepts I've ever read, from a haunted dollhouse that recreates the events of a real-life haunting, to a possessed pattern print.

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer- little man puts the "Dark Romanticism" in, well, Dark Romanticism. If you know Spanish, do yourself a favor and read his short stories untranslated.

Elizabeth Gaskell- wrote plenty of good horror stories, and often from a female perspective, which is always a treat.

Bram Stoker- his stuff is very hit or miss, but when he hits, he hits hard. Read The Judge's House for a very nasty ghost story and then toss Stoker into the garbage because everything else he wrote is either comically racist or just dumb.

And now as for specific must-read short stories:

The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman- maybe the true monster was medical misogyny all along! (Obvious content warning for graphic medical abuse, misogyny, and domestic abuse.)

What was it? by Fritz O'Brien- short story in the vein of "hey wouldnt it be fucked up if this happened?" Don't read if you have sleep paralysis.

The Open Door by Margaret Oliphant- a missing child, a mysterious door, and forces beyond human comprehension.

The Empty House by Algernon Blackwood- would you spend a full night in a haunted house? (Very paranoia inducing, it's such a treat.)

The Ghostly Rental by Henry James- in which the "ghosts" aren't actually ghosts, but something far, far weirder and cooler.

The Monkey's Paw by W. W. Jacobs- this tear-wrenching and suspenseful little tale will forever remind you to be careful what you wish for...

The gothic literature "classics", as in, full lenght novels and short novellas, can be a bit difficult to read due to length. My personal recommendations are:

Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley- a foundational text of science fiction with a nestled narrative frame and themes of personal and social responsability, bodily autonomy, and freedom. Young alchemist Victor Frankenstein attempts to blur the line between life and death, and unwittlingly sets off his downfall in the process by creating a humanoid creature he can't control and won't respond to. CW child death, death by axphysiation, incest, description of unsanitary environments.

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by R. Louis Stevenson- it is considered the first modern psychological horror story, and, while it's a mere sixty pages long, each and every one of them is packed with a dark revelation about tight-laced Victorian society. When his lifelong friend writes up a suspicious will leaving everything to a stranger, a lawyer decides to look into it, leading him down a spiral of discoveries all related to a disturbing experiment. CW suicide, graphic descriptions of violence, drug abuse.

Carmilla by J. Sheridan le Fanu- very much a classic vampire tale, with an interesting sapphic spin, in which the predatory lesbian trope bleeds, pun intended, into a twisted love story. Laura is a young girl who considers herself prim and proper, until the day the charming Carmilla stops by the family manor claiming to be her soulmate, sparking off a romance marked by a series of strange events. CW implied sexual assault, gore.

The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde- I consider it an early attempt at daylight horror, and while the plot is mostly romantic drama (canonically bisexual romantic drama!), the descriptions make everything else worthwhile. Beautiful model Dorian Gray's life is changed when he befriends a cunning aristocrat, which prompts him to wish to remain young forever while his portrait ages in his place... and his wish is granted. CW extreme antisemitism, suicide, graphic descriptions of gore and violence.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James- a ghostly classic which is marked by its ambiguity and the opacity of its plot, all which make it all the more disturbing, if a little hard to follow at times. Bly Manor has appointed a new nanny to take care of a pair of twins, but soon enough, she finds out not all is well in the house, and a dark force might be preying on the children. CW implied incest, implied child abuse.

The Great God Pan by Arthur Machen- technically an example of very early cosmic horror, sitting at the intersection between Poe and Lovecraft, and clearly influenced by late Victorian scientific advancements. Some particularly gruesome deaths lead a group of men to slowly uncover the past of a one Helen Vaughan, and nature of a procedure performed on her mother before her conception. CW implied child abuse, suicide, sexual harrassment, human experimentation, extreme intersexism.

And those would be it!

[cowboyrainy]

Tuberculosis in Red Dead Redemption 2

In the beginning of the 20th century, Tuberculosis, also known as consumption, was the second leading cause of death, after Pneumonia. It caused 25% of all deaths, throughout the 1600-1800's Europe. The disease has been around since antiquity and has been discovered in 17,000 year old bison. 

On March 24 1882, German physician and microbiologist Robert Koch, identified and described the bacillus that causes tuberculosis. Today, March 24 is World Tuberculosis Day. Before this discovery, it was believed (commonly in New England) that the disease was caused by vampires or curses. 

During chapter 2, when you collect the depths from Thomas Downes, he'll cough on Arthur, transmitting tuberculosis. Tuberculosis takes a few months or even years to develop and to start showing symptoms, but in poor living and health conditions it can take only but a few weeks for symptoms to show. Active infection occurs more often in people with HIV/AIDS and people who smoke. Today a diagnosis of active TB is based on chest X-rays, microscopic examination and culture of body fluids. Common symptoms include, chronic cough, fever, cough with bloody mucus and weight loss. 

Living in the countryside in 1899 could certainly be unhygienic and put you at risk in many ways, especially when you live outside, like the Van Der Linde gang does. The first sign of Arthur's TB is often considered to be in chapter 4, Shady Belle, when he talks to Herr. Strauss about the depths. If you choose to rob a homestead with Javier in chapter 2, you can hear Arthur cough at the end as well, but since you can complete this Companion Activity before confronting Downes, the only way Arthur could have contracted the disease, is when Thomas Downes breaks up the fight between Arthur and Tommy during "Americans at rest", but it seems unlikely this is a TB cough, due to the short period from exposure to disease (Let me know your opinion :) )

In chapter 4 after "Revenge is a Dish Best Eaten" Arthur writes in his journal,

"Keep feeling sick but I'm sure it's nothing".

There are three stages of TB. Exposure, latent, and active disease. Exposure is simply when you are exposed to the bacteria. Latent is when the bacteria is in your body, but you don't feel sick. Latent can then develop into the disease, where you do feel sick. The symptoms can be mild for months. This means Arthur could experience coughs, fevers, night sweats, weight loss and feeling sick or weak, for a while without the bloody coughs and chest pains. I think one reason that his TB develops fast is, like mentioned earlier, poor living conditions, bad hygiene and stress. There was no cure for TB back then and the only thing the doctor can prescribe Arthur is rest and getting somewhere warm and dry, which is the exact opposite of what Arthur's been doing / is going to do.

In 2021, 10.6 million people were diagnosed with turberculosis and around 1.6 million passed away from it. It's the second deadliest infectious disease, after Covid-19.

Trivia

The doctor in rdr2 who treats Arthur, Joseph R. Barnes, is likely named after Joseph K. Barnes, a US physician and surgeon general, who served President Lincoln and Garfield. 

The doctor's appearance looks sort of similar to Robert Koch

TB was also known as "the romantic disease". Many romanticized the disease, finding the bed written, skinny people beautiful. Some also believed the fevers and toxemia from TB assisted the artistic talent, allegedly helping people to "see life more clearly" and "to act decisively". 

Hello! Thank you if you've read this far. I've been trying to make this blog my primary, but that's not really an option, so i might make my primary a bit more personal, so i can interact more with the community lol. I enjoyed writing this alot and hope someone else found this as interesting as i did. Might make a part 2 to this post, but i'll definitely keep posting "essay" or what ever you wanna call them, because they are great fun to research and write (my autistic brain is happy) . Have a great evening :)

Also! Here are some great videos about TB, the victorian view of illness and fashion, that i think you should watch :)

Sources:

[noperopesaredope]

Persephone Retelling Idea

So I was watching a video essay on Lore Olympus and its flaws, and there was a part where the video creator talked about how, in Persephone retellings, Demeter is always villainized whilst Hades is glorified. I thought about this for a bit, and realized two things:

1) The most likely reason we want Persephone and Hades’ relationship to be mutually loving is because we hate the idea of a girl being kidnapped and forced into an unwanted marriage for the rest of eternity whilst her loving mother watches on helplessly. That’s why we make up versions where Persephone isn’t suffering: because it’s horrifying otherwise.

2) It would be so much more interesting to see a retelling of the myth that portrays Demeter and Persephone’s relationship as healthy and loving, then exploring their shared grief over being forcibly separated from each other 6 months a year. That would be fascinating to me, and focus on the love and loss between a mother and daughter. It could be bittersweet and beautiful.

That’s when I ended up writing this comment (then putting it in a Google Doc for later):

I have an idea for a Persephone Myth retelling that I think would be pretty fun without really villainizing anyone (besides maybe Zeus because I hate him? But he's like, not even really in it, so there's that). It mainly focuses on Persephone and Demeter, and is slightly based on my relationship with my mom as I've started getting ready for college (particularly as an autistic young adult who needs supports to function). It also later takes the idea of the Dread Queen Persephone as she girlbosses her way into a true goddess. 

Basically, Persephone is a young adult goddess (still hundreds of years old) who has a great relationship with her mother, but is still trying to figure herself out, and slightly wants to leave the nest. She isn't quite sure how to be independent in the big wide world, and she's a bit nervous. So for now, she likes to spend her time talking with her nymph friends about life and stuff. 

Meanwhile, in the underworld, Thanatos is...busy...with a situation, so Hades is forced to temporarily take over the role of death, a job he is very reluctant to do. Why doesn't some other underworld person take care of it? Because shut up. So, Hades takes the list of people he needs to take down (to the undERWORLD THAT IS!!! *Airhorn noises*) and just kinda comes out of the earth, snatches people out of their bodies, and dips, taking them along with him. Unfortunately, one of the Fates "misspelled" a name, so instead of taking Persebhone (or maybe Kora, because Persephone’s name might be Kore for the first half), he accidently ends up taking Persephone, not realizing who she is since he really needs to get out more often. 

So Persephone finds herself in the underworld after Hades abruptly dropped her off there and went to his palace. She goes to the trial place where souls are typically tried, and the judges are surprised when they realize that she is an immortal god. They assume she got lost or something trying to visit Hades, so they send her over to his palace. She sits in the waiting room for a bit, where they are serving out underworld pomegranates as refreshments. Persephone doesn't know about the rules of the underworld, so she eats one. Dun dun dun. Then she has a meeting with Hades, who is confused until she starts explaining that she really isn't supposed to be here and why. He understandably panics at this, aware that Demeter will definitely kill him. 

Meanwhile, Demeter is having a panic attack, because she doesn't know where her daughter is. The other gods are trying to comfort her, but nothing is working, and in this arc of the story, during the parts where we see what's happening in the overworld, we will explore themes of mental health, depression, and what it is like to have a missing child. The other gods will also be having a sort of mystery thing where they try to find the missing goddess. 

Meanwhile AGAIN, Hades is trying to figure out how to contact the other gods to sort things out, but the exit to the underworld is blocked or something (basically, no one can leave rn), and he can't communicate with the other gods. They are kinda trapped rn. So he tries his best to keep Persephone calm and comfortable because NOTHING IS WRONG AT ALL- (he does break the truth to her once he realizes it really will be a few months until he can contact the others, but at first he will pretend that things are mostly fine) 

Persephone herself is feeling very overwhelmed in this crazy new place, and is more than a little stressed out. But as time goes by, Persephone finds that she really likes it in the underworld, and can find some type of beauty in it. She also discovers new parts of herself with each person she meets. But this first arc mainly explores her trying to find a place in the world without that type of support that Demeter gave her, and wondering how her growing desire to stay in the underworld will affect her relationship with her mother. 

Eventually, we get a beautiful reunion between the two, but tragically discover that Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds have permanently tied her to the underworld. So then they need to figure things out about how to live independently from each other as Persephone starts living in the underworld officially and growing into a potentially badass Dread Queen of the Underworld, Demeter tries to cope with Empty Nest Syndrome (I actually love the idea of exploring a character in her changing situation), and Hades tries to get used to living with another person and also secretly attempts to handle his new guilt complex over accidentally trapping Persephone in the Underworld.

I have a lot more ideas, but that's the basic premise.

Hades and Persephone's dynamic will be so much fun. It isn't quite romantic so much as it is besties or something (I'm gonna make them slightly close in age, since Demeter is the 2nd oldest out of the siblings, and Hades is the 4th. Zeus was also pretty young when he freed his siblings. So Hades would be a bit young around the time Persephone is born. Not super young, but young enough to seem more like an older brother or something). They are so socially awkward that they end up becoming basically friends. Since Persephone basically lives here now, Hades wants to at least make her feel comfortable and welcome, so he hangs out with her sometimes, and eventually even invites her to start helping him out with underworld stuff. They just work together well and get along pretty great in all honesty.

Persephone and Demeter's relationship would be the main focus of the story, as well as Persephone's coming-of-age. Demeter, as I mentioned above, is a mother who is dealing with grief from her child going missing, and later deals with the pieces of trauma that come with that (which she will refuse to acknowledge at first), then dealing with Empty Nest Syndrome as she has a bit of a personal crisis over that, possibly even a bit of a mid life crisis. Then she needs to deal with the realization of how happy Persephone is as she becomes an independent adult. I love the idea of working with this woman as she goes through this nonsense. She’s dealing with a lot. I love this version of her that I have in my head.

Persephone is also conflicted and unsure of herself as she begins to develop mild independence anxiety during the first arc, and her own little identity crisis during the arc after she and Demeter (temporarily) reunite.

Basically, young adult leaves for college for the first time as she and her mom both have mental breakdowns, while the young adult's cool new roommate and accidental kidnapper tries to learn social skills in the background. It's fun (and low-key funny in certain ways).

That's my idea. Yeah.

Hopefully healthier than Lore Olympus.

--------

So, I may or may not make a small webcomic using this idea. The art style will likely be simple because not only is said art style still in the works with no fully fleshed out, overcomplicated character designs, but I want it to be relatively easy to work on and write with ease. May make this, may not. Hopefully it could be fun though, since I love Greek Mythology, and I find retellings of it to be fascinating and fun. Tell me what ya’ll think of this concept, and if it sounds interesting.

[quetzalpapalotl]

So if you were gonna write MegaDrift how would you do it?

Sorry, you really threw me a curveball here, coming up with megadrift that would please not only me but also you it's kinda hard. So have my half assed ideas.

Generally wartime ships with IDW1 Megatron are hard without him feeling like a different character to me, because uh... well, he deliberately keeps himself from connecting with people, it's a whole deal. If he were having intimate relationships that gave his life meaning, he wouldn't have turned out the way he did yeah. I'll spare you the whole essay. He has people he likes, sure, like Ravage, but it's always with this sense of distance, of being seeing as a leader first, his closest relationship beig Soundwave and that's some weird toxic validation loop.

Megatron lives to fight, he won't admit he lives to fight, he leads a cult of personality where everyone either worships him or wants to take his place. He maintains control via maintaining his imagine (the lie he tells himself) and tempting people with the promise of power and then keeping them in line with power plays and beating them (this also feeds his own worldview back into him). This isn't someone who has a healthy understanding of intimacy and consent.

So outside of the 3 main ships I have for him that are its own weird thing, if Warlord!Megatron was being intimate, he wasn't having proper relationships, certainly nothing tender. It's more power plays, feeding his own ego or just straight up using sex as a disciplinary measure (hey, Impactor parallel). And while I could put Deadlock into this, is something for which I could use basically any Decepticon, there is no particular reason to be Deadlock (there may be no reason to be Deadlock), and he doesn't have the characteristics that someone like Starscream has that would make this more interesting.

So I give up on wartime. Let's do something with the Lost Light, and this is an idea that came up in your server, but I think I'd would be super fun if Megatron and Drift had like a mutually parasocial relationship and are now very bitter over that.

Like, Deadlock idealized Megatron on some level, that's how he gets you to join the death and murder cult, and Megatron invited him personally. Then he realizes Megatron isn't really delivering and bails. This really pisses Megatron because he liked Deadlock as someone who festered the sort of anger Megatron himself has and was good at murder.

Then Drift gets even more pissed that Megatron ditched the Decepticons wholesale to go on a roadtrip (he's right tho), and Megatron is like "you ditched the Decepticons first!" (this is in a scenario before his full character development, so he's still very petty). And there's just this increasing miasma of resentment between two people that want to be better and can't quite figure it out and practically everyone in the ship hates them and they remind each other of the way they used to be, but also of the hopes they used to have. They could try to relate to each other, but they won't.

Rodimus gets tired of this and tries to force them to get along by scheduling these Lost Light command bonding exercises because hey, it's better for the crew if they know how to work together!! They have to go because Rodimus is trying to be a good captain. Poor Minimus DOES NOT want to be here, but he's the only one who actually does the activities properly. At some point Rodimus may just shove them into a closet to see if they can fuck their issues out.

But also, something I'd like to see exlored (and that would require Megatron to have his character development) is that Drift has always felt empty, he tries to cover who he is with all these different facades he keeps dropping. And then comes Megatron who also used to put on a facade and was far better at lying to himself than Drift ever was, but when Megatron tries to find himself he eventually just does it, he can never be who he was but he regained some of that person, Megatron can be at peace with the fact that he will never be at peace with himself. And it's so unfair, it's so unfair that it comes so easy to Megatron when Drift has struggled for far longer. When it was Megatron who encouraged Drift's worst traits. And it doesn't help that Megatron's whole deal is accepting that he enjoy's violence for violence's sake, when for Drift violence has always been about survival.

Sorry, I kinda failed at this. But have that.

[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

Rei Mekaru (and why I love her)

So i responded to someone’s instagram story, which was a picture of SDRA2 Rei, saying “hear me out” and that’s where it started.

Spoilers for both games under the cut.

cw for me simping over rei, abandonment, and both games’ chapter 6 trials

Okay. Okay. Not only is rei hot as hell, BUT. She is also quite fun to hurt. You can take her childhood, and how she was abandoned, and write/draw her suffering. You can also make her beat herself up. In this essay, I will explain how rei mekaru is the hottest and saddest bitch around

-

Rei Mekaru has had some of the best character development i've seen in anything danganronpa related(Besides DRDT). She starts off as mean, with a somewhat holier-than-thou behavior, one could say. There's not really a reason for this that we know, at first. She is a teacher type, so surely she should be nicer? Now, we enter her backstory. On her character sheet, and in part of DRA chapter 6, we are informed about what seems to have caused such behavior; Abandonment. Rei Mekaru was 'abandoned' by her parents at a young age. Growing up to hate them, and even plotting a name change due to the aforementioned hatred. Seemingly keeping it out of spite. She grows up, going to schools and supposedly getting into college early (as, I believe, you need some sort of college degree to become a teacher/professor). From my understanding, she teaches away from her home country for a while, unaware that her parents have been searching for her for years.

Sooner or later, Rei receives a letter of acceptance from Hope's Peak, and moves back to her home country. She attends Hope's Peak with her 16 classmates, and remains distant. Calling them all "incompetents" frequently. Enter, the killing game. Rei's memories are wiped, and she doesn't remember her classmates. Another character sheet implies there was an attempted KG beforehand, but, because Yamato Kisaragi still had his memories, it had to be stopped and started again. She blocks herself off from everyone, barely even showing grief at the deaths of her classmates. Only when Satsuki Iranami reveals the reason for Haruhiko kobashikawa's death, and allows herself to die, does Rei begin to let go of the beliefs that built up in her childhood. She works with the others, even making a slight invention of her own so she can talk to them about things Monokuma might not like. When Mikako Kurokawa dies, on top of Rei, it seems Rei is shaking up. Talking in a somewhat slower manner.

“This girl……… has died.” The text has a few ellipsis in it, showing quite a long pause. This possibly leaves her more shaken than before, but she tries her best now to show it. Who knows what thoughts were in her head? Someone just died on her, after all. And then, Akane Taira is revealed as the mastermind('s assistant). That must hurt. Rei trusted Akane, including her in one the daily group talks. Perhaps Rei is good at hiding up her emotions, because I think a lot of people would break down and cry on the spot. The final trial, is where we first learn of her past. And where Rei first learns she wasn't abandoned. Her parents were in large amounts of debt, and had left a very young Rei in the care of her Aunt and Uncle. however, her Aunt and Uncle never showed up. Her parents just wanted her to have a good life, but her other family members could care less about her. She finds out that her parents spent years looking for her, and possibly she imagined them sobbing and calling out for her, or possibly she's trying to say this is false. Utsuro finally ends it off, stating that Rei's parents eventually went to Junko in hopes that she would tell them that Rei is alive. Supposedly dying sometime after. Rei wants to know more, but Utsuro refuses. And Rei falls into despair. I think, the new information is what made her personality change so much, in SDRA2.

Now, we move on to Chapter 6.5 of DRA. Of course, we only see her in the last few moments, but there's still a noticeable change. Emotionally, she shows sadness slightly more. Physically, she has her hair chopped off, and different glasses. When Ryutaro Maki asks about his sister, she looks aside. Sad, it seems. Now, it's small and unimportant to mention, but it's the first glimpse we see of her personality change. (from sdra2, that is)

Onto SDRA2. We first see Rei in the prologue, with her raising a gun to shoot Mikado. She still has this somewhat harsh personality, but wants to save others more. She is soon sent into a blaze of orange, and we are made to believe that she is dead. Until sometime in chapter 4, I believe. In chapter 4, i believe, we get a slight cameo. We can only tell it's her, from the outline. It seems she thinks that she is talking to Teruya Otori. (I am unable to find the scene lmao) "Akane Taira is alive." She says. It's here, we get to know that Rei is still alive. The next time we see her, is (i believe) the very end of chapter 5. In the same room to greet Yoruko Kabuya and Iroha Nijue when they awaken. It's unimportant, but it's how we know that the last sighting wasn't an AI or some shit like that. Chapter 6 comes, and boy oh boy do I love it.

She's shown to beat herself up constantly. When Teruya is mentioned in one conversation, she begins insulting herself and even calls herself pathetic. Rei believes that she should've just died. Let herself turn to ash. That way, Teruya would still be alive. When kokoro was revealed as Mikako's mother, she quiets down. Is it from flashbacks of the DRA chapter 6 trial? Or is she just shocked, and unaware of what to say? Her new personality is flaunted in SDRA2's chapter 6, I suppose. We still do get the cop-mocking ginger every now and again, though. She seems more forgiving, and like she has finally seen that people aren't just yins and yangs. Even accepting that Sora isn't quite Akane, and asking if she can refer to Sora as 'Sora' at the end of chapter 6. even promising to try and help Yoruko and Sora meet again. possibly because she doesn't want to see someone sad over someone they cared for again.

She quite possibly cared for Teruya deeply, and he could've been emotional support. or maybe, just a coworker, but the tragedy has made her more vulnerable to emotions. Either way, it's shown that she is less closed off about her emotions. And, possibly, has a harder time with sadness. Leaving her open for attacks on her mental state. Hence why she's a more complex character, but more fun to hurt. (hence why we should always make her go through 70 stages of grief) p.s. she's also hot as hell but you didn't hear that from me

[clowndensation]

have decided i need to write an essay about charoum's whole deal with gortash. which doesn't even get into gortash's whole deal with charoum. because that's an entire other essay.

ok the thing about charoum and gortash is that. like.

charoum is a guy who's never meaningfully been told no in his life. anybody in a position to impart any sort of boundary with him was generally murdered in the process, and then he went ahead and did what he wanted anyways. and i don't think he necessarily understood what he was doing as a child (beyond any young child's capability of understanding what murder or death means). he just knew that murder 1. felt good and natural to him. 2. meant he got to do what he wanted. 3. he's alone and scared and he misses his mom and dad, but they're not around anymore.

by the time he was able to contextualize murder as an action that had consequences outside of his own immediate self-gratification, he was already so disconnected from the idea that other people actually were people - with their own lives and hopes and dreams - that it was infinitely easier to reject any guilt or regret he might feel, in favor of leaning into this worldview he's crafted, wherein he (and orin) exist alongside other people, but aren't actually one of them.

and so while he might enjoy infiltrating the world where all the other people are (going into taverns and singing and dancing and drinking, rubbing shoulders with the nobles and aristos of baldur's gate, being an object of admiration and obsession of his fellow cultists), he understands that he (and orin) are uniquely separate from them all.

and then he meets gortash. and he's fun! he's interesting! he levers people with the same efficiency that charoum kills them. he tries to lever charoum like he's one of those ordinary people. a person on the other side of the curtain, unaware of the stage they all play on. and it works. if charoum isn't paying attention, if he underestimates gortash, focuses on something else, he'll find himself going along with what he wants without even thinking about it!

there is, genuinely, nothing more invigorating than being manipulated into doing what someone else wants, because that proves that someone else has a will separate from his own, and is capable of enforcing it onto him. which is exciting in a way that nothing else in charoum's life has ever been.

[yourtrekker]

Suicide 101

Welcome to the confession of a passive suicidal!

The thought of my demise has been with me for nearly 3 decades now. Since my teen age years, I have been entertaining the idea of 'killing myself'. For me, it is such a sweet reward to end life in this cruel world. Though I never had the courage to plan or attempt it, I always carry the idea that one day if things go south again, I will plan my way out.

Through out my 20s, different life events prompted me to think of ending my own life. It became stronger when my grandmother, who raised me, passed away. Her absence filled the creeping desire to end my life. Back then, I firmly believe that it is a 'sin' to realize the idea of suicide. However, meeting different people, hearing different views and opinions about life in general, and experiencing life my self, made me question about life, suicide, sin, and everything around it.

Now in my 30s, my economic status has changed. It improved, yes! I am grateful for everything. But, I faced different life challenges (the adult kind), which made me cling on the idea that when I can't bear it any longer, I would just do it. Compared to my previous issues, it became slightly better that I am able to earn and access adult money. I know better on how to escape the sadness and loneliness in my life. There's retail therapy, where you buy small (sometimes big) things to fill the void in your day or your life. There's also food! I indulge myself into self and instant gratification allowing me to forget a bad day and alas another day added into my life that I wish never existed.

Obviously, I am still here, breathing, and typing this essay of so called confession. Despite the 'catchy title' (I thought), I am not here to teach how to do it. If I am the one writing it, I may be the most unbelievable author because surely I haven't done it. There are many ways but none of them I dared to try, perhaps, because even if my mouth is blabbing about wanting to commit 'it' my subconscious mind still wants to live. Maybe that's what you call 'basic instinct'. But it would still be all about suicide. The journey of someone my kind, the 'passive suicidal'.

They said there are four types of suicide -- egoistic, altruistic, anomic, and fatalistic. Egoistic is the absence of social integration. Altruistic is to sacrifice one's own life to fulfill an obligation. Anomic is the lack of social regulation that occurs during the high levels of stress/frustration. And, Fatalistic is for when someone is placed under extreme rules or of high expectations.

I guess I am more inclined with egoistic suicide. I am just so tired of participating in this world. You wake up, work, pay bills, occasional fun, face problems, and then repeat. I don't want to be in another 3 decades feeling like 'zombie', yes you're animated but not really living. I really don't like the idea of surviving a day. In my head, I always find myself asking, why do I have to survive each day, each trial when I didn't even choose to be here? I always question my creator that if I have the desire to end it all why did I even have to be here in the first place. It is the most baffling irony one person has to come face to face with.

Another thing I wish to share to the world, especially Christians, is that we always say heaven is real. It is paradise. It is a place free of anything negative. It is a life free of worries, fears, loneliness, sadness, inequality, and the list can go on and on. But, why can't we choose to go there now? Why many of us fear death of our own even of our loved ones if we truly believe we are all going to such place? Or, are we just really trying to appease ourselves that in the long history of mortals we tell all sorts of things that can alleviate our suffering in this cruel existence?

I am envious whenever I see people fighting for their lives. Those with overflowing determination to see tomorrow. They are mostly renaissance men of their own who wants to prove the world they possess the right to live in this world. Sometimes, people with pure innocence just there standing vigorously living. Whilst, there's me ready to give up my life, easily giving it all away to anyone who would ask for it, and always feeling unfit to be part of this world.

I still believe that God is real. God is love. God is good. In my heart of heart I know I truly believe. Which is why I also learned through times to just let things unfold. Life has a way of leading our paths to where it should flow anyway.

I am not sure for how long I could hold myself together. I am not confident I could always choose to live one more day. But, whoever you are reading this, hey you, we're in the same shoes. Similar, maybe not the same, but we are still here. And we've survived all of yesterdays that we thought we won't. That's all I have to say.

#yourtrekker 🐧

[cat-psychic]

Recently I’ve been taking a poetry class where we have to critique eachothers work, and I’ve noticed that almost every poem I’ve read has been sad. They’re all about social issues or discrimination or death or trauma. The only exceptions are poems about romantic love and desire, of which there have been two or three, but they’re still extraordinarily outclassed by the sad ones. Now love and death being the two most common subjects of poetry is a pretty well understood thing, and young adults who write poetry just being an edgy bunch is certainly part of it, but I think there’s something more going on here. 

I’ve taken enough lit classes to know that the books assigned in them do not tend to be happy ones. Anything near-contemporary you read is guaranteed to be depressing, and while a books age will sometimes let a wry, often political comedy sneak through, you’ll always be made to read it through such an analytical, often again, depressing lens, that a lot of the jokes loose their meaning. And when you write, you’re encouraged to do it in much the same way- poignant, dark, realistic pieces on the state of the world. I

 especially notice it in books centering around some sort of oppressed/minority group- in all my years of lit courses, I don’t think I ever read a book with a female protagonist where being a girl was portrayed as “fun”. And yeah, don’t get me wrong, discrimination exists and impacts people and is a HUGE PROBLEM, but at the same time I wouldn’t equate my personal experience of “being a girl” to “constant suffering” –which, if you were going off of these books only, might be the conclusion you draw. And while this is a big topic that I’m simplifying greatly, I think a persons only literary experience regarding an oppressed group (their own or others) revolving around how much being a part of that group SUCKS is a reductive and plain out depressing concept. And since those are the stories that are held aloft, it forces writers belonging to those groups to write stories about the oppression they’ve faced rather than literally any other topic if they want their stories to be promoted and seen. And this extends out of professional spheres back to students. There’s been some recent discussions of how the college application essays encourage students to write about and thus revisit their trauma, turning trying to get a  college education into some sort of sadness contest. And while I don’t think whats happening in my poetry class is anything quite that sinister, I think at the end of the day it’s rooted in the same problem: The subconcious idea that stories about darkness are inherently more valuable.

And that’s something I take personal problem with. I think it’s based around the idea that “dark” somehow equals “more realistic”, which is untrue. While life can be cruel and dark and serious, life can also be joyous and thrilling and just plain out stupid. And those silly fun moments are just as important as the dark ones! Hell, maybe even more so! There is innate beauty in random chance, fun surprises, friendship and love. Life is a constant see-sawing between the happy and sad. Even during very happy times, watching a sad movie can make you cry. At your most depressed, you’ll still ocassionally find yourself laughing at somebody elses dumb joke. There is a constant cycle of gain and loss. One can’t exist without the other, and that in and of itself is poetry! 

Saying one feeling is more important than the other is about as silly as saying red is more important than blue. Hell, beyond joy and sadness, look at confusion, anger, friendship, satisfaction, embarrassment, sleepyness, deja vu, weird coincidences, dancing, your first crush, injokes, brainfreeze, an obsession with dinosaurs, whatever! Yes, write tragic, edgy, or serious stuff too when you want to. Heaven knows I do. But don’t put yourself in a box. Meaning can be found in strange places, and one of the joys of poetry is reading something that you would never have guessed hits as hard as it does. And if something hits you, no matter how weird, you can bet somehow, somewhere in the world, it’ll connect to someone else in the same way.

Don’t give a shit if people say what you feel doesn’t matter, be stupid, have fun, and write!

[the-horsemen-ride]

Thoughts on everyone you met so far?

Death: This only refers to those we've met so far within starting all this, and not just our time in the basement, right? We'll go over all our peers later.

Bethany ( @gothgirlbethany )

Conquest: Disrespectful and obnoxious... but that Jacob friend of hers seems much, much worse.

War: Disrespectful is an understatement. She’s a fuckin’ bitch.

Famine: Hey, that’s outta line, man. She's a bit rude, but that’s just what teens and young adults are like these days. That, and you’re just just whiny. And her friends seem nice, save for the Lost.

Pestilence: I’ve seen her, never talked to her though. Beth’s uh, okay I guess. A bit... loud. I think she’s... just uh, tryin’ to not think about how shitty it is down here.

War: Don’t you know what she said to me?

Famine: You did kind of walk into it, though.

War: Fuck you.

Death: Bethany is... my feelings here are complicated. She’s concerningly reckless and has no filter. It’ll come back to bite her someday soon. Even then... considering her situation, I think Pestilence is right. Life down here isn’t easy. If she really has to approach it all with such overconfidence, so be it, but she won’t fare so well when reality hits her. That, and I could go without all the nicknames and back-talk... But I suppose talking to her has been a nice change of pace, “Our” Bethany doesn’t even approach us when she doesn’t have to, and I believe her opinion of us is even worse. Also, this Bethany is the first person to agree with me on how unfair this job gets, so I do respect her. Her friends are alright, but their version of the Lost is certainly very selfish.

Grust ( @greedycatdemon )

Famine: The kitty!! He's super nice and cute. Sad to see the anons hassle him all the time.

War: He seems… clingy… but other than that? I guess he’s alright. He's got his life together, which is better than everyone else here.

Pestilence: Haven’t talked to him either. Or met him, actually. Cats are nice though, so... we’ll get along, probably.

Conquest: He’s also a demon.

Pestilence: So? 

Death: I’ve been meaning to take some time to get to know Grust. He seems approachable.

War: Should we tell him what a catboy is?

...

Famine: Please don’t.

War: ...you know what? After what you said to me, I think I will.

Famine: Dammit. Well, you should probably give him some time to get back to normal and rest before you ruin his life further.

War: They peeled him again?

Famine: No, now he’s all cat. He still trusts me, though. 

Death: I thought you were more of a dog person.

Famine: Well, if anything I’m more of a horse person, but I don’t discriminate.

Lazarus ( @ask-the-small-enigma )

Famine: There's another Lazarus too?

Pestilence: Yeah, and this one doesn't hate my guts! I’m... a bit worried about him, though.

Death: How come?

Pestilence: He’s uh. He’s said a few concerning things ‘bout his dad.

Others ( @the-deserted-revenant , @desert-thy-brother , @ask-angel-jacob-and-esau , @askbumbo )

War: Okay, at least like, half of you “anons” or whatever the fuck are really weird. Not counting you, maybe. You seem like a decent person but for all I know you’re the same person who peeled Grust.

Famine: But some of you are also pretty nice, too. I guess it’s like 50/50. There’s also a few other uh… “versions” of the kids out there?? We haven’t gotten to really see them but from what I heard there’s even more Jacobs and Esaus out there. Even Bumbo has a blog! We’ve gotta say hi to them all soon.

[tnystrk-exe]

Estocolmo

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

Warnings: Smut 18+ thigh riding, fingering, oral, daddy kink, plot to make up for my first attempt at writing smut.

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter One

“Fucking hell.” You sighed as you looked at the still tall stack of essays that needed grading. “I’m never getting through this.”

Your stomach grumbled, signaling it was time for a break. Stretching, the quiet was interrupted by the sound of your bone’s protest from sitting in one position for hours. It was nights like these you had regretted your choices. Sure you had known Professor Jacob loved to torture his students with too much work, but when you took the job as his assistant you assumed that he’d shoulder some of the weight. A ridiculous thought now that you’ve experienced working with him. Why should he even think of grading an assignment when he had a perfect little lackey doing it for him? That was a non question. He had been strict about the work not leaving his office, which meant you had accidentally fallen asleep in his office more than often than you would have liked. The pile of work never seemed to diminish. 

Walking out the office, you thought briefly of the joy you would feel when you’d never have to see it again. These long corridors would be a thing of the past in just a few, short months. Then you’d probably go to the city and struggle for a while but at least you would be free from here. As much as you prided yourself for getting through the first round of college, the walls of the building gave you more of an annoyed feeling than anything. 

Pushing open the door to the teachers lounge, you made a beeline for the fridge. The leftover pizza already seemed like a feast until you noticed it was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal,” you whined to the empty room as you closed the fridge. 

“Yes, darling?” 

You startled, immediately turning around to face him, a mischievous smile was plastered on his lips. Usually your missing dinner meant to head over to his office. It wasn’t typical, but the two of you had managed a comfortable friendship between the shared late nights. Though, you suspected he’d stay longer than necessary to accompany you in the empty building. “Would you mind telling me where my dinner went, handsome?” You asked, raising a brow at him.

“Old pizza can hardly be considered dinner. Come,” he motioned to sit next to him at the table, “I’ve got a better meal prepared for you nonetheless.”

“Or maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the simple things,” you quipped as you took your seat.

“And you, the finer.”

You gave him an obvious look over, “I’d say I appreciate you plenty enough.” 

Being so forward wasn’t usually in your cards. However Hannibal had always been a gentleman and it had been fun to tease at him a bit. He never complained, often just acknowledging what you said with a raised brow or chuckle. Still there was always some truth in jokes and you’d be lying to say that he was anything less than tempting. Especially in the dark grey suit and dried blood red shirt of his. ‘No’ wouldn’t come to mind if he ever offered.

“Naughty, Miss LN,” he chided you, “What shall we do with you?”

“What do you want to do with me?”

“Eat your dinner,” he said, humor in his voice as he shook his head.

You choked back a comment about him just wanting to see your mouth stuffed, deciding it was too much of a push. Instead you just opened the lunchbox he placed in front of you. Hannibal watched you expectantly as you took a bite of the meat.

Closing your eyes, you savored the bite. It had been a while since you had something home cooked. “Han... I’m going to miss you most. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. Delicious, as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He went back to work on his own stack of papers as you ate. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to allow you to live off street food once we part.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find me another man that insists on throwing away my perfectly good food to serve me home cooked meals.”

Hannibal left some remarks on a paper before pushing it to the side. “You could always come learn a few things. Maybe I’ll rest better knowing you know how to make yourself a couple of decent meals. Any guesses for the meat?”

It was a strange guessing game, but you indulged him, he was just eccentric. “Oh, definitely human,” you teased, making sure to pick up some spinach and artichoke in the next bite, “Probably had a boring name like David.”

“Close. It was Richard,” he corrected. 

“Beef, it was the Rolex of all farm animals hand picked by you and I’m very grateful you shared some with me,” you smiled at him, “So how are things going with Baltimore?”

“I’ve found a beautiful home. The office, however, seems to be harder to find.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one.” Your phone started ringing. Grabbing it from your pocket, you looked at the screen. Mom. “They’re making this unnecessarily difficult,” you sighed to yourself. 

Hannibal looked at you with peaked interest as you shut off your phone and pushed it away. “Is something troubling you?”

“My parents aren’t taking too kindly to the no contact rule. It’s the tenth call today.”

“You’ve cut them off?”

“I thought about what you had said,” you shrugged, “I’m tired of always having to get them out of troubles and be their ATM when I don’t have enough for myself. It’s just too much on me right now. Between school assignments, Jacob’s work pile, and my other part time, it’s all just suffocating. They keep trying to use my grandfather’s death as a leverage to make me feel bad about not talking to them now, but they just want some money. I don’t want to feel guilty about this but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” he placed his hand over yours, “You deserve to feel taken care of and appreciated. They aren’t providing you with that now. Especially now when they use the death of the person who raised you as leverage,” he shook his head, making a disgusted sound, “It’s for your own well-being that you take some time to breathe and be young. They provide too much stress…” Hannibal fell silent. “I’ve suggested this before but i-“

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not taking your money. We’re friends. Money complicates things. Muddies the waters.”

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you, “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t want any payment.”

“But I’d still feel like I owe you.” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t feel right to me. I’m fine. I promise. Though, if you’re so willing to help me with something, I wouldn’t say no to those cooking lessons. They could be fun.”

He spared you a smile, “It would be my pleasure to teach you what I know.”

“And I’d never deny your pleasure,” your mouth spoke before you could think about it, “Sorry.”

“I don’t deny myself pleasure either,” he said, amused. “You’re fine. Now, how about we meet on Sunday? I’ll have time to figure out a full meal and gather all of the ingredients.”

“Great!” You ignored the heat that still lingered on your face, “I- um, do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nothing at all, I’ll make sure to take care of everything. All you need to do, sweet girl, is bring yourself and an appetite.”

You stifled a pleased smile at the term of affection. “I’ll make sure to do that,” sparing a glance to the clock, you frowned, “I should probably get back to work on those essays.”

“Why don’t we work on them together?” He suggested. “My colleague is notorious for drowning you in his work. I can help you sort through it all and you can have a restful Saturday without Micheal’s added stress.”

“I really can’t ask that of you. You already have enough work as it is.”

“We’ll work together. First your work, then mine. What happened to never denying my pleasure?” 

Your eyes widened, but you laughed all the same. Maybe a while more in his company wouldn’t be so bad. “Fine. Hold me to my words, but it’s only going to cause you a headache. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These new kids are… something else.”

“They’re nothing,” he stood, grabbing his papers in one hand, “Meet me in my office. We can be more comfortable there and I may have stowed away a bottle of wine.”

“What would I do without you Doctor Lecter?”

-

“You have arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice informed you as you parked.

You took in the mansion of a home. It was too big for someone that lived alone. The thought made you shiver. Homes should be filled with life, not empty space. Then again, he was a fan of dinner parties, extravagant ones at that, so you supposed there was life in those walls on occasion. The home itself reminded you of the houses in old movies. Ones where the lightning would strike at just the right moment as a warning to stay away. But this was real life and there was no lightning, just a sun setting on a near perfect day. 

Without a warning telling you to keep away, you grabbed the gift bag and stepped out of your car. He had said to bring nothing, but you couldn’t resist a simple gift. The ties in the bag had taken out a decent chunk from your pocket, but he deserved them. Between agreeing to give you cooking lessons and helping you out with grading every so often, the simple pieces of fabric meant nothing. Besides, it was a two way gift, he’d get more of the patterned ties he was fond of and you’d get to see him in the darker colors you liked on him, knowing he’d feel compelled to wear them to show you his gratitude.

Knocking on the door, you waited a couple of minutes before he emerged. “YN, just in time. Please, come in,” he stepped to the side, “I’ve looked forward to this all day.”

You smiled and stepped past him. “I have too. Entertained myself a bit today by finding you a gift.” 

“Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

Nervousness bit at you slightly, a bit self conscious they’d be too cheap for his taste. Too late to back out of it, you handed over the bag. “You’ve always been so kind and I really appreciate everything. Let me do something for you.”

He set the bag on the nearby table, laying out the ties to get a better look at them.  “They’re all lovely,” he ran a finger across the fabric of a maroon one, “Fond of me in darker colors, YN?”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, “We catch ourselves spending a lot of time together. Why not make you a decent piece of eye candy?”

“Inappropriate,” he chided you, before signaling you to follow after him.

“You just wear them so well, Doctor Lecter.”

Shrugging off his navy suit coat, he draped it over a chair, making quick work of rolling up his sleeves. “Ready to get your hands dirty, my little sous-chef?”

“What are we making?” You asked, looking at his kitchen wide eyed. It was definitely bigger than your measly studio apartment. 

“Frisee aux lardons, duck with a pomegranate-citrus glaze. I took the liberty of preparing a blood orange sorbet for dessert.”

“I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t do any of that and just have dessert for dinner.”

“No,” he gave you an amused glance, “There’s more pleasure in waiting for things. Why don’t you start washing up the vegetables and I’ll start preparing the duck?”

You stuck your tongue out at his back but set to your work. “This is what I get for befriending a charming old guy.”

“Keep going the way you are and our next meal together will be langue d’Agneau en papillote.”

“That can’t be a threat if I don’t know what that means,” you quipped, setting aside an endive. 

“It means, darling,” he pointed his knife at you, “The fondness I feel for you is an inconvenience. Nonetheless, it’s welcomed.”

You smiled at him brightly, as you brought the washed vegetables over to him. “I’m fond of you too, but you gotta stop flirting and teach me how we’re gonna cook Daffy here.”

He motioned for you to grab a cutting board and a knife of your own. The two of you worked in quiet harmony, occasionally he’d tell you exactly why he was doing something a certain way or just give you simple instructions and let you have a hands on feel of exactly how to prepare something. It was nice to see him in his element. Hannibal seemed much more content in his kitchen than any where you had seen him at the college. Eventually he set his work to the side and washed his hands. 

“You’re cutting them too thick. Thinner is better for this dish.” He stepped behind you, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” You attempted to move to the side, but Hannibal had already caged you in between himself and the counter. His cologne was different from the one you were accustomed to him wearing, but the subtle spice of it gave a more homey feeling to him. 

Hannibal grabbed your hand that had yet to  let go of the knife. He made sure to show you how to cut them the right thickness. “See? A little thing can unbalance everything.”

“Hm,” you hummed, catching yourself relaxed against the man, his frame strong against yours, “I don’t see much of a difference. Pretty sure this is just your variation of a putter.”

“You assume I have hidden motives,” He acknowledged, looking down at you, “And if there were any?”

Taking the bait, you pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t be too upset.”

His head dipped into your shoulder, taking in a breath. “What happened to not wanting to bring on complications in our friendship?”

“We only have weeks left with each other,” you shrugged, “There wouldn’t be any complications. Not really.”

“We really should get back to making our dinner, darling,” he sighed, almost seeming reluctant to pull away, “What else did you did you do today?””

It took you a second to respond, still shaking off the embarrassment. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to do that. When you looked up at him you grimaced. Grabbing a napkin, you carefully wiped away the lingering lipstick. “The ties were the more interesting part of the day, I didn’t plan anything eventful. Honestly most of my day was taken with trying to recall the shop you mentioned that carried the ones you liked.”

He hummed in appreciation, “You also managed to pick out two I have had my eye on. I’ve got new suits coming in soon that will pair perfectly.”

You beamed at that, happy he did actually like what you had chosen. “Lucky guess. It was difficult remembering the ones I had seen you wear.”

Hannibal made to grab some ingredients and set them on the counter near the stove. “Have your parents tried calling you this weekend?”

You sighed, sure you didn’t have to tell him the truth but you wanted to, he had a compelling thing to him that made it easy to just speak. “I sent them money for rent. Which was honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“It wasn’t idiotic,” he stated, setting to work on making the pomegranate sauce as you watched, “They’re you’re parents. It’s only natural you worry about them. Though, I do worry they’ll think of you as a person that doesn’t stick to her word.”

“I know, I really meant to, but the thought of them out on the street. It’s not my responsibility, but I’m just so used to being their adult.”

“It’s difficult to detransition. You worry for them as they should worry for you.”  He checked over a pan he had been heating, “That’s perfect. If you could please..” Grabbing the plate with the duck you set them on the pan. “With duck it’s important to render off the fat. A low heat is necessary.”

You nodded, “Low and slow, got it... You know, I’m not sure they worry about me at all. I mean- I know they don’t. It should hurt, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“They didn’t give you an opportunity to be a child. When you were supposed to be in the most carefree moments of your life, they burdened you with the responsibilities of an adult.” He held out a spoon with some of the pomegranate sauce for you to taste. “Any pain the notion inflicted on you has been killed with time.”

“There are still moments though. Suppose that’s common enough, isn’t it Doc?” You leaned in, allowing him to feed you, “That tastes amazing. I really should have paid attention.”

“It’s simple, I’ll write it out for you later.” Casting the sauce aside, he set a pot of water to boil. “Very common. We aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to how quickly we had to grow up. Very different reasons, but the fall out isn’t much different. Our paths left us in places where we’re very much alone.”

“What happened?” You asked, realizing that he had known a great deal of your family and you had known nothing more past how his day had gone or his preference of coffee. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.” Hannibal went to fill two glasses with wine. “I was very young when my parents died. My father had implemented in me that, if anything were to happen, I was to take care of my mother and sister. Which meant I had grown fiercely protective of Mischa when the time came. Soon I was acting more as her father than a brother.”

“Where’s Mischa now?” You asked, knowing at the very least she had to be in her late twenties.

His lips set into a frown, he took a quick drink. “Lost her sometime after. There was a lapse of judgement on my part and she suffered because of it. My days have often been shrouded by the thought that I could have done better by her. The ways I failed burdens me significantly.”

You rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain.”

“It’s something I never wish to experience again. Losing someone you love so dearly, it changes a person.”

“I’m sure you tried your best. You’re a good man. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that when you were so young.”

“You think too highly of me,” he patted your hand on his arm, “Far better than I deserve. Still if my childhood had taught me anything, it’s to value those I hold dear. Such as yourself.” 

“I’m glad we found each other. Even if it is for a short while.” You watched as he stepped back into the rhythm of cooking. Maybe you weren’t any help to him but watching him work was comforting. 

He raised a brow, “Just because the amount of time we physically see each other will diminish, doesn’t mean we need to completely break apart. I’d like to have you at my dinner table later in life.”

“I’d like it if we kept in touch,” you replied, looking at a small box on the counter. The small black beads glimmered in the light, calling at you to take a peek. A neat row of recipe cards in his impeccable penmanship, numbered as high as 120 but there could have been more. “That’s sweet,” you mused, looking at the back of a card, noticing a couple had business cards on them, “You keep track of your friends’ favorites like this?”

“Friends, acquaintances, business partners. It’s difficult remembering everyone’s preferences. When I have dinner parties I like to make sure there’s a bit of something for everyone.”

“Hm, well I’m sorry I don’t have a card for you to have.”

When everything was said and done, you helped Hannibal set up the plates to have dinner. The conversation became light as you laughed along to the better memories of Mischa. From his smile it was easy to see he adored the usually shy girl. You never pressed on to find out how she died, simply choosing to bask in his soft smiles and laughter instead of entertaining curiosity. It was easy to see he rarely talked about her and you were grateful that he found that much comfort in you.

Some time later he was sitting at his harpsichord, playing a self composed melody as you browsed his shelves. There was an almost familiar calm in the air, like this was a usual happening and it would simply just happen again. A naturally reoccurring moment. You found comfort in his presence too. 

You looked up from the shelves when you heard his sigh. “I can’t seem to master this melody,” he stated, “The ending never sounds right.” The annoyed demeanor contradicted his lax look. At least lax for him. His vest and suit jacket had been discarded a while ago leaving him with a popped button, loosened tie, and rolled up sleeves. “I may just leave this one in the air.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” you said, walking over to him, “Though we can be our own worst critics. I know I’m mine.”

“It sounds… forced. Almost as if it’s reluctant to work with me.”

“Forced things just need time.” You placed your hand on his shoulders, digging in your thumbs to relieve the tension you felt. A soft groan as he let his head lull back to rest against your stomach. “Time is all you need sometimes. I thought you would have learned that already, old man.”

He opened his eyes, raising a brow at you. “Always with that mouth.”

You smiled down on him fondly, something- probably the wine in your system -thought about pressing a kiss to his forehead right then. “What can I say? It has a mind of its own.”

“I do prefer when it’s otherwise occupied,” he stated, closing his eyes again.

Your fingers dug a little deeper at that, caught off guard. “And yet.”

Hannibal played a couple soft notes, seemingly testing the waters for his next attempt at getting it to sound right. “And yet.” The first melody seemed almost innocent, but was followed by a second seemingly stalking after it. “Would you mind putting on a record? It seemed I’ve grown bored with music of my own.”

“Sure thing, Han.” Giving his shoulders one final squeeze you pulled away from him. At the record table you browsed through his selection. Hannibal was still composing as you decided to go with a record that looked more worn than the others, figuring something well loved would help him out of his frustrated state. Setting it on the platter, you gave it a brief once over with the anti static brush, knowing he’d probably be attentive to that type of thing, and dropped the needle. The music filled the air as you took in the melody. “Very you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, abandoning the harpsichord, in favor walking over to you. “Very me, indeed.” Hannibal took the record sleeve out of your hand, setting it down on the table. The music’s build up reached. “Would you give me the honor?” His hand was stretched out toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher,” he pressed, a charming smile on his lips, “We all start somewhere. Let me be yours.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you as you took in his look of boyish excitement. “You’re not allowed to complain when I step on your toes.” You placed your hand in his. 

He gave a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you’re too terrible, I’ll show you the way I taught Mischa. You can stand on my toes as I try to help you commit the movements into muscle memory.”

“Handsome and a comedian.”

“I try my best.” Hannibal gave you a gentle spin as he pulled you closer. A kiss was pressed to your hand before he placed it on his shoulder. “Now, just follow after me,” he instructed, placing his hand on your hip.

The moment could have made you fall for the man as you danced with him throughout the room. Toothy smiles and teasing winks were sent your way the couple of times you stepped on his toe. Soon enough, you figured out the pace and learned how to follow through with his unspoken plans. Still, ever the novice, you managed to place your foot in a way that sent you both stumbling to the floor.

Hannibal held you close to his chest, ensuring you didn’t get hurt in the fall. “Oh my sweet girl,” he laughed, “we are going to need more practice.”

You hid your face against his neck, ignoring the fact that he could feel how hot your face was getting. “You want more of that?”

“You were doing perfect, YN,” he stroked your hair sympathetically, “One misstep isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

Taking a deep breath, you shifted off of the older man, opting to sit beside him on the floor. Hannibal followed suit, leaning back on his elbows. “I really am going to miss seeing you regularly,” you admitted, reaching out your hand to push back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. 

“We spend much of our time together,” he acknowledged as he looked at you curiously. “In the kitchen-“

Your eyes widened slightly, “We don’t need to talk about that i-it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Romantically or physically?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you see me as a romantic or physical conquest?”

“I, um,” you opted to look at your fumbling hands, “I’m honestly not sure about romance… especially considering… everything and my experience when it comes to romance. Never really thought past- I’m talking too much.”

Hannibal’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Oh? What happened to the confident girl in the kitchen? Don’t go shy on me now.”

“I was high on your cologne, you can hardly blame me,” you rambled, “It pairs with mine nicely I think.”

His thumb stroked absentmindedly at your jaw. “Such a sweet little thing you are… Now, tell me, YN, what couldn’t you think past?”

“You,” you offered lamely, “Mostly nights when I needed to relax. You’d cross my mind. I’d wonder how you felt. How’d you do things. Maybe you’d like to leave bruises only you’d ever know about…”

“There’s something special in knowing what others don’t,” Hannibal acknowledged, “I do enjoy my lovers wearing my marks, hidden from others view and only acknowledged by myself. As it should be, I’m certain you agree.”

You swallowed thickly at the implication of being marked as his solely. The idea of having normal conversations with him at the college with evidence of him knowing you well burned against your skin. Maybe you’d see if you could convince him into one particular fantasy Friday night had conjured. 

He rested his thumb against your bottom lip, bringing you back to him. “I’ve had thoughts of my own… I wonder… Have you ever wrapped a hand around your own neck?” Hannibal smirked at the way your lips parted in surprise as he felt the heat rise to your face, caught in a way you hadn’t expected. “Sweet girl, were you desperate for me?”

You went to lick your bottom lip out of habit, instead finding the pad of his thumb. “Yes, sir.”

“Darling,” he sighed out softly, almost disappointed, “we could have sorted you out this entire time, if you’d only ask politely. There would have been no need for you to imagine, creative as you might have been. You always put everyone’s needs before yours, but where does that leave you?” Hannibal his thumb pressed against your lips lightly, humming in satisfaction when you let him in, already so compliant. “All you have to do is ask. What would you have me do tonight?” A soft pop sounded in the room as he pulled his thumb back, smearing your spit onto your lips and chin. 

“Just tonight?” The words rolled out of your mouth thoughtlessly. 

A soft laugh. “Maybe more, if you behave.”

Hannibal threaded his hand into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. Leaning closer he took a deep breath, taking you in, before leaving a simple kiss against your neck. His warm breath fanned across your face as he kept you in anticipation. Finally he graced you with a feather light kiss, so quick you weren’t sure you even noticed. You didn’t have time to feel ashamed of the whine that had escaped when he started to move away. Following after him, you caught him in an urgent kiss, threading your own hands in his hair to make sure he’d stay close. Hannibal bit at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding in the second you gasped. You ignored the sting and slight coppery taste. 

Sure you had had your fair share of ventures. It was only natural to crave the attention for the night or a couple hours. However, Hannibal didn’t feel like any of your past partners. His kiss was unrelenting and passionate. Quickly he learned exactly how to kiss you to ensure you’d moan into his mouth. You weren’t sure how long had been spent like this. Lips on lips. Someone’s wandering hand trailing down the other’s body. The growing need. Every movement slowly became bolder. Hannibal took the time to pull you onto his thigh, closing the distance between you even more. He kissed along your neck until he found a spot that made you buck against him. 

“Please,” you sighed out, not really knowing exactly what you wanted, but having faith that he’d give you just what you needed. 

Hannibal leaned his forehead against yours, “Are you sure about this, darling?” 

It wasn’t time for contemplation though, everything was already set into motion. He had just asked out of politeness. His hands moved to your hips, he dragged you against himself in a way that clouded your mind. “You’re very convincing,” you said with a shuddered breath. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you matched his rhythm. At the moment everything in the world was him and you couldn’t find it in you to mind. 

“You came to me,” he pointed out. His hand tugged at your shirt and you allowed him to pull it off. Fingers raised goose bumps along your skin as he followed the fabric of your bra to unclasp the material.  

“Could you blame me?” You kissed the side of his jaw for the second time this night. The lipstick mark left behind wasn’t as embarrassing when you were half undressed on his lap. A blush blossomed in your chest as you watched his darken eyes take you in.

Hannibal kissed along your chest. His hand made its way into your pants, drawing slow circles on your clit. Your soft moan and jut of your hips urged him for more. Before you could ask, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the pace changing every so often as he took in your reactions. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you grinded against his hand. Soft whimpers were muffled by the fabric of his shirt. 

“Come on sweet girl,” he used his free hand to pull you off of his shoulder by the hair, “you shouldn’t be hiding. Look at me when I’m touching you. Don’t you want to be my good toy?”

You nodded meekly, unable to make a smart comment when you saw a smirk settle on his lips as a too loud moan took its place. 

“That’s it, no one can hear you,” he teased as he worked at the spot harder, his thumb rubbed at your clit. “You seem very close, what if I…”

As he went to move his hand, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, no. Please, I’ll be good for you.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he brought his pace back up. Instead he chose to revel in your soft sounds and the way you had to focus to keep your eyes on him. Finally, he decided keeping you on the edge was enough and allowed you to cum on his fingers. 

“Clean up your mess,” he said as he thrusted his cum coated fingers into your mouth, “There you go, good girl.”

You watched him as you sucked his fingers clean. Bringing a hand down you palmed cock through his pants, fully intending on returning the favor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m afraid that status isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Hannibal kissed your pouted lip. “Don’t worry, I fully intend on taking care of you. Come, let’s make you more comfortable.”

As he stood, Hannibal offered you his hand to help you up. You followed him through the home to his bedroom, a place you didn’t think you’d end up but were more than pleased to see. Still you weren’t exactly taking in the sights when you were pulled into a rougher kiss as he led you toward his bed. A not too gentle push to your chest landed you on top of it. Leaning back on your elbows, you watched as Hannibal took his time undressing you fully. 

“You don’t play fair,” you complained, shifting yourself higher on the bed, away from him, “I like a pretty view too you know.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly, “Very well, but only as a reward for earlier. I know you struggled.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head, “Come here won’t you?”

There wasn’t any time wasted when he settled on top of you, you didn’t have his patience. Your hands worked on his tie and buttons as his lips and teeth trailed across your chest. A subtle grind against your pussy had your thighs squeeze his waist. Pushing his shirt off, you felt down his chest, still surprised by how muscular he seemed to be underneath it all. You wondered if he’d stop you as you reached for his belt.

“That’s enough. I don’t think you’ve earned it just yet.”

An annoyed huff was all you could manage. 

“All in its time, darling.” A surprisingly gentle kiss was dropped on your cheek. “Can you manage waiting a while longer for me?”

You resisted the urge to nuzzle against him, unused to such soft displays from past partners. “Yes, sir...”

“Always such a sweet, polite thing.” 

Hannibal kissed and bit his way down your body, ensuring there would be evidence of him the next time you saw yourself in the mirror. He allowed you to thread your fingers in his hair, giving him a soft push down when he took too long marking you in one spot. It wasn’t much longer until Hannibal was level with your thighs, he pushed them further apart. A moment passed without anything before you remembered his rule. Willing yourself up you looked down at him, catching a wink before you were rewarded with a broad lick. Hannibal sucked your clit, pressing your hips down when you grinded against him. 

A helpless noise was the most you could do.

He bit your thigh, his fingers immediately making their way back inside of you, targeting the spot he had quickly learned turned you to putty. 

“You really are beautiful like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Completely at my mercy. Desperate for anything I’m willing to give you.”

There wasn’t any time to think up something to say as Hannibal’s mouth replaced his fingers, silencing any words that weren’t his breathy attempts of his name and pleas. Teeth grazed against your clit and a soft moan of his own was enough to pull you closer. 

“Please, daddy,” you begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by your slip, “I’m close…”

Hannibal was merciful, helping you finish as quickly as you had asked. Maybe at another time he would have teased and made you hold on longer but there was only so much patience he had. Especially when there was such an eager lover begging him. You watched him, dazed, as he came back up, his hand gripping at your jaw.

“Open.”

Doing as he wanted, you opened your mouth, instantly receiving a mix of the still lingering wine he had drank at dinner and you. He watched as you swallowed.

He let out an almost dreamy sigh. “So pliant.” 

Hannibal kissed you, finally allowing you to get your way as you pushed off the last clothes. You pumped him in your hand, working up the courage as you shook off the daze he had left you in. He was definitely the most talented partner you had had.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Hannibal reassured you, kissing the side of your mouth, “I’m perfectly sedated watching you.”

You shook your head immediately, not wanting him to think you were hesitant. “I want to, college guys aren’t so giving, just needed some time to clear my head.” As if to prove your point you gave him a squeeze, that made him thrust into your hand on instinct. “I just feel bad you’re doing all the work.”

“I prefer it,” he groaned quietly, as you thumbed at the slit. Hannibal rolled so that you could be on top of him, “But if you insist…”

A soft laugh. “That was hardly the fight I was expecting,” you muttered teasingly, kissing his jaw. 

“My patience is running thin.”

At that you straddled him, your hand lining him up with you. His hands held you steady as you sunk onto him. The both of you moaned softly when he was fully inside. Hannibal slowly grinded you against himself as you adjusted to his size. Hands against his chest, you started riding him in earnest. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you, his fingernails digging harder into your hips. 

“Yours,” you whimpered, too enthralled in the feel of him to pay any attention to the weight of what you were saying. His groans underneath you encouraged you more than anything. “All yours.”

Hannibal sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you firm against him. His soft kiss was a contrast to how roughly he was working himself into you. You couldn’t find it in you to care that he had taken control again. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him do as he pleased, just enjoying the way his hands and lips would travel across your body. Teasing, pinching, biting everywhere he could reach.  Your chest alone would be covered in marks left behind by Hannibal. That would be a problem for the future you to deal with at the moment you were too preoccupied with begging him for more. He’d slow his thrust whenever he felt you close to the end, chuckling lowly at the whining sounds you had made.

“Give daddy one more sweet girl. I know you can.”

You moaned loudly, giving Hannibal exactly what he wanted. When he wanted. Drained, you fell limp against his shoulder. Every small sound you made broadcast directly to him as he used you for all your worth. His arms tightened around you when you tried to pull away from the over stimulation. 

“Daddy’s close,” he promised, his accent thicker than usual, “I’ve taken such good care of my girl. Be good for me.”

Nodding, you dug your nails into his shoulders. You could be good. He had been so good to you after all. Still your vision blurred and it had taken a while longer for him to finally go still inside of you. 

Hannibal kissed the side of your head, before pulling you to lay down against him. His thumb wiped away the stray tear that had managed to fall. “You did so well for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You sighed sleepily, curling into his side more comfortably, “I’m alright. Just want you.”

“We’ll take care of you later,” he promised, seeing how tired you were, “You should rest, darling. I’ll be right here.” His hand rested on your hip, thumbing at forming bruise gently. Between the soft touch and his quiet humming, it didn’t take long for you to find sleep. 

NextChapter

[rose2jam]

Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults.  I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever.  This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.  

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something.  The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies.  But this Leader?  This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way.  Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered.  That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.  

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others.  Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families.  Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in.  He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them.  I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever.  But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin.  Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside.  And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him.  Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader.  Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded.  Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above.  Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).  

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters.  He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1).  Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be.  Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her.  (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well).  I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life.  And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical.  Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back.  For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental.  This friendship is everything.  Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts.  Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life.  But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up.  Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black.  So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3).  And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat.  And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4).  What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience.  He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible.  During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place.  It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5).  But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6).  He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus.  On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily.  So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this?  He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers).  But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members.  McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol).  So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles.  As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with.  His dorm mates became his family.  So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily.  Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic?  Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8).  At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word.  He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds.  Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse.  So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life.  By Muggles and Magic Folk alike.  And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light.  He betrayed her as well, of course.  But he did try to show remorse.  And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.  

So.  Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here.  Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate.  For what?  For power, for a family, for a community.  For a world where he is no longer the weird one.  For a world where he’s respected, strong.  For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult.  Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House.  Maybe he was recruited directly.  Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life.  And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions.  There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play.  Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right.  (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)  

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family.  Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult.  On the contrary, I feel sorry for them.  Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them.  Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”.  But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end.  They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart.  I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done.  But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany.  This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers.   There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2.   Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware.  As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family.  The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks.  Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry.  Back to Snape.  There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation.  This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this).  Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.  

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however.  In the end, he manages to break away from the cult.  The scales fall from his eyes.  In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off.  What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life.  He was brought back by genuine love.  Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

[marimopeace]

there's a limit on how much you can be an isekai intellectual...

a bunch of analyses have been popping up before me all day so i wanted to throw my hat into the ring. all love to ppl who are exercising their creative minds + ppl like geoff here who just talk about these things because of fan interest but i feel like there reaches a point where exploring the "types" of isekai is pointless? i've seen ppl list out the different types of villainess revenge isekai or fantasy mmorpg isekai but eh why fit them all into separate boxes like that?

i think it's easier to think of isekai as a "type" (genre) of itself with only two categories: 1) a focus on isekai (lit. another world) 2) tensei (lit. to be reborn). this allows for a variety of applications and thus tropes that ppl see so many trends of!

with isekai - in another world

you see everything from:

pure fantasy (inuyasha, digimon wait maybe not the best example but in my childhood mind i count digimon as pure fantasy, fushigi yugi)

mmorpg inspired fantasy/adventure (.hack//legend of twilight, sao ugh, log horizon, overlord (LOVE OVERLORD!)

otome game-esque worlds >>> this is where it gets complicated with "villainess routes" since i admit there are multiple villainess tropes but this is why it's nice to not think of this as a "sub-type/genre" bc it frees you from those complications! (the saint's magic power is omnipotent, the white cat's revenge as plotted from the dragon king's lap soso cute!, the savior's book cafe in another world, i'm a villainous daughter so i'm going to keep the last boss wait i can't remember if she's reborn in this one lmaooo see this is why rules make everything hard)

with tensei storylines - being reincarnated/reborn in another world as *insert character/role*

you see...

the same tropes!!

pure fantasy (a returner's magic should be special, reminiscence adonis, the lady and the beast, light and shadow, i can't think of a manga off the top of my head for this ah)

mmorpg inspired fantasy/adventure (so i'm a spider so what i stan kumoko so hard, her majesty's swarm, can't name another off the top of my head ah i hate lists shorter than two things...)

self-insert based games/novels (fiance's observation log of a self-proclaimed villainess, who made me a princess, death is the only ending for the villainess, the villainess wants to marry a commoner, honestly games vs novels are different applications but i'm not in the headspace to try to remember a bunch of both lol)

*insert line break to give random ppl a break from scrolling but tl; dr just enjoy things for what they are no need to micro analyze*

similar variations occur in both genres (if ppl want to be super technical i guess i'm arguing that isekai itself is a massive genre that has the "another world" subgenre and "reincarnation" subgenre tl; dr) so i think it's honestly a huge pain to try to separate all these trends into so many different types of stories. for me personally it's easier to not get overwhelmed by this gigantic umbrella of "isekai" that spans light novels, manhwa, manga, and mobile games by just stripping each story down into its trademark tropes (aka character archetypes, story structures) and slapping "oh this is a person going to a world that's not ours" and "this person gets reborn as blank in another world". none of this "omg this power fantasy is such a this kind of isekai moment" or "there are 14 different types of villainess revenge stories and this series fits into this" bc AH labels! limitations! circle-jerks via ppl trying to compartmentalize everything and sound smart for leaving a comment on story analysis instead of ooh-ahhing over a character's face! dividing things into light novel manga vs manga vs korean manhwa ft. female characters!

the last bit is mainly why i feel frustrated by ppl's insistence to group everything?

the video linked at the beginning of the post (honestly good video essay, i enjoyed it, i just kept thinking in my head the whole time "marimo these are tropes do not take the genre talk literally") has a baby comment thread talking about "korean isekai manhwas" as a genre featuring nothing but reincarnated villainess' and i can't.

like i cannot acknowledge that as a genre of any sort. the energy i felt reading through some of those insights takes me back to 2012 when all yt americans discovered k-pop and deemed all korean music k-pop from then on! (ppl still do this now, yes you are seen and don't talk to me pls i don't like you. k-pop is korean pop music and nothing less and nothing more. take a few seconds and try to parse apart aspects of korean culture instead of slamming everything into a monolithic label that has the letter k and a hyphen.) it feels so odd to see a bunch of young ppl on ig and tiktok acknowledge korean media that happens to be in the form of a webtoon as "oh stories all about young girls becoming villains in stories they made/played" bc it feels so reductive u.u

(positionality disclaimer that i'm praying isn't actually necessary: i am a 3rd-generation korean of japanese descent do not fite me i am exhausted irl of ppl asking for validation/verification bc massive shove off.)

breaking news! korean manhwa...is just as multifaceted as japanese manga...bc how can comics as an art-form not have multiple genres...huh such a shocker?!?! same likely applies to media in other parts of the world like chinese manhwa and french comics--not my place to explain either of those i just know those industries exist bc of wakfu and donghua shows by Tencent.

at the end of the day it's not like analyzing any kind of isekai is wrong--absolutely not!! i think it can be super fun to think about how isekai elements complicate a story (MCs trying to go back home, ppl from the og world, reincarnation plot-twists) or maybe even bash a series for including some kind of other world element when they could have just written a super fun fantasy.

insert marimo's brief ramble that hey you can get sick of truck-kun's hitting disillusioned guys who happen to be super duper smart or girls who happen to be master chefs/craftsmen but transporting a fully-grown being into a fantasy setting is the ultimate cheat code for making mundane modern technology seem cool and overpowered, and being reincarnated as a fully grown person in a world with a pre-made story/game set-up completely bypasses the need for an author to slowly flesh out world-building in a natural progression so isekai is actually a really smart writing tool it's just that there are some series where the author didn't use it well at all and it's cheesy or clearly isekai was misused as a vehicle for character/story development and it was pointless *DEEP BREATH OUT*

in this essay i will argue...lol i am such a culture studies major!! if i were an english major i would be talking all about writing but here i am having a side-tangent about world-building via someone being reborn wow i love this for me (don't get me started on when an author has someone reincarnate as a baby and the story is mostly them having warm fluffy moments with their family--typically father figures--and getting lots of powers i could and would and probably will rant about east asian toxicity)

but anyway am i crazy????? like yes for being passionate about the technical use of a word like genre (i am a scorpio rising let me be fussy pls) but i don't think it's a lot to ask for ppl to not unironically see "villainess revenge isekai" as the definition of korean manhwa.

idk as someone who resonates with why japanese isekai is so popular domestically + why a lot of korean manhwa feat. the same tropes (it's not for great reasons lads it's actually depressing tbh) i'm just starting to feel kind of pained by the generalization and need to separate "cute japanese girl in an otome game"/"japanese boy finds a harem in another world" from "korean girl dies and comes back as a villainess" bc they are just! applications to the same story device!!

recommendations for any who makes it this far down below <3

// also gladly recommend any of the examples i've listed in the above rant as i've read/watched all of them and adore them v much! //

save me princess

super refreshing fantasy manhwa ft. a princess and her ex-boyfriend having to save the world!

the beginning after the end

an AMERICAN web novel turned into a comic (but see it being not korean/japanese doesn't really matter when you just consider isekai as a genre...isn't it nice to not overthink it?) ft. a super-powerful wizard king reincarnated into another world and starting from scratch--gives mushoku tensei vibes but huge twists!

the reason why raeliana ended up at the duke's mansion

love love LOVE this story--read the title and you'll learn how this girl reincarnated as the character raeliana in a book gets married to a duke!

trash of the count's family

such a good novel!! a guy gets reborn as a lazy oaf and he takes the hero of the story under his wing...plot twists come up later on!

this time i will definitely be happy!

v good and refreshing for a shorter series! she's been reborn 3 times and remembers every time the hero's stabbed her in the back, and now she just wants to break up with him!

silver diamond

older manga but v good adventure w intrigue! a boy who loves plants get sucked into a desert world with demonic lizards and a mysterious bodyguard by his side. shonen-ai not BL but wonderful vibes nonetheless + great side characters!

the princess imprints a traitor

adore everything in this from the world (not in that way this society makes me so angry) to the machinations at play and the dynamic between the fl and ml

[nevermindirah]

Dorothy Freeman facts

By facts I of course mean headcanons, because Nile's mom doesn't get a first name in canon (or even confirmation that her last name is Freeman). All we know about her is the picture on Nile's phone lock screen (which is Kiki Layne's real-life mom and brother!) and a few lines that Nile tells Andy about her. I’ve been collecting my Dorothy headcanons for a while now to eventually make a post, and @mprosperossprite​‘s excellent post giving non-Americans context for what it means that Nile is from the South Side of Chicago prompted me to go ahead and share this. Disclaimer that I’m white and I will absolutely make corrections if it’s pointed out that I’ve caused harm with any of this.

So here have some fun facts about the version of Mama Freeman who lives in my head rent-free:

Her family and growing up:

she was born in the mid-'60s and named after Dorothy Dandridge

I can’t decide whether she was born in Chicago or moved there later on (maybe with Nile’s dad?) and when in the waves of the Great Migration her family left the South

she came of age in the "post"-Civil Rights movement and went to college in the mid-80s when a lot of what are now the foundational classics of Black feminism were being written

she was a young adult when Anita Hill risked so much to report that a Supreme Court nominee had sexually harassed her, and as a result she HATES Joe Biden

Marriage and babies:

she met Nile's father — I can’t decide how they met and I have two competing headcanons for his name, either Gideon for the hefty Biblical masculinity vibes (Giddy for short among family, that man loved to laugh) or Carl, which started out as a shitty Carl’s Jr burger chain joke that turns out to be perfect (it means free man!), and @knoepfchen​ used it in the sequel to if you do take a thief where Carl is alive!! — and Dorothy was a little skeptical of his near-religious devotion to the military but he was really hot and really devoted to her and they made it work

she's a little pissed that she was right but it's unbearable if she thinks about it too often

it's going to be a long, long time before she can look back on pictures of Baby Nile stomping around the house in her dad's combat boots (this is a Gina Prince Bythewood headcanon, whyyyyyyyy can I not find a link to where she said this)

she named their second baby Indus, Indy for short (this is nearly as established fanon in Book of Nile circles as how much Booker loves eating pussy, and Indy Freeman as a young adult is portrayed by either Aldis Hodge or John Boyega I don’t make the rules)

Work:

Dorothy did some office jobs but nothing really grabbed her, and she was probably gonna have to move for her husband's career, so she decided on teaching — high school humanities

she’s been active in CTU (one of the strongest teacher’s unions in the US) her whole career and one year she was on the bargaining committee and her babies know damn well never to trust a boss, not even one who says all the right things — if she ever finds out the way Nile said "like Quynh?" when Andy promised to protect her, she will lose her mind with pride

(Nile was 18 and freshly graduated from high school in 2012 when CTU went on strike for the first time in a generation and she brought her mom snacks on the picket line)

one of her very favorite things is getting her students to laugh despite themselves at her "oh my GOD you're so EMBARRASSING" old-people jokes

she's one of those teachers who can get 30+ teenagers to go dead silent with judicious application of body language

she's known to occasionally go easy on grading subjective things like essays when she knows students are having a particularly rough time at home, but the second she gets the feeling they're taking advantage and not trying their best that shit is over and they better mind their Ps & Qs

she's the kind of person who says old-people shit like that

she gives her students assignments like "help 5 neighbors register to vote" and "write a compare/contrast table about the candidates in this local election" and "research 5 different ways you could get grant money to do X" and other practical civic-minded shit

standardized testing is her supervillain origin story, just kidding it’s Rahm Emanuel, why the fuck did Obama trust that asshole

After her husband died:

she would have lost her goddamn mind if it weren't for her church friends after her husband died, people from the church raised money so they could make ends meet while his pension paperwork was taking forever, church friends watched Indy so Nile could go out for the soccer team, etc etc

she sold her and her late husband's house and moved to a 3-bedroom co-op unit when Nile started high school, it's more affordable and it meant she didn't have to worry about household repairs in the same way, she can use a wrench if she needs to but she doesn't have time and it just makes her grief flare up (co-op housing has a long history in Chicago and other US cities (like Washington DC where I live) as a way for Black people to access decent, affordable housing in the face of entrenched discrimination)

the move meant putting a longer commute between her and church, but she didn't even bother looking for a church closer to their new home, she loaded the kids into the car on the weekends, parking is hell in their new neighborhood but it's worth giving up a hard-won parking spot to not have to wait so long for the L on Sunday mornings

Indy lived with her through college and he was gearing up to get his own place when Nile died, Dorothy was planning to move into a one-bedroom in the co-op building because she doesn't need so much space anymore, Indy took a day off from his new job (not so new anymore, her baby's so grown!) to help her sort things to donate when those dress-uniform Marines came to their door

part of her wishes she could've been home more and not had to rely on Nile so much for help with Indy, but he's turned out such a kind young man, and he's a much better cook than his sister is (was, oh God — no wait, is! she’s alive! what do you mean you’ve been alive all this time??)

some of the girls from church are encouraging her to check out this social dancing thing, nobody's pressuring her to date but there's definitely been some ribbing, and with Indy out of the house... maybe? probably not, but maybe

Her feelings and beliefs and likes and dislikes:

she's an absolute badass and also she's a soft human woman with lots of feelings

she's very, very traditional in some ways, and part of her mixed feelings about Nile following in her dad's footsteps is gender stuff, she's proud of her daughter and would never stand in the way of what Nile wants to do with her life, and if Nile came home and told her she's a lesbian she would never reject her, but if Nile came home and told her she's bisexual maybe she can just try focusing on men? “I love you sweetheart and I want you to be happy I just know how hard it is already for us in this world” type shit

she has been on team natural hair basically her entire life and one of the worst fights she and Nile ever had was over Nile wanting to straighten her hair as a pre-teen

Indy takes more after her and Nile takes more after their dad, she's so proud of both of them, but Dorothy's activism was mostly wearing her natural hair to work and daring bosses to give her shit, Indy's out there marching in the streets like her parents had and she WORRIES

she teases Indy for going to so many protests like he's using it as an excuse to meet girls, but she WORRIES

when she turns 60, she gets box braids with streaks of dark purple, subtle enough that it's still work-appropriate but it makes her smile, she may be old now but damnit she’s still pretty!

she loves Grey's Anatomy and Star Trek and she watched Bridgerton all in one day

she has a dirty-old-lady celebrity crush on Chris Hemsworth

if she's ever masturbated thinking about Donna Summer, well, that's nobody's business but her own (do non-Americans know about the queen of disco??)

If you want to read fic featuring Dorothy:

I won't have to leave alone, 1000 words, Nile has a nightmare and decides to go tell her family she's immortal

I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore, 65k, Nile adjusts to immortality and does a lot of soul searching about what it means to "do what we think is right", Booker goes to grad school for trauma studies, the working title of this fic was Booker Reads Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and Goes Down on Nile and the final product has an annotated bibliography in the author's notes if you’re into that kind of thing, a lot of my Dorothy Freeman headcanons were born of my process writing this

Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat, 2279 words, college AU, Nile brings her Jewish boyfriend home for Christmas

a contribution I made to Shitty Old Guard Deaths: (Booker, USA, 2025, cause of death: a mother’s righteous wrath)

[yougurtella]

hot take (or tea) of the day from me:

Both apple and raven want what they want and would do mostly anything to get it (mostly apple, but i’ll explain raven later).

Apple White is ambitious, maybe not always, but definitely with the things she wants. She wants people to be safe, yes, but she also wants to be safe as well. Of course, Apple wants everyone to be safe, that’s why she is destined to be a great Queen for her future kingdom. But do you know why she’s so stuck on her destiny?

If you read The Storybook of Legends by Shannon Hale, we discover that when Apple was young, she fell into a well, and was stuck there for a long time (not super long, probably a few hours, I’m writing this from memory). That scarred her, and as a result, convinced her to think that her destiny is the only thing that can keep her safe (we also know that she was groomed to be a prim and proper destiny-following-princess since she was born, so all her life she’s been convinced her destiny is the only way to live). Same with following the rules. If you follow the rules, you’re bound to stay out of trouble and safe and sound, right? And as we’ve seen, Apple will do anything to stay safe. She was instructed to pretty much manipulate Raven into following her destiny, and even tried to follow through with it (she also joined Raven on her journey to find clues about the sisters that disappeared after legacy day when refusing to follow their destinies. all throughout that journey, Apple is also trying to convince Raven her story is the one she needs to follow). She is constantly questioning Raven, trying to find a fault in her thinking (these are the only examples i can think of right now, but if you have any more, feel free to mention some). And we get to Dragon Games. Apple meets the Evil Queen, who manipulates Apple into breaking her out of the mirror (you can find a clip of it on youtube, or netflix):

Evil Queen: “Oh I’m sorry, I thought maybe you were like your mother. When her time came, your mother embraced her fairytale destiny. She did whatever it took.”

Apple: “I am not afraid. I will do whatever it takes. And I am like my mother, and my destiny is mine!”

Just noting how she reacted to what the evil queen said. she could have brushed it off, or have said, “i may be like my mother, but i don’t want you to be an option to help me achieve my destiny”. but Apple reacted so...so angrily. She just burst into aggression and threw the Apple at the mirror.

We also see that Snow White tries manipulating Apple into forcing others to follow her destiny. (“Perhaps there is some way you could nudge Raven towards evil?...remember, she’s still her mother’s daughter!”) I have a feeling Snow’s been doing this ever since Apple could comprehend words. Apple definitely seems like she would’ve been that annoying kid on the playground that would’ve been like “You need to follow your destiny or else I’m telling the teacher!”

Anyways, Apple has definitely had some hard times, (which don’t justify her actions, but could have led her to realize that she needs to change. not just for the heck of it, but to become a better person; to become a better queen. also jesus, if EAH wasn’t cancelled she would’ve had an amazing character arc i just know it—) but anyway. She’s had some traumatic moments in her past, and we’ve only seen a glimpse of how Snow White raised her, there’s definitely some stiff linings in that relationship. It seems more like a business relationship than a loving Mother-Daughter one.

Which leads me to Raven Queen. If you read the books, you’ll also know that throughout Raven’s life, she’s always questioned destiny, and instead has used the word “choice” in her vocabulary. Her mother has seemed to be absent most of the time, whether because she was in “evil meetings”, doing Queen duty, or being trapped in her mirror. I don’t think that has impacted Raven’s opinion on destiny, the only way it’s impacted her it’s probably the absence of love from a mother. Raven doesn’t like her destiny because she knows she has it in her that she couldn’t go through with evil-doing. We know that too (especially in WTW, when Apple tells her “This isn’t you, you’re about choosing your destiny, and breaking binds and whatever” and Raven goes back to normal).

Anyways, back to Raven possibly being a Slytherin.

She’s also demonstrated that she’s ambitious, I mean, she entered a talent show wanting to perform a (quote on quote from Headmaster Grimm) “non-evil” song, and stuck with it until Sparrow got to her. She’s always letting people know they have a choice (maybe sometimes a little forcefully, but it’s not as bad as Apple). She even went on a journey (in the Storybook of Legends by Shannon Hale), sneaking out of the school, breaking multiple rules, to prove that you don’t “poof” when you refuse to follow your prewritten story. She’s quick to correct people on the fact that she won’t be following her destiny; but Legacy Day is a bigger example of her ambition. She knew about the legends and rumors of your demise when refusing to follow in the footsteps of your parents, yet took that chance anyways, putting many peoples lives into harms way (granted, it never happened, but they didn’t know whether they’d poof or not). That’s hardcore though. Imagine making a choice about your life, that could have people’s lives be ruined, or worse, dispelled (haha get it? dis-spelled?), and you take the route of putting people in harm’s or deaths way. Thats incredibly selfish, but also quite heroic. (there’s so many discussions to be held about the ethics of EAH, i’m so mad the fandom isn’t bigger because we could have so many videos and essays about this wonderful story) Raven took a stand, feeling ambitious enough to say “No” to a predetermined life. Round of applause for her.

I’ve realized that i’ve probably written more about Apple (because she is one of my favorites), and I didn’t have a lot of evidence for Raven, just feelings and opinions. But anyway, this was mostly for fun and to procrastinate on schoolwork lmao.

Keep in mind this was just a fun silly thing to do, to start a friendly and respectful discussion. I don’t want any people saying how Apple is a horrible person and how she’d be say “all lives matter” and be a white supremacist. She wouldn’t. Her destiny is to be there for others, and to be the kindest and fairest in the land.

So maybe Raven would be a Gryffindor instead. Apple could easily be a Gryffindor as well, heck, I see both Raven and Apple being in any of the houses in Hogwarts (it would make sense for Raven to be a RAVENclaw hahahah—ok ill stop). They both have demonstrated key traits for each houses.

So what do you guys think? Would Raven and Apple be Slytherins? Do you have a different house you think they’d suit more?

I honestly think that if EAH and Hogwarts had a crossover, Apple would definitely convince Headmaster Grimm and the Sorting Hat to place Raven in the same house as her (because you know, she wants Raven to follow her destiny). I also think it’d be a funny bit.

[whump-town]

You Dance With Tears In Your Eyes

Summary: a college AU set up in the late 80s/early 90s with football star and quarterback Derek Morgan and his secret boyfriend Hotch-- it's not a happy story but I don't think I really have to warn you guys about that anymore

Also, a little based on a story my grandmother told me about my great uncle and his partner. Never met my great uncle but everyone says I'm a lot like him, I think they just mean gay but don't know how to say it

Warnings: homophobia, violence, racism *I mean it when I say homophobia*

Pairing: Derek Morgan/Aaron Hotchner

@yourlocalheartbreaker

The title is from Frank Ocean's song Self Control

Now and then you miss it, sounds make you cry Some nights you dance with tears in your eyes I came to visit, 'cause you see me like a UFO That's like never, 'cause I made you use your self-control And you made me lose my self-control, my self-control

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

Living shouldn’t be reduced down to what it is, the bare bones of things that don’t even make Derek Morgan who he is. He lives by them anyways, stupid rules. Social norms, Aaron always clarifies because even when those silly rules drown them Aaron needs to be concise. Social norms dictate every inch of life and for once Derek wishes he were the type of person who could be given that inch and take a mile. They’re the reason he can’t hold his boyfriend’s hand in public. Why he can’t kiss Aaron on New Years’ and why he is reduced down to loving his roommate. Why, at this rate, he’ll never marry or adopt children, or why he could lose any career he goes into because some nosy asshole finds out his partner isn’t a woman. And, yes, he knows there are anti-discriminatory laws but he’s a black gay man. The world is stacked against him.

It makes him so angry. He’s blinded by the irrational of it all, why nothing can just be simple for them. Aaron tries to comfort him but Derek’s anger scares him, he doesn’t understand it. Aaron has long lost the ability to decipher the complexity of human emotions. Still flinches at loud noises like he’s expecting each bump to be accompanied by the pain that laced his childhood and has to ask, around every turn, if Derek’s angry with him. He can’t tell. Everything looks like anger. With Derek, it frequently is. They cope in very different ways, Aaron chooses nothing. Shutting down all his emotions until he cracks and that’s worse. It’s worse than Derek’s anger. That doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t hate the way he quakes with fury. If not because it feels childish to be blinded by emotions then because it scares Aaron.

There are a million other things, at twenty there always is. It’s his philosophy class with all this bullshit reading he doesn’t understand. He has to ask Aaron for help and Aaron has to ask him for help with things too but it makes Derek feel stupid. It’s philosophy, it can’t be that hard. That’s the same way Aaron feels about calculus. There’s maintaining rent and going grocery shopping and football (games, practice, gym, and training).

College had been a learning curve. Getting up at four in the morning to go to the gym for football had been the hardest thing in the world without his mother flicking his bedroom lights on and off or Desiréecoming in to smack him in the face with a pillow. There’s no one in the entire world in charge of getting him out of his bed other than him and, in his freshman year, while he had thought sleeping on that impossibly hard mattress would leave much to be desired, and it did, he found himself glued to his every morning. Not wanting to leave the safety of its flimsy comfort.

Sharing an apartment worked wonders, having a workaholic boyfriend was really the best trick. An unexpected answer to his problems but, also, a very cute one. He managed to add one person to the list of people that cared about where he was, that made sure he got up in time to make it to the gym and practice, and asked if he had a bad day or rub at his sore muscles.

Derek rolls over in bed, not as surprised as he should be to find the other half empty. “Aaron?” He still searches, runs his hand over the sheets as if he doesn’t know that if Aaron were in the bed he’d be right there. Hogging the bed and the blankets, pressed up against Derek’s back snoring like there’s no tomorrow. “Aaron?” Derek sits up and squints, grimaces at the light trailing in from the open door.

Aaron’s hunched over the beginnings of an essay, pen ink smeared across his left palm and steadily chugging along. He can write a full essay in the span of a night, five hours for about 3,000 words but if it’s a short synopsis sort of thing then about an hour. Despite this astonishing gift, Aaron still makes himself write all his essays weeks in advance and spends days upon days proofreading and combing through them for the tiniest mistakes. He’s a straight-A student so he’s doing something right but Derek gets mostly As too with far less hastily. Aaron is just extra.

Derek steps up to the desk, doesn’t make a sound as he leans up against the side of the chair. He wraps an around Aaron’s shoulders, leans down to kiss his head. “It’s two,” Derek informs him, “come to bed. Please?” Derek’s exhausted. He feels the regret of being pulled from his warm bed. Each second feels like twenty minutes, the world sluggish and too cold. He leans closer to Aaron, wrapping himself around him. “You always smell so good,” Derek whispers. He presses his face into Aaron’s hair, catching the mix of scents.

“Bakery,” Aaron grunts. His answer as simple and concise as he always is but even more so now that he’s tired. Aaron had worked an on-campus job for the entirety of their freshman year but after he got a scholarship that would roll over each year after that (so long as he kept a certain GPA) he started at a bakery down the street from their apartment. Derek had always liked the way Aaron smelled, gently masculine in a way only Aaron could ever be, and it had mixed with the scents of softly, perfectly made baked goods he works around all day. Cookies and cakes. He’s picked up a few tricks, Aaron can make moist cakes and perfectly round cookies but his bread… It’s the best food Derek has ever eaten.

The first time Aaron made bread Derek got down on one knee and confessed “Aaron Hotchner if I could marry you I’d take you to the damn chapel right now”. To which he was lovingly pushed and told to “shut up” but fresh-baked bread (even if Aaron had taken a single bite and concluded he hadn’t ratioed the sugar right) is heavenly. He’s gotten much better since and it’s really hot when he’s standing there in one of his dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up taking his stress out on the dough.

And he can’t tell anyone. Can’t boast about his hot ass boyfriend or the bread he makes from scratch.

Derek crouches down by the chair, knows he’s winning when Aaron breaks from his work just enough to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Can’t this wait just a little bit?” he asks. “I want to sleep with my boyfriend and he’s out here writing an essay that isn’t due tomorrow and likely isn’t due for the next month.” Derek reaches up, strokes a strand of hair back behind Aaron’s ear. His fingers graze an open wound and Aaron flinches away, the pain unexpected.

The bare bones of Aaron Hotchner are the along the same in principle to Dereks-- all things that he cannot change. Even as he stands as tall as Derek, their bodies are not the same. Derek is lean from years of football, his arms stretch his shirts. He looks like an athlete, has the benefit of the doubt whenever he’s around men. His teammates walk naked in front of him, no one for even a second thinks anything of it. No one suspects him of the atrocities he commits within his apartment.

Aaron doesn’t have any of that. His hair is a little too long, hangs down in his face when he’s studying or reading. Nothing about him is hulk-ish, he’s delicate with his movements and while it had been something that Derek was immediately drawn to it also draws other’s attention. Bad attention.

The same boys that play around with Derek, snapping towels at him while he walks, terrorize Aaron.

Derek wishes there was something he could do because if this were anyone else- if Aaron were a girl- he could. It wouldn’t be dangerous, not the sort of thing that would cost him his football scholarship or get him stabbed and left to bleed out in an alley or beat within an inch of his life. He would have to out himself to protect Aaron, to stand in front of his teammates that coach keeps calling his family and tell them to keep their fucking hands off his boyfriend. No. No, because something like that would be death. It would be worse than what’s already happening. And Aaron won’t allow it.

All Derek can do now is await the next attack, leave Aaron someplace to come home to. Give him a place to be, without burden, without hesitation. It’s not enough. They’ll kill him. Derek knows they will and it’ll be fun for them, only a matter of time.

“Come to bed with me,” Derek asks one more time. He doesn’t want to sound entirely needy but he really doesn’t want to go to bed without Aaron. The bed is lonely.

With a sigh, Aaron nods and Derek stands up, moves out of the way so Aaron can throw pens in his textbooks to mark his place. He steps away, from the desks, yawning as he makes lazy lurches forward towards their bedroom. “Turn the damn--” Derek rolls his eyes and reaches over and turns off Aaron’s desk lamp.

He passes Aaron in the doorway, places his hand on his hip, and reminds him of their objective. “Bed,” he mumbles and Aaron nods, jerking back to life as he steps further into the bedroom.

Derek lays down on the bed, crawls over to his side, and gets comfortable while he watches Aaron lazily strip down to his underwear. He gets caught in his head again for a moment, standing there just blankly staring at the dresser. Trying to figure out if he should put on pajamas or not. Derek calls his name and opens his arms. “Come here, “ he says and Aaron smiles. Sheepishly he comes, blushing as he crawls into the bed and where Derek instructs him. Humming, pleased, when Derek brings the blankets up over them. His eyes are already closed, head tucked under Derek’s chin when Derek wraps his arms around him. Pulls him close, tight.

He’d read in a book about deep pressure, its effect on the parasympathetic nervous system. He’d studied Development Psychology for some time, thought about all the ways in which it checked every box of his interests. He thinks he might want to be a teacher. That’s where he learned about the importance of the bond between guardian and child. Where he learned a hug sometimes really is a fantastic answer to the most startling problems.

It’s also the fastest way to get Aaron to sleep.

“Tighter,” Aaron whispers. He can’t quite feel Derek’s bones pushing into him, the hammer of his heart still too strong. He groans, choking up a laugh when Derek does just that. Holds him tight, makes him ache with the proximity, his inability to move.

Derek doesn’t mind, he’s got an armful of bakery boy. Couldn’t be more content with anything else.

0000000000000000

All things considered, Derek didn’t actually face that much scrutiny when he told his mother about the stupid twisting and turning feeling in his stomach when Martel Harris put his hand on Derek’s back. Leaned in too close and Derek could smell the cologne he wore and feel his proximity like lightning across his skin. He’d thought it was just nerves but at the end of a football match Martel lifted him up, threw him up in the air, and God that had felt better than flying. Lit him up inside like he was something, someone.

Desiréecried and Sarah wouldn’t speak to him for a week, opposite reactions because of the same fear. Their mother always said the two of them were two halves of the same coin-- too alike to get along and too different to ever get away. They came around, their mother’s gentle hand always the voice of reason. Three stubborn as all hell kids, too much like their father. That’s what she tells the three of them, tears swelling in her eyes as she proclaims that none of it matters. Orders Desiréeto stop crying tells Sarah to get over herself. She loved and married a black man despite the death threats that followed them everywhere they went. Despite the people that called it blasphemous. Called it sin. As if love could be such a thing.

Her mother told her not to come home, not to call. She wouldn’t do that to her son, she knows it won’t change a thing. There’s something about love that makes you blind to the small pains. She never looked back twice, never reached out to her parents. She chose love and Derek will too.

But that doesn’t mean the fear goes away.

It doesn’t actually change a damn thing.

Standing in the tiny bathroom attached to Derek’s friend’s bedroom Aaron leans over the sink, letting Derek rub

shampoo through his beer-drenched hair. “I just don’t understand why they have it out for you,” Derek mumbles, his voice has deepened, his frustration laced confusion evident. They’re in a rather suggestive position, Derek’s body keeping Aaron bent over the sink-- ass to groin. Aaron shoots him a look out of the corner, a pretty clear “look at us right now and take a guess at why”. Derek ignores the look, he’s rather good at ignoring Aaron’s sharp looks. He shakes his head, grumbling some more to himself and gently working the shampoo out of Aaron’s hair. He leans closer, Aaron groaning as the sink bites into his stomach, and smells his hair. Derek groans, unsatisfied with what he finds. “Smells like strawberries with a slight undertone of beer.”

Sounds about as close to a win as they’re getting. “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” Aaron mumbles, grateful when Derek sits back up. While Aaron’s come to terms with the particular hand he’s drawn in the terms of college social lives Derek isn’t as quick to accept. He feels hopeless, a feeling he thought he’d escaped upon leaving Chicago and everything Carl Buford. Aaron can’t stand to see that look, the one he’s grown so used to seeing after events like this.

He pulls a towel down off the rack, starts trying to dry his hair. This isn’t the reason he keeps his hair short but it’s certainly a helpful addition to keep in mind. “Don’t overthink it, it’s not your fault.” Aaron could go blue in the face trying to keep Derek from coming up with a mile-long list of all the reasons why that’s simply not true. The truth is, it’s really not Derek’s fault. No one even knows about them. Their relationship isn’t the reason why Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is poured his cup of cheap, smells like piss, beer over Aaron’s head.

Not that what happened downstairs can just be so beautifully summed up as just that. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is had grabbed Aaron as he was walking in, doing as Derek instructed by coming in the screened-in door at the side of the house. “Who’s dick did you come to suck?” and Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is cupped Aaron’s cheek. Dug his thumb into the wound he created and smiled, grinned happily at the sight of Aaron trying so hard to getaway. Hunter’s grip relaxed and as soon as it did Aaron was blinking the beer out of his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me,” Hunter shoved him, hard. “Faggot.” Aaron hit his hip on the counter but said nothing, he’ll leave the bruise for Derek to find another night.

“I should say something to that pig,” Derek’s distracting himself with putting everything back in the bathroom the way it was before they came in. Straightening out the rug and fixing the other towels. “Let me catch him trying something--”

Aaron can’t take it, all of Derek’s pointless anger, his stupid guilt. He’s just had beer poured down his back. He can’t even accept Derek’s sweatshirt to replace his smelly shirt, can’t walk out of here wearing his boyfriend’s sweatshirt without getting shanked. The beer smells awful but he’s fairly certain getting stabbed is a whole lot worse. Derek doesn’t have to deal with that. No one messes with him because no one thinks to. “It’s because of how I look!” He’s shaking, bangs hanging down in his face still damp but no longer dripping water down his face. “You? You look normal. You get to walk around with all your football buddies, no one bats an eye at the quarterback, Derek. At least you like women too!” He points to himself, digs his finger into his own chest. “Me? I look the part. I can’t even pretend. Everyone knew, the whole world knew before I did!”

Derek just stands there, caught in the headlights trying to figure out what to say.

He wipes his eyes, jerks away from the hand Derek tries to put on his arm. “No. No!” he can’t do touch right now. Not like this, not when his body won’t hold still and his knees keep trying to buckle. It happens, this panicked cornered feeling, and usually Derek would hold him down. They’d sit on the floor and Derek would hold his arms down to his chest and they’d just sit like that until Aaron can breathe again. Bones against bones until Aaron feels the fractures of his humanity coming back together but for now, right now? He can’t do it. He can’t be touched.

“I want to go home,” he manages, lower lip quivering despite how much he wants to hold it together. “Please take me home.”

Derek just stares at him, stands there, and watches Aaron cross his arms over his chest and curl in, trying to squeeze the panic out himself. “Okay,” he caves. “Go on, I’ll follow you down.” It’s degrading, humiliating the fact that they can’t even leave this room together. Aaron’s upset and Derek can’t do anything about that right now. It’s not safe until they’re home.

It’s never safe.

With his hair dripping into his face Aaron stumbles in the dark. His shirt is soaking wet, stuck to his skin, and freezing him as tramples down a thin stretch of grass between houses. He wishes he had Derek’s sweatshirt. Something warm. At least something to cover his arms. It had been a stupid idea coming here right after getting off work. The bakery is so impossibly hot and after getting off his shift all he wanted was to be with Derek. To sit in whatever little room Derek could guarantee was safe and drink whatever cheap crap Derek brings him from downstairs. Just sit and listen to the music filtering in from downstairs.

“Hotchner!”

He freezes-- a deadly mistake.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He knows what happened to Derek. In the hush of the night, laying facing each other in the dark, Derek had told him. Each word a puff of hot air against Aaron’s face, hitting the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. It was supposed to be even, Derek’s intention was to express alikeness. He’d seen the scars, no matter careful Aaron was about the light when he thought things were headed in the direction of nakedness, Derek saw them. He hadn’t said anything that time, run his thumb over the one on Aaron’s chest but kept up his ministrations. Acted as if he didn’t until that moment in bed.

Aaron still hasn’t found the courage to be honest about his own childhood.

Derek comes around the back, half-expecting tonight to go like it always does. Except Aaron hasn’t had any alcohol and he doesn’t come stumbling around the porch to greet Derek from the darkness. There are no stolen kisses or hushed laughter. No Aaron. Derek has half a mind to shout out for him, he couldn’t have gone off far, but then he sees him. Derek sees them. The moonlight shining down casting this awful hue between the houses. He sees Hunter draw his foot back and he can’t hold it back. Won’t let this go on. “Hunter!”

The second that Hunter’s attention is away from him, Aaron slumps to the ground. His blood smeared against the house. He’s still breathing, awful ragged breathes that shoot blood off his lips. He sees Derek in the moonlight, rushing past him. Aaron wishes he wasn’t a coward. Between each blood speckled breathe, he wishes that he wasn’t a coward and had just told Derek. That way he would understand Aaron can take it. He spent his childhood taking beatings for just being alive. At least now it was something coherent. Being beaten for being gay requires at least knowing something about him. His father couldn’t even bother with that.

But Derek doesn’t understand.

Aaron never told him.

He’s pulled down, out of orbit, and back to Earth when Derek squats down beside him, cradles his head in his hands. “Aaron?” he calls out, but Aaron can’t force his eyes to move from the dirt. “Can I--” Derek doesn’t know where to put his hands. If he can put his hands anywhere. “I’m going to-- to lift you, okay?” It’s not a matter of if he’s strong enough. He benches more than his own body weight and that’s significantly more than Aaron’s. He’s just not sure if Aaron’s going to fight him and if Aaron fighting him is good or bad.

“Lean forward,” Derek whispers, cupping the back of Aaron’s head and directing it into his shoulder. He turns, manipulates both their bodies and winces each time, no matter how gentle and calculated his movements are, Aaron still cries out. He still hurts him. “I’m sorry,” becomes his mantra. The only words he can manage out around the tears, the only thing he can get past the thickness in his throat.

Sorry he didn’t stop this sooner.

Sorry that he keeps hurting Aaron.

Sorry they couldn’t be other people. In other places. In another time.

Sorry that it’s all for nothing, that there’s no way this ends well for either of them. They’re going to end up dead or alone but certainly separate.

The second Derek has him in his arms Aaron grips his shirt tightly in one blood-stained hand. He rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, soaking in his warmth. “Home?” he asks, voice breaking.

“We’re going home.”

Aaron wakes up alone in bed.

He’s completely naked, laying with three blankets pulled up over him. One that he recognizes is from the living room. There’s one of Derek’s homemade sock heating pads digging into his sore ribs where he rolled over onto it, he can feel more of them underneath him. He’s been laying here for a while. None of the socks are warm anymore. He’s on Derek’s side of the bed, facing his nightstand, and watches Derek’s blurry alarm clock change time. 1:36 passing to 1:37 to 1:38 just waiting for the fuzzy fingers in his brain to ease up. To allow him to think.

It’s Saturday.

Derek’s off at a football game, not due back for hours. Not until tonight, long after Aaron’s gone to bed.

For an overwhelming moment, his eyes fill with tears, desperation, and solitude creating an awful twist in his stomach. He doesn’t want to be alone. Protectively he draws his knees up, tries to knot himself up, and create a mangled ball. His heart picks up, anxiety increasing as he lays there. He wants Derek. He doesn’t want to be alone.

On the phone’s first rings he curls in tighter, overwhelmed by his own crying that he presses his face into Derek’s pillow and ignores it. He’ll let the machine catch it-- that’s the whole reason Derek bought it. With a sharp end, muffled by the blanket he pulls up over his head, a voice comes through. The machine catching the voice mail.

“Aaron, sweetheart? This is Fran, Derek’s mom? I’m sorry to keep calling sweetie but Derek’s awake now. He’s worried, says you should have woken up by now. I can send Sarah to come get you, Derek told me what happened last night. Please call me back? I hope you’re okay.”

He lays in confused silence, trying to process why Derek’s mother would call him. She calls all the time and occasionally he answers to tell her she’s just missed Derek-- he’s off with friends, at the gym, or at class. They know of one another Derek talks about him to Fran as much as Derek talks about Fran to him. But Fran call him? That’s never happened.

Then he catches it-- “Derek’s awake now”-- and he sits up. Pushed from his mind is the pain, his ribs scream and the blood he can see he’s left on Derek’s pillow. Derek’s awake now. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is is on the football team. An offensive lineman. A guy whose entire job is to protect Derek but now he knows, he has to know.

Derek’s awake now.

He throws himself out of bed, clipping his already sore hip on the nightstand and staggering for the phone. Tears spilling over his face. What happened while he was sleeping? What did Hunter do?

Fran picks up on the first ring. “Aaron, is that you sweetheart?”

He sniffles, rubbing at his nose with his finger. “Yes, ma’am.” He knows she can hear him crying, his choked sobs as he falls in the direction of the closes chair.

“You had me worried sick,” she says and he can hear that unmistakable fondness in her chastising tone. That must be where Derek gets it from. It makes him smile, even if it’s weak. “How are you feeling, baby? Derek told me what happened. I’m sorry. If I see that boy I’ll wring his neck. Give him a piece of my mind for bothering my boys.”

He just nods, despite the fact that she can’t see that. He knows he should answer her question but he has no idea what he feels. Nothing. He feels nothing as he sits here holding his breath as he waits to ask about Derek. To know what happened because of him. “Is Derek okay? What happened?”

Hunter told a few other team members what he saw. Most brushed him off, Hunters a douchebag, and they like Derek. Others just hate Aaron enough for it to matter to them, enough to what to do something. Or, rather, not do anything. It only took one tackle, a limb bent the wrong way under the weight of three boys.

It was Derek’s knee. A career-ending injury.

A scholarship losing injury.

“Can I--” Aaron chokes. He’s afraid of what happens if Fran says no. “Can I see him?”

“Of course you can.”

Aaron turns away Fran’s offer of a car ride but Desirée still shows up.

He answers the door in a sweatshirt and jeans and knows immediately who it is when he opens it up. Desirée just stares at him for a moment, he can feel all of the seventeen-year-old judgment sizing him up. “You look… awful,” she tells him. She lets herself in, walking past Aaron with one more look. “Mom says I can drive but if you want to do it I have to let you.” She puts the car keys on the counter, sighs as she looks around. “Derek says…” she chews her lip, as she sizes him up again.

He wonders how intimidating he could possibly look to her. Hunched over and wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for him.

“Would you teach me how to make bread?”

He can’t help but smile, nods without any hesitation.

“Really?”

Aaron nods, “it’s not that hard. More of a-- a waiting game. You have to give the yeast time to rise.”

Desirée has no idea what that means but she nods, “cool.”

He lets her drive. Mostly because his vision is swimming but because he tosses the keys back to her, a clear okay that she can drive, and she beams at him. She likes him. That’s so weirdly important to him.

She has to wake him up when they get to the hospital. The first thing she tells Fran is that he let her drive and Fran smiles at him, shakes her head, and says “you must have a death wish.”

Aaron blushes under the attention, eyes falling to the floor. He barely manages, “drives just like Derek.”

Fran laughs, nodding her head, “she does. Too heavy on the brakes.” Her smile fades a little when she sees Aaron’s sweatshirt, recognizes it from home. Knows it’s Dereks. “Will you let someone look at that,” she asks, too many of his wounds look deep. Cuts that need stitches and a nasty black eye that she knows he hasn’t iced. She’s reminded a little too quickly that Aaron and Derek are still very much kids. Tricky kids. Too old to be told what to do but still wanting direction.

Aaron nods, shying away again from the attention, but nods.

They leave him when the nurse steps in, doesn’t need to say a word. Fran sees him hesitate to lift his shirt and knows. Derek had managed to tell her most of what happened but the morphine made his speech slur, made him emotional. He’d sobbed, high and in pain. Told her what he’d seen the night before. Hunter hitting and kicking at Aaron, the way Aaron slumped forward. How he’d carried Aaron home. Washed the blood off him with a rag. She knew what was under Aaron’s shirt wasn’t something for them to see.

Derek wakes sometime in the middle of the night. The drugs from the surgery are wearing off and with it his blissful escape from the pain. Licking his dry lips he looks around the room, spotting his sisters and frowning as he tries to find his mother. She’s leaning over another cot, on the other side of the room. He watches her, hears the familiar chorus of Blackbird, and watches her stroke Aaron’s forehead, following the line of the relaxed brow.

It makes him smile, his mother used to sing Whitney Houston to him and his sisters to sleep. He told her about Aaron’s obsession with The Beatles, how of all the records the two of them own that’s the only one Aaron will play. Desiréebought the album, his mother told him a week later. She saved up to get it and was eager for her moment to speak to Aaron about it. To be able to befriend her brother’s boyfriend. That’s about the same time Fran began to hound him about bringing Aaron home, to Chicago. She wanted to meet him.

Fran kisses Aaron’s forehead, waiting another moment just to make sure Aaron’s truly asleep before she stands. “He was having a bad dream,” she tells Derek. In truth, he’d been crying in his sleep. In pain, she could tell, and restless. He’d settled with her there and it made her sad to think that maybe he’d just grown too used to sleeping beside someone else. She’d pulled his blankets closer and sang, just as she did with the other three when they were little. Even when they’re twenty, it still works like a charm.

Fran smiles, tries to soothe Derek’s nerves so he doesn’t worry about Aaron. He’s fine for now, sleeping soundlessly. She sits down on the edge of Derek’s bed, cups his cheek, and asks “how are you feeling?”

Derek just looks over to Aaron, his pale parted lips parted and the bandages holding him together. “Is he okay?” He’d been so scared last night watching Aaron sleep. No amount of Tylenol was doing a thing for his pain. Several times he’d sat up in the night and searched for a pulse, counted the far too many seconds separating each of his breathes. Derek thought Aaron might die right there beside him but he’d been more afraid of what might have happened if they went to the hospital.

Fran sighs, stupid love. It’s cute, she has to admit, but so senseless. “He’s sleeping, he’s okay.” She tries to redirect him, “how do you feel?”

Derek looks back over to Aaron. He looks. There’s more than just those pale lips and the bandages. It’s Aaron. He’s sleeping under multiples blankets and looks like himself. How he always looks when Derek rolls over to face him. He believes his mother, she never lies. “My leg hurts,” he whispers, voice cracking. It’s like the entire thing is pulsing, a continuous stabbing feeling. He cries but not from the pain. They betrayed him. The people he so stupidly thought of as his friends. They hurt him like they’d been hurting Aaron.

He should have known better.

He shouldn’t have been so stupid.

This is his fault.

“Derek?” Aaron sits up, hesitating under the combined attention of Derek and Fran.

Fran stands up, nods Aaron over. “Sit with him,” she offers. “I’ll go get a nurse.”

Aaron nods, still waiting, still hesitating to be where he wants to be. Derek motions him closer, manages to move his body over in the bed. Just enough room for Aaron to squeeze in beside him.

“I don’t think I”m supposed to--”

“Lay down.” Derek can see all the bruises and cuts up close again. He brushes his fingers through the hair above Aaron’s ear, turning his palm to his cheek. Gently tracing the outline of a bandage. “Runaway with me,” he whispers. He thought about it all night long while he watched Aaron sleep. “There’s only four more weeks left of the semester.” Aaron’s smart, he’ll get in anywhere he applies. “We’ll transfer someplace else, anywhere else.”

Aaron frowns, he doesn’t like the idea of this impulsivity. Mostly the number of uncertainties that it creates and the questions. Where will they go? How will they know it’s safe? Are they dropping out? Where will they transfer to? What Aaron can’t get into the college that Derek does?

“Hey,” Derek hushes, he strokes his thumb across Aaron’s cheekbone. “Hey, whatever you’re thinking stop. I’m not leaving, not going anywhere you don’t. We do this together, alright?” He smiles, leans forward, and softly knocks their foreheads together. “Four weeks and all of summer break, okay? That’s plenty of time for a smarty pants like you to figure out where we can go.” It had taken less time for Aaron to conclude Illinois was close enough to home for him to go if something happened to his mother but too far away for her or his brother to come to him.

They’ll figure it out.

“Runaway with me?” he asks one more time.

“Okay.”

[easily-infatuated23]

Hidden Kiss

a/n: this is based on a concept from the 2003 live action peter pan movie and I had so much fun writing this!! if you want this kind of situation with other characters let me know, i’d love to make this like a head cannon or something. I also have some requests i’m working on so don’t worry those are coming!

pairing: Platonic!Harry Potter x Gryffindor!Reader, Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: mentions of death

summary: There is something in the corner of the readers mouth, and it’s powerful

The day had been ordinary. Meals, classes, all as normal as they could be. When Professor Flitwick asked Harry to tutor a fellow student, he thought nothing of it. “Who is it I’ll be tutoring Professor?” Harry asked. “You will be tutoring Y/F/N Y/L/N. You will have access to my class room. She’s agreed to meet you here at 7 o’clock today”. Harry nodded and left the classroom to make his way to his next class. He didn’t know Y/N very well, or really at all. He knew that she was a Gryffindor in his year, and that was all. At dinner he asked Ron and Hermione about her. “Do either of you know Y/F/N Y/L/N very well?” The two shook their heads. “I do”. The three looked over at the voice, it was Neville. “She’s quiet but really nice. She also has the most amazing smile.” The three laughed a little at what they thought was Neville inferring he had a crush on Y/N. “No seriously, if you ask anyone who knows her they all say the same thing. There is something about her smile that makes you want to stare.” With that, Neville went back to his Herbology book. “Thats odd” Harry said. Hermione shrugged. “Speaking of, it’s 6:55 so you’d better get going” Ron said. “Yeah alright. I’ll see you guys later” Harry said. He left the Great Hall and made his way to the Charms classroom. When he got there, Y/N was waiting for him.

“Am I late?” he asked as he entered the room. “Oh no,” she began, looking up from her book “I’m just always early to things”. As Harry approached her, she smiled. Neville was right, she did have an amazing smile…but it was more than that. As the session continued, Harry kept looked at her lips. “Are you ok Harry?” she asked. He pulled his gaze up to meet her eyes. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about something”. “Ok”. She shrugged and smiled again. There was definitely something in the corner of her mouth. Every time he thought he saw it, it disappeared. When the session was over, the two walked back to the Gryffindor common room together. “Thank you for helping me Harry. I’ve been really struggling with this unit for some reason” she said as they climbed through the portrait hole. “My pleasure. Let me know when you want to meet again” he replied. When they walked into the common room, Ron and Hermione were sitting on the couch together in front of the fire. The two greeted Harry and then Y/N. “Do you want to join us for a bit?” Harry asked. She politely declined and left to go study more. “How was it?” Hermione asked. “It was good” Harry replied. “Did what Neville said about her smile hold up?” Ron added. Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Her smile was definitely special but he still wasn’t sure exactly what he saw. He simply chuckled and nodded his head.

As the tutoring sessions continued, and as Harry got to know Y/N better, the thing in the corner of her mouth became more constant. He had also started to notice that nearly anyone who talked to her would glance at her mouth multiple times throughout the conversation, as if they thought they saw something too. It didn’t seem to bother Y/N. Harry wasn’t even sure she noticed it half of the time. He still hadn’t told Ron and Hermione about what he thought he saw. It was bad enough he was seeing and hearing things because of Voldemort, he didn’t want to add another thing to the list. After seeing more and more people stare at her mouth, he finally felt confident enough that he wasn’t the only one seeing something, so he asked them.

“There’s something different about her, have you noticed?” Harry asked. “Well I mean she always wears the same pair of shoes but I don’t think that’s-” “No I don’t mean like that. Have you ever noticed that whenever she smiles or talks or does anything really that there is something in the corner of her mouth?” Hermione and Ron looked at each other. “You mean like food?” Ron asked. Harry sighed in frustration. “No it’s like- there’s something hidden. It’s staring right at me but I can’t figure out what it is”. “Are you sure you aren’t imaging something?” Hermione asked. “No I’m not. Next time you see her look at the left corner of her lips, trust me.” Ron rolled his eyes.

They wouldn’t have to wait too long to look because moments later she entered the common room. “Hey guys, did you happen to write down the due date for the Charms essay? I sort of tuned out the last few minutes of that class accidentally” she said with a chuckle. “Oh yeah it’s due next Tuesday” Hermione replied, trying not to make it obvious that she was staring directly at Y/N’s lips. “Brilliant, thanks Hermione”. She smiled sweetly before turning and ascending the stair case to the girls dormitory. But, before she turned, they saw it. Hidden in the left corner of her lips was…something. It’s hard to describe what it was. “Did you see it? Right when she smiled, it was there” Harry said as he pointed to the left corner of his mouth. Hermione and Ron looked at each other again, this time not to judge Harry for seeing things, but realizing he was right. “It’s almost like an invisible sparkle” Hermione said. “Yeah it sort of draws you in” Ron added. “I’ve never seen or read about anything like that” Hermione said, nudging Ron slightly to break him out of his dreamy haze. “Maybe we should ask Luna, she knows about all sorts of weird things that don’t make sense” Harry proposed. It was decided. Tomorrow, the group would ask Luna if she knew anything about things hidden in the corners of peoples mouths. Harry had to admit, it sounded daft. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it was there.

The next day on their way to breakfast, the trio found Luna. “Hey Luna! Can I ask you about something that seems impossible?” She gave Harry an airy smile. “Nothing is impossible Harry Potter, just uncommon” she replied. Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit. “It’s about Y/N, there’s something in the corner of her mouth and-” Luna stopped him. “Ah yes, her hidden kiss.” “Her what?” Ron asked. “Her hidden kiss. My mother had it too. It’s a special kiss that hides in the corner of your mouth. Only someone incredibly special to the one who has the kiss may receive it. It’s a powerful thing”. With that, she skipped away towards the Great Hall. “A hidden kiss? That sounds bonkers” Ron said. “It does but it also kind of makes sense” Hermione said. “How do you mean?” Harry asked. “Well, remember how Dumbledore said that your mother’s love protects you from You-Know-Who, maybe it’s another form of that. The one who receives the kiss, is protected by that persons love”. As unlikely as it seemed, the trio couldn’t help but feel like this had to be the truth. “We could also just ask her” Harry said. “But, maybe she doesn’t know she has it” Hermione suggested. “This is all a bit too mad this early in the morning, I’m going to go get some sausages” Ron said, making his way towards the Great Hall. Hermione gave Harry a slight smile and followed after Ron. Harry, however, wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more answers and now he had somewhere to start. He decided to go to the library and see if he could find some books on hidden forms of magic. When he got to the library, he flipped through as many as he could before his first class of the day. Nothing. He found nothing.

Once classes ended for the day, he decided to go back. When he entered the library for the second time that day, she was there. “Maybe she doesn’t know she has it” Hermione’s voice chimed into Harry’s head. He shook her voice away and decided to walk up and ask her. “Hey Y/N”. She looked up from her book and smiled at him. The hidden kiss sparkled. “Hi Harry. What brings you to the library for a second time today? If you keep this up, people will think you are up to something” she said jokingly. “How did you know I came to the library already today?” “You didn’t come to breakfast. Luna said you went to the library to look up hidden magic. It’s a very interesting topic” she replied. This was his chance. “Do you know much about it?” he asked, sitting down next to her. “I know a little. I know it usually occurs by accident and can sometimes be passed down or remain present through blood” she said, looking back down at her book. “Was there something in particular you were looking for?” He swallowed. It was now or never. “Yeah um… have you ever heard of a hidden kiss?” She blushed and then closed her book. “I see you’ve discovered my little secret. Although, I guess when it literally stares people in the face it’s not a secret”. He chuckled. “Yeah it’s a bit hard to hide. Luna told me a little about it but what exactly is it?” he asked. “Well, a hidden kiss isn’t necessarily magic in origin. I know some muggles who have it. It’s a special kiss that’s reserved for the one the bearer of the kiss loves the most or for an important moment.” “What do you mean by important moment?” She sighed. “Well, for example say someone you love is dying or has just died. If you give them your hidden kiss, it can revive them and bring them back to you. Even if you don’t have romantic feelings for someone, the kiss will still work if you feel a great amount of love for them”. “How did you get yours?” Harry asked. “I’m not sure. I was orphaned as a baby and and when I was brought to the orphanage I already had it. I’m guessing my mother gave it to me but I don’t think I’ll ever know.” She looked down at the desk and fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…but I understand” Harry said. She looked up at him and smiled slightly. “I know. Let’s just keep this and the kiss our little secret.” He nodded. “Do you want to come back to the common room and hang out with me Ron and Hermione?” he asked, feeling badly that he had made her sad. “Yeah, I’d like that” she said.

When the two entered the common room, there were eruptions of laughter. Fred and George Weasley were telling jokes and simply being themselves; and the whole room was cracking up. “I guess we’re late to the party” Harry joked. “Harry!” the twins said in synch. “And you’ve brought a new friend. Who’s this?” Fred asked. “Fred, this is Y/N”. “Nice to meet you” she said with a bright smile. Fred froze. Her smile was something out of this world. Harry and Y/N made eye contact and laughed. Harry walked away, patting Fred on the back as he went. Y/N laughed again. Fred still hadn’t moved. He was just staring at her. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Hello? Earth to Fred…” He snapped out of his daze. “Oh sorry, hi there it’s nice to meet you. Come join us” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the couches where most of her year was gathered. The group was very lively. Everyone was talking and laughing, but Fred couldn’t focus on them. He only saw her. It was like everyone else had disappeared and there was only the two of them. She hadn’t noticed his staring. She was telling a story about the time she thought she was feeding a stray cat that turned out to be McGonagall. She had never been this out going before, but she loved it.

The group started to thin as people left to go to bed until there was only Y/N, Fred, George, and Harry left downstairs. Harry was saying something to Y/N about Charms class for tomorrow when Fred whispered in George’s ear. “Hey can you take Harry and go upstairs. I want to talk to Y/N alone for a bit” he said. “Yeah sure, so long as you can actually get yourself to speak! I saw you earlier, that was embarrassing” George joked. Fred pushed him slightly as George got up. “Alright Harry, come on. Even the chosen one has to sleep” George said. “Oh shut up George! See you tomorrow Y/N” he said, getting up from the floor. “Night George, night Harry” she said. The two boys climbed the stairs and left Fred alone with Y/N. “You were quite popular tonight” Fred said, scooting closer to her. “I know right, it was so weird. I don’t think half of those people even knew I existed until tonight. I had a lot of fun though.” She smiled at him. Before he could think it through, he found himself reaching out and touching her face. Specifically, he grazed his thumb over the left corner of her lips. She held her breath. “Oh sorry, I don’t know why I did that” he said, retracting his hand. “You would be surprised how much that happens or almost happens to me” she said. He smiled slightly, not feeling as self conscious about his actions. “Maybe they can’t help themselves because you are so beautiful” he said. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. “I have to ask-” he started. She chuckled and shook her head. “Yes there is something in the corner of my mouth. I’ll tell you what it is someday.” She cupped Fred’s face with one hand and placed a light kiss on his cheek. She stood up from the couch and made her way to the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and turned back to face Fred’s blushing face. “Goodnight Fred”. Fred turned back to face the fire and smiled. There was something different about this girl. Something that drew him in and made him feel like everything would be alright.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N got closer to the Weasley twins, Fred especially. What had previously been a chaotic duo, became a slightly less chaotic trio. Y/N balanced Fred and George out perfectly. She liked to follow rules and managed to use her good standing with the Professor’s to get the two out of trouble multiple times. Fred and George managed to get Y/N to let loose and have more fun. “I wish we had all become friends sooner, I feel like I am finally the best version of myself and it’s all thanks to you guys” she said one day, pulling them in for a hug. “We love our little stick in the mud” Fred joked. She scoffed and laughed as she pushed him. “How dare you I am not a stick in the mud, George back me up here!” she said. “This is between you two, I’m getting out of here before it gets ugly” he joked, walking away. “There’s only one way for you to prove you aren’t a stick in the mud any more.” Fred said, taking a step closer to her. “Oh yeah and what’s that?” she asked, matching his step. “You agree to go on a date with me where we forget about rules and do whatever we want”. Her jaw dropped and she pretended to look around in awe at a fake audience. “Oh my goodness did the Fred Weasley just ask me on a date?” she joked. “Yes he did” Fred replied, taking another step closer to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Then I accept” she said. One date turned into two, turned into five, turned into a loving relationship still going strong two years later. Y/N was certain that Fred was the person she would spend the rest of her life with.

As the inevitability of a war crept up on the wizarding world, Fred and Y/N felt like their relationship was the only thing that was stable. With Snape as Headmaster of Hogwarts and Fred not there with her, Y/N felt hopeless most days. That is, until, the day Harry Potter returned. When the trio climbed out of the portrait hole behind Neville, Y/N could barely contain her happiness. This was something to hold onto. This happiness only grew when McGonagall got rid of Snape, and the Order of the Phoenix entered the Great Hall. As soon as they could, Fred and Y/N ran to each other and embraced. Fred held her so tightly she thought she might pass out, but it would be worth it. To have the man she loved back by her side was all she wanted. This reunion was cut short however, preparations had to be made and a war had to be fought. Y/N fought harder than she ever had. The battle was brutal. When the break in the fighting came, she ran to the Great Hall to find Fred. And find him she did, lying dead on a stretcher.

When George saw her approach, he ran to her and hugged her close. “He’s gone Y/N, what are we going to do?” he sobbed. She knew what she was going to do. She pulled herself out of the hug and ran towards Fred’s body. “Everybody stand back” she said as she lowered herself down next to him. “Darling I’m sorry but he’s gone, there’s nothing we can do” Molly Weasley said, tears streaming down her face. She looked up at her. “Trust me” she said. Y/N turned back to Fred and whispered in his ear. “This is, and always will be yours”. She then pressed her hidden kiss to his lips, giving him all the power she could muster. Everyone couldn’t believe what happened next.Their lips, still locked together, began to glow slightly. The wind outside the Great Hall picked up suddenly. Everyone was looking around trying to figure out what was causing this. She pulled away slowly and laid on his chest holding him as closely as she could, her eyes squeezed shut. The wind whooshed into the room and began to swirl around Fred. It was so forceful people had to hold onto each other to stop from blowing away. Fred’s colorless skin began to turn pink. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind disappeared. Everyone held their breath. “Come back” Y/N whispered. Then, she felt a small rise from his chest. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, staring at Fred. His eyes fluttered open. “Hello love, miss me?” he said. She exhaled happily and hugged him closely as he sat up a bit. The family was amazed. They rushed in and all hugged Fred, crying now of joy and not sadness. “What was that?” Ron asked from the hug. “That, was her hidden kiss” Harry replied knowingly.