#(obviously killing and experimenting on thousands of people is fucked up and wrong but his actual opinions arent even that unreasonable)

[commanders-quarters]

⚡️aren't a lot of the traits you hate inkfish for also traits that humanity once had? why do you hate one for those traits, but revere the other despite them?

Its left lens creaks as it hovers slightly more northwards. Its right lens clumsily follows suit until it's pointed towards the ceiling. Then, both of them swerve in a downwards circle until they reach the bottom of the bells, swinging aimlessly for a few seconds before eventually correcting themselves. Rolled eyes. He just rolled his eyes at you. How much effort did that take?

"You are attempting to accuse me of hypocrisy. This is near-sighted and predictable of you. My professor created me and gave me a specific purpose: to pass down humanity's knowledge onto the next race and ensure that they did not repeat humanity's mistakes. Inklings are a privileged species that, in many ways, border on being a caricature of the humans who walked the earth beforehand. Mostly the Americans, if I had to call out a specific nationality. They are hedonistic by nature, they contribute very little to the whole of society, they always prioritize play over work as even their forms of 'work' are still a manner of play, they have next to no survival instincts, they rarely pursue their studies at school and instead prefer to engage in heaps of extracurricular activities, they discriminate against the Octarians over trivial differences and a petty war, they have a sport centered around said war, the NSS recruits juveniles that they can feed their anti-Octarian propaganda to, they care more about the next fashion catalog rather than attempting to improve the environment, they treat Salmonids like literal animals due only to a language barrier and cultural differences-- I could go on. I really could."

Criticisms of the Inklings took an overwhelming priority; it almost forgot to address Octolings entirely.

"Octolings are a bit too heavily militaristic, and they enlist prepubescent children in military training. Their society is extremely stifling on its youths and many of the soldiers I have seen are emotionally constipated or otherwise stunted in some form. You can tell they are utterly miserable, because all it takes is a song from some Inkling pop idols to make thousands of them defect from the army. Apparently. But they have excellent technological growth, and their species is generally more intelligent and disciplined than Inklings. Both species have glaring flaws that make them highly susceptible to repeating humanity's mistakes, which I do not want, but Octolings are more reliable and have greater potential, therefore I use an excess of them for my operations."

Some of its loose wires droop wearily as its linguistic programs simmer down from the prolonged period of impassioned ranting.

"I admire humans and what they achieved. Yes. But I am not oblivious to their flaws. I was specifically created to prevent their flaws and mistakes from being repeated. Inklings might as well be an overblown representation of what made humans so foolish and reckless. I absolutely detest Inklings. Octarians are creatures I pity. Their species is also decidedly beyond saving for as long as Inklings are in the picture and continue to influence them. Since neither species seems worthy of humanity's knowledge, I am taking it upon myself to start the landscape anew with humanity's second-coming." it concluded.

[samglyph]

Good morning. Season 4 finale.

Holy smokes gang. What an episode. I absolutely loved it. I think it took a little bit for me to become really invested despite the in medias res thing we had going on, but once that action started I was in it. The visuals this episode were great, I especially liked the description of the mollusk mask on the viziers face. I also was quite pleased about the little reference to hastur being the peacock king that’s fun.

I know a lot of people are sad about the butcher. I am not because as soon as he showed up again I figured he would be one of the casualties of the episode, and narratively I like that it was Kayne who did it as opposed to Larson or an unnamed cultist or alien, especially considering I had a theory that Kayne was connected to the music in his head and the powers he had. I did love the twist of him being on our side though I actually audibly reacted to that. It surprised me but made sense in the perfect way. It also makes perfect sense to not include that scene, but I am excited to see some of the fan work that comes out of that missing piece. I’m AMAZED that Charlie managed to make it out alive, but then again he might be bleeding out on a street in Spain right now. Oh well. No body no death so I’m counting him as still kicking.

Speaking of Charlie, I loved the scene where John was forced to come clean. I liked how it twisted the previous scene of Arthur speaking for John and John finally being heard by someone else and feeling so so happy, to now be forced into a position where that newfound relationship is potentially going to be destroyed because he no longer has the option of privacy. Wild.

Of all the scenes with yellow, predictably Arthur’s confrontation and apology was my favorite. He’d already admitted fault in a previous episode but this I think is where it really hit home. And in other lines, while Yellow remained adamant that he didn’t care, you could tell that he genuinely did want to understand the connection between Arthur and John, and wanted to understand why he couldn’t experience the same thing. Most tragic fragment of a nightmare king. I hope you have fun flaying Larson alive for the next couple thousand years. Also why was Larson so flirty this episode dude he killed your son stop whispering in his ear like that.

And then of course, we get to Kayne. Kayne Kayne Kayne Kayne. Glad we got confirmation that Kayne isn’t/it doesn’t matter if he’s nyarlthotep because while have a fondness for the crawling chaos and Call of Cthulhu mythos, I actually like when things are separate from that. Plus I think it makes him scarier if he can’t quantify his existence. Holding out his bloody hand for Arthur to take and Arthur choosing to go with him willingly obviously paralleling his denial of Larson earlier in the episode. I also liked his takedown of Larson a lot. Fuck that guy.

Anyway @everyone who questioned why I draw Kayne covered in blood in every scene even when he’s not fresh off a carcosan murder spree how does it feel to be wrong.

[sincerelyhannahx]

reading 'a curse for true love' for the first time

'caraval' was my favourite fantasy series until i read 'once upon a broken heart' and i have been WAITING for the waterstones edition paperback of 'a curse for true love' to come out for over a year (its got to match the rest of my set - the reader girlies get it) AND NOW I FINALLY HAVE IT!!! and i always wish i could read my favourite books for the first time again so this might help me relive this experience.

this goes without saying but there will be spoilers for 'a curse for true love' by stephanie garber up ahead (albeit without context) so just a heads-up for that.

my first time reading 'ouabh' and 'tbona' i was like apollo, you're a bitch. my second time reading 'ouabh' and 'tbona' i was like apollo, you're less of a bitch. so now i'm going into this one very conflicted. obviously erasing eva's memories is a big no but i don't think it was out of malice... although i'm expecting to be proven wrong.

why do i feel like martine is marisol? or someone else relevant. i'm going to be second guessing everyone because they could literally just lie and i'd have no idea.

SHE'S SEVENTEEN??? i knew that but jesus christ she is a child.

omg a new gentleman??? JACKS??? nvm its kristof. i got excited for nothing. where's jacks? i miss him.

OMFG SHE'S REMEMBERING THE CLIFF JUMP FROM 'TBONA' AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH that's so valid i think about it all the time too bestie.

wait apollo pov??? OHHHHMYYYYGOODDDDDDD!!!!!!

this is interesting character development for apollo i like it. i like that his 'death' changed him and we're not just back to square one.

lmaoooo ofc luc ran away.

oh shit yeah the valors are back. why did i assume they'd just be sat in the vault the whole time? obviously they're going to be up and about doing things.

GET PREGNANT WITH AN HEIR??? 1) let's circle back to the fact she is SEVENTEEN??? 2) then let's circle back to the fact SHE DOES NOT REMEMBER THIS MAN, that's literally sexual assault no thanks let's not do that.

wait tiberius gave him the scars? that's odd. why? give me the reasoning.

what has this wanted poster done to jacks' face??? just say you're jealous and move on.

EVANGELINE FOX AND THE PRINCE OF HEARTS!!! this is the one you want to be reading eva.

garrick you bitch.

noooooooo the engagement is over??? i mean i know it was inevitable but sorry for wanting my girl lala to be happy.

ooh what's this scroll?

'please come!' OMG IS THIS LALA??? SHE WAS DESCRIBED WITH SILVER HAIR BEFORE??? LALA IS THIS YOU??? i'm clowning so hard rn.

SOMEONE PUSHED HER??? wait why do i actually not know who. like who's the villain? there's apollo but he genuinely cares for eva... even if he's going about it in all the wrong ways. wait is this him to be like 'told you its not safe'? omg istg if it is.

awww wait this is like the story of how her parents met. that's cute.

jacks??? JACKS??? JACKS!!! sorry but who tf is evangeline i only know little fox.

omg memories from the hollow i'm going to cry.

NAHHHHH SHUT THE FUCK UP - WE GET A JACKS POV??? HOLD UP I NEED TO DO A LAP AROUND MY ROOM OMG!!! stephanie garber i love you.

jacks you're so down bad i'm laughing out loud.

'you can call me archer' OH WE ARE SO BACK ALEXA PLAY THE ARCHER.

'or i'll toss you off this bridge' help you can't lie anymore jacks i see right through you and your empty threats. you won't do shit.

okay but why is he training her? who's trying to kill her? or is he just paranoid? well obviously not if someone pushed her down a well. and this wouldn't be the first time she'd died. but even so give me names. tiberius? marisol? luc?

THE KNIFE!!! that whole scene was crazy but THE KNIFE!!!

... wait he's twenty? but evangeline's seventeen. what age are you considered an adult in the north? please help. (i know jacks is like a thousand or whatever but that's different.)

OMG IT WAS APOLLO THAT PUSHED HER!!! not him specifically BUT STILL HIM!!! THAT BASTARD!!! AND HE'S TORTURING INNOCENT PEOPLE TO TAKE THE BLAME??? nah fuck this guy this ain't protective this is batshit insane.

okay nvm i think martine is just a maid. she's probably not marisol.

wait if she goes to the hollow will her memories come back because curses don't work there? idk if its a memory curse but that could be a shout... or i just want an excuse to go to the hollow again.

i thought i wasn't going to like aurora but ykw she's a girlie™

is the employer apollo? i know he arranged for her to be pushed down a well but this seems a bit dramatic. like is he okay?

shit the fortunas are gone that's big. OMG THIS WAS CHAOS WASN'T IT? or castor now ig. BUT HE WAS THE MONSTER FROM THE VALORY and its also strange we haven't seen him yet.

NVM APOLLO IS A CONFIRMED PSYCHOPATH - SERIOUSLY IS HE OKAY?

no don't kiss him eva; he's just stabbed a child.

I KNEW IT WAS CASTOR which probably wasn't too hard to figure out but i'm giving myself credit where i can.

so i'm going to need jacks to become human again by the end of this or i don't know what i'm going to do. give my man his humanity back.

TRUSTING BYRON OVER AURORA??? yeah sorry eva we're not agreeing on this one. girl code says never trust a guy over a girl.

THIS IS WHAT I SAID NEVER TRUST A MAN FOR FUCKS SAKE. wait petra. oh well this has just got more interesting.

oh eva :(

JACKS!! FRIENDS DON'T STAB EACH OTHER!! although realistically chaos should have died long ago so that's just the universe righting itself. although by that logic evangeline should also be dead. but if chaos died when he was supposed to then she wouldn't have died so the universe owes her one.

oh nvm he's not dead.

'I AM A MONSTER BUT I'M YOUR MONSTER, EVANGELINE' EVERYBODY SHUT UP I'M GOING TO START CRYING AGAIN.

THEY'RE BACK IN THE HOLLOW I AM WEEPING.

'ONE BED' I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY TO SEE TWO WORDS IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!!! well maybe except for little fox. BUT EVAJACKS ONE BED TROPE THIS IS EVERYTHING I'VE EVER WANTED!!!

are his eyes bloodshot because he cries blood? don't do this to me stephanie garber i'm fragile.

SHE REMEMBERS AAHHHHH OKAY ITS HAPPENING THIS IS NOT A DRILL THIS IS NOT A DRILL THIS IS THE REAL THING PEOPLE BRACE YOURSELVES wait where did jacks go?

I AM AN AURORA VALOR STAN I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS!

nvm the whole thing was aurora's fault. although ykw i don't even care, that's just gaslight gatekeep girlboss behaviour.

apollo. you and me are going to have words. you need a serious reality check.

LALA I HAVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH THE BESTIES ARE BACK TOGETHER!!! eva, lala, aurora - girlie trio that's all i want.

'what's the point of having friends if they're not there to support your bad decisions?' after drinking way too much wine - they are so girlhood.

NOPE DON'T TRUST HIM THIS ISN'T JACKS WHEN HAS HE EVER USED THE NAME 'PET'. wait no no no no no no this is apollo. this must be what aurora gave him to make evangeline love him. HE'S PRETENDING TO BE JACKS!!!

nvm its not apollo. BUT IT STILL ISN'T JACKS.

aurora valor i love you so much.

the way aurora is the villain now and i still can't bring myself to hate her.

AURORA PUT THE ARCHER'S CURSE ON JACKS DIDN'T SHE?

ohhh wait dane is dane valor. i thought the brother of aurora's that lala was in love with was castor. why are there so many valors i can't remember them all i was like who the hell is dane? but then why was there such a vibe between lala and castor...

see aurora isn't entirely evil (but even if she was, i'd still support her).

"ONLY A GIRL WHO WILL NEVER LOVE JACKS CAN SURVIVE THE KISS" that's so funny go donatella you absolute legend.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"YOU WERE DYING" "NO I JUST FORGOT HOW TO BREATHE" OOOOOOHHHHHHHMYYYYYGGOOOODODDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

omg apollo can you actually go away. like i'm over this now.

'it is. its taking you.' AHAHAHA OMG GET FUCKED APOLLO

its over. i'm not ready. stephanie garber please write a fourth one. i don't need a plot or any conflict. a sitcom-esque fourth book with domestic evajacks. please. that's all i need. i'm so empty without it.

[cometconmain]

Just gonna point out here (targeted in the direction of anyone calling the CEO shooter a terrorist) that this constant slapping of 'terrorism' on shit that isn't by people in power who want to delegitimise acts of measured violence against specific people in power who actively caused the suffering and death this was about are making people stop treating that term seriously and I think that's a really big problem.

Nobody else died. Whoever did definitely kill the CEO didn't blow up an entire building to get to one guy. He didn't do a mass shooting of the building to get to the one guy. He didn't target random civillians and hold them hostage and sexually assault and slaughter them while planning killing as many people as possible regardless of what they've done or not done as individuals. He didn't attack a concert to get one guy. His only political statement with the murder was 'these people have been murdering us in the tens of thousands for decades and it's time they understood we've had enough through the only language they seem to understand because they ignored us when we were talking peacefully and went on killing us anyway because due process was never going to stop them when they have the game rigged in their favour.' And he made sure only the person responsible for these acts of horrific fatal negligence against innocent people was the one who died and no one else. That's not terrorism. At most it's assassination and we can argue about whether or not that's a helpful mindset to be accepting in the long term as much as people like but for fuck's sake people HAVE TO STOP labelling shit terrorism that isn't. It's watering the term down and people who are rightfully angry at being shut down at every turn when they do things that can't be swept under the rug (which applies to all kinds of non-fatal activism so don't come at me on that) are starting to ignore actual terrorism when it happens because their experience is that anyone using that word is just trying to remove the last shred of power a group has to stand up to their oppressors.

Do we have to just also make sure we consciously don't let ourselves redefine that term in either direction? Yes. But it's a two way street and everyone else misusing that word in the first place need to meet us in the middle in not waving it around slapping anyone and any activism they're made uncomfortable by like it's a wet noodle regardless of what the people they're slapping are ACTUALLY doing or not doing.

If we decide terrorism is bad (and obviously actual terrorism genuinely is!!), and then decide anything involving any form of violent resistance in the face of increasingly violent oppression is now terrorism, what kind of message do we send to all the people who are basically being told they're not allowed to resist that oppression now even if the situation isn't changing enough from the peaceful measures because every time they come with an olive branch they're met by a policeman/soldier's baton/tear gas/taser or even bullet?

The longer we go without listening to people when they ARE talking, and shutting down all other avenues to reach change except for the violence we also condemn as blanketly wrong regardless of circumstance, the more enraged and violent those people will get. It's basic psychology and easy enough for people not experiencing that inescapable oppression to say kindergarten level shit like 'violence is bad; killing is wrong.' If someone tries to kill you in the street and necessary escalation to stop them results in their dying, is that wrong? But they were trying to kill you. Were you supposed to limit yourself and increase your chances of death because they had a family? What about your family?

There have to be nuances to this because the world is more complicated than the play room where all the toddlers who can't handle that nuance are. Little Tommy isn't stopping little Johnny from talking to him because he doesn't have that kind of power. An adult can step in and resolve the child-level issue and make Tommy listen to Johnny and teach them to handle conflict peacefully and respectfully.

That doesn't apply to the adult-level capitalist world where money over millions of people's lives is the norm and intricately rigged and enforced so it never changes through peaceful resolution (we can keep chipping away and we do make things more bearable than the rich people want to give us, but it's a constant and exhausting battle while in the meantime everyone we love is either dead, dying or at risk of dying around us every day this goes without being properly fixed). In a world where a homeless man can be murdered in cold blood on a subway train after the attack stopped, but a CEO who has killed a horrific number of people in cold blood himself gets shot and his killer made an example of to the angry populace who see this discrepancy and understand that the powerful are only trying to maintain their status quo, there is only so much saying "Please pretty please stop killing us. We're human beings. We've justified to you over and over again why what you're doing is wrong and you still kill us with no consequences and no end in sight but maybe if we just keep talking and expecting a different result it'll happen" can do to stop the status quo that is constantly being propped up by corporate and governmental interests.

No one actually wants to be in a civil war. Most of us don't want to kill people. Bringing the rich and powerful who have killed so many to justice through due process and a proper trial is always going to be better and healthier for our society than walking up to them and shooting them.

But if you give people no other choice because you will never see that proper trial by your own design...

What else are those suffering and dying meant to do? Just keep suffering and dying quietly? Accept this constant violence toward them only to have their desperate violence called unacceptable and wrong and terrorism while yours is quietly swept under the rug?

Never target innocents. Never try to wipe out an entire group of people for the actions of a few. That IS terrorism and unjust and unacceptable because it's unnecessary force against random innocent people. But if the few who are doing those horrific actions aren't being stopped by normal societal methods of dealing with them peacefully and they continue shutting down every avenue you try to take to make them face justice non-violently and you actively make sure only to target them that's not terrorism. That's being pushed to the brink and finally breaking the way everyone will eventually under that type of oppressive violence and then making sure only the people actually committing that violence against you receive violence in return. That's self defence.

This literally is the only course left in a truly dystopian system where there truly is no end in sight except through making it clear people can't take it anymore, because they don't let people express that peacefully either. What else are those people supposed to do when you will never go to trial and ALSO refuse to let due process and proper trials happen to those you want silenced?

Terrorism stopped sounding like a bad thing to us when people made it mean anything they didn't like. And that's seriously fucked up because actual terrorism where people are targeted indiscriminately for a political or religious statement really is wrong and fucked up and unnecessary and has to stop. It's never necessary to do that even if it's about fighting the status quo and increasingly violent oppression. You can do that without killing or even risking innocents. The guy who shot the CEO proved that. There's a middle line to walk here and we have to make sure we don't let people flopping labels around like wet noodles make us think that terrorism is just ok now because it's been applied so frequently to defence of the public both violent and peaceful in a system where they shut down all other methods of change they would have to listen to otherwise.

And the people treating it like a wet noodle only to go on to committing acts of violence and aggression to terrorise the public with no repercussions themselves have to stop doing all of that and all the shit this is about in the first place. We know what the authorities are doing with this public spectacle and all it's doing is making people angrier and happier to commit more violence. This is how you get more and actual terrorism, not less of it, because people with less care for those nuances are going to see you doing this shit and decide that makes it necessary to expand the crosshairs. (Again, people need to know the difference and choose not to do that; but you know these assholes will jump on that the second it happens to lend credence to their decrying of genuinely necessary and properly measured violence against them to stop their constant unrelenting oppressive violence against everyone else. And then all the bootlickers who have not yet experienced the leopards eating their faces will tut tut and decry everything too in support of the leopards all while those leopards are eyeing up their faces next.)

Honestly I'm pretty sure the Redcoats would have called the Americans fighting for their freedom 'terrorists' during the American Revolution if that had been something they could use to delegitimise the Americans' cause in the public eye. It would be interesting to see what they did say instead because it's unfortunately a very effective tactic people in oppressive power over others use all the time now. I wonder if people used to fall for it as badly back then too as they do in the modern era.

"I’m very concerned about my client’s right to a fair trial in this case.  He’s being prejudiced by some statements that are being made by government officials. Like every other defendant, he’s entitled to a presumption of innocence. But unfortunately the way this has been handled so far his rights are being violated. And as you know, Your Honor, there’s a wealth of case law guaranteeing his rights to a fair trial, but none of the safeguards have been put in place yet here — in fact it’s just the opposite of what’s been happening. 

He’s a young man, and he is being treated like a human pingpong ball between two warring jurisdictions here.

These federal and state prosecutors are coordinating with one another at the expense of him. They have conflicting theories in their indictment, and they are literally treating him like he is some sort of political fodder, like some sort of spectacle. 

He was on display for everyone to see in the biggest staged perp walk I’ve ever seen in my career. It was absolutely unnecessary. He’s been cooperative with law enforcement. He’d been in custody for over a week. He waived extradition. He was cooperative at all accounts. There was no reason for the NYPD and everybody to have these big assault rifles — that frankly I had no idea it was in their arsenal — and to have all the press there the media there. It was perfectly choreographed. 

And what was the New York City Mayor doing at this press conference, Your Honor? That just made it utterly political. And as your honor knows under Loro v. Charles, the Court of Appeals for the 2nd Circuit has held it to be clearly established that these staged perp walks to the media unrelated to a legitimate law enforcement objective is unconstitutional. And I submit that there was zero law enforcement objective to do that sort of perp walk. There’s absolutely no need for that whatsoever. 

And frankly, Your Honor, the mayor should know more than anyone about the presumption of innocence that he, too, is afforded dealing with his own issues. And, frankly, I submit that he was just trying to detract from those issues by making a spectacle of Mr. Mangione. 

And there are consequences to this. 

He has a right to a fair trial. And I just want to put on the record statements that the mayor made publicly about my client. Nothing saying “alleged” for example. And he said “I wanted to send a strong message with the police commissioner that we’re leading from the front. I’m not just going to allow him to come into our city. I wanted to look him in the eye and state ‘You carried out this terrorist act in my city, the city of New York that I love.’” And he wanted to show symbolism. 

Your Honor, he’s not a symbol. He’s somebody who is afforded the right to a fair trial. He’s innocent until proven guilty. And the mayor was talking to jurors — future potential jurors that elected him. Those are the people that elected him that he is talking to and calling this man a terrorist.

So, Your Honor, I just want to make a record of this and put everyone on notice that this has to stop, and my client is entitled to a fair trial and the presumption of innocence."

[amethystroselily]

I reread chapter 4 of bsd, and I noticed the reason that Akutagawa slapped Higuchi is because she tried to kill Atsushi despite the fact that the orders were to take him alive. And I was like that kind of makes him a hypocrite bc he tries to kill him like five seconds later, but then I noticed the reason he even attempted to kill Atsushi is because he was about to attack Higuchi. And I think that’s kind of interesting. (I somehow never noticed either of those things before, despite having watched/read that scene at least seven times before. Idk.)

Anyways I originally didn’t have anything else to really say about that, but that’s very much a reflection of his relationship with Dazai isn’t it? Because that’s the thing that pissed Dazai off in the dark era. Killing people instead of keeping them alive when that would be more profitable.

Also I do think Akutagawa cares about Higuchi to some extent. He’s harsh with her but he also protects her. I wonder if that’s how he views his own relationship with Dazai. Dazai waged near constant psychological warfare against him, but he also took him off the streets and gave him a job and a reason to live. And also probably gave him and his sister protection in the mafia. A level of safety they’d never otherwise have. As long as he was useful nothing bad would happen to them. And as horribly as he was treated I think he’s grateful for that. And he tries to show that same kindness to the people in his care. He wants them to be stronger, he wants them to be able to fend for themselves and have a reason to keep living. Higuchi is thankful (albeit probably for a different reason than Akutagawa himself was), and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to Kyouka.

*insert Kyouka interlude which ended up longer than I expected and kind of throws the pacing of this post off*

(The reason it was so horrible for Kyouka but an improvement for Akutagawa is probably because she came from a happy family with parents who loved her more than anything and then witnessed them die and was taken in by a group of people who treated her horribly and forced her to kill, whereas Akutagawa grew up starving on the streets, all of the adults he interacted with were hostile, and he already had to kill to survive. When he entered the mafia, he was offered money, and food, and shelter, and protection. All sorts of base needs and comforts he’d never really had before.

Also Dazai is smarter and more self aware than Akutagawa and a lot better at manipulation, so he realizes different people react differently to things depending on their experiences. And i think that’s the problem, Akutagawa is using manipulation tactics without fully understanding how they work (or maybe even that it is manipulation honestly? Like obviously he knows, but he doesn’t know, you know?) or when to use them. He’s kind of just copying Dazai. Because sometimes he’s just straight up quoting Dazai when he says horrible shit to people. I think Dazai and Akutagawa both thought that this was for the best, but Dazai’s actions were tailored for specifically Akutagawa to get him to do specific things. Whereas Akutagawa just kind of sees it as “this worked for me, it should work for her”. Also he just doesn’t doesn’t have some grand secret thousand step plan set out for her like Dazai has for him. I think they both see the abuse as ultimately helpful, but Dazai in a much more round about way. (Kind of like the headmaster, but instead of wanting Akutagawa to hate him he still needs him to cling onto him because Dazai still has plans he needs to use Akutagawa for, so can’t really let him off the hook). (Of course they’re both wrong, it’s an objectively fucked up thing to do to a person, they’re both selfish and probably taking out their own self hatred out on some random kid they decided to project onto to some extent, and Akutagawa’s a little delusional, but I’m not here to debate the morality of their actions bc that gets so repetitive and I think I stopped caring like three years ago, and it’s kind of besides the point of this post.)

*Done*

ANYWAYS, back to Higuchi. Despite how harsh Akutagawa is with her, I do think he’s showing her care as his subordinate. He goes against orders to protect her (also, I’m pretty sure the reason he killed those people Dazai was mad about in the dark era was bc he was protecting his coworkers, and I think that’s really interesting) and he thanks her when she returns the favor when he gets kidnapped even though you wouldn’t think he’d be the type to do so. While I don’t think he’ll ever return her romantic affections, he doesn’t hate her, and honestly she might be one of the people he cares about most, considering the pool of people he cares about is seemingly so small. He’s terrible to her, but he probably wants the best for her on some level.

I wonder if Dazai views their relationship the same way. Or if he’s treating her the way he wishes Dazai treated him. (Bc I don’t think Akutagawa saw the harsh treatment as that bad (it’s the mafia), I think he just wishes he’d toned it down slightly.) Because I could see it either way. Like, Dazai probably really did offer him protection within the mafia. But he was probably on his own when it came to enemies. But then again, Dazai was probably still watching out for him to some extent.

It’s makes me wonder if both pairs ever had good moments. Like calm moments that weren’t violent. Because considering just how hung up they are on people who treat them poorly, there must be some reason for them to long for a good relationship with that person. I suppose for Higuchi it’s those little moments of gratitude and protection, and for Akutagawa it really might just be the promise Dazai made him when they first met. But like, Dazai was probably semi-nice to him on occasion. Because Akutagawa doesn’t seem to hate him. Not really. He definitely resents him. But I also think he might miss him a little.

Anyways I have no idea where I meant to go with this.

[slasherscream]

Hi I don’t know if you write for Thomas Hewitt or Vincent Sinclair but if you do you could you please make some headcanons about them and the other slashers like if they got into a fight with their s/o and how it would go, what it would be about, and how they would make up with their s/o please? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to. But if you do then thank you so much!

fighting with the slashers 

A/N: i do write for vincent (on a related note i also write for bo and maybe lester i haven’t tried him out yet)!

vincent sinclair 

You didn’t stay put when Vincent told you to and you got hurt. 

You hadn’t planned to leave. Until the sun started to go down and no one came back to the house to check up on you the way they so often do when there are visitors in town.

You are Ambrose’s second best kept secret. Alive because Vincent took one look at you and couldn’t bare to hurt you. And though Bo gripes about you he couldn’t tell Vincent no. Not when Bo saw the way Vincent held you behind him, head lowered but shoulders set, ready to actually fight him on something for once in their lives. 

So you’re kept in the house when there are people around. Other than not being able to leave it’s your only real rule. Vincent wants you to have no part in the more grisly aspects of the town and Bo and Lester honor his wish.

But the town is dead silent and no one has come to check on you. Most times Lester even comes to stay with you like some sort of babysitter. It used to irritate you, despite your fondness for the youngest brother. Now without him there your hands shake, and your eyes wander, and your ears burn as if pumping extra blood there will make you hear better. But there’s nothing to be heard. No screams. No cries. No Bo shouting. No guns going off. 

So you leave the house, searching for one of them. Instead you’re found by a survivor and held hostage in front of the twins. 

You all stand still for a long while, the victim not knowing what to do and the boys unable to move due to the knife digging into your neck, already drawing blood. 

Lester had been the one to save you, sneaking up behind your captor and stabbing them. You ran to Vincent on shaking legs and he gathered you into his arms, moving to take you back home. You could hear the screams of the man who’d almost killed you ringing through the streets behind you and shivered.

Vincent had cleaned your cut in silence and somehow had managed to barely touch you. Before you could blink he’d shut himself into his workshop and you were left alone until Bo came home and chewed you out.

You kept yourself busy cleaning and then prepared for bed, knowing it would be awhile before Vincent would come and join you. The sleep didn’t come easy as you were still shaken up, but eventually it came. 

You woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and realized that if you didn’t go to get him Vincent wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. 

You walk drowsily through Ambrose’s underbelly, the smoldering heat not doing you any favors, until you arrive at Vincent’s workshop where he’s hunched over his desk, unmoving. 

Not wanting to startle him you call his name quietly and you see his head tilt in acknowledgement but he doesn’t turn to look at you. 

Slowly you move until your front is resting against his back, even slower your arms encircle him and you kiss his shoulder, feeling guilty at the tension laying dormant in them. “I’m sorry, Vince. I was just worried about you so... so I left the house. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I won’t do it again.”

He turns and there’s a pause, and then he moves his hands, fluid but slow. They’re shaking despite how strong you know they are. He tells you how he can’t lose you. How he loves you. He asks you to promise him that next time you’ll listen and you do, and you mean it. 

It’s only then that he pulls you into his lap and holds you tightly. You think he’s crying behind his mask but you just hold him back equally as tight and whisper I’m sorry against his steady pulse. 

pelle

He doesn’t like the company you keep. 

He has a plan. He has a plan to take you away from this strange, uncaring world that doesn’t deserve you. That doesn’t love you or care about you. If he sticks to the plan everything will be so easy. 

But sometimes Pelle loves you too much to bite his tongue. 

He can see it clearly, your perfect future where he takes care of you, and his family takes care of you, and you let them do it, and you’re happier for it; but you don’t live in that perfect future, you live in the frigid, imperfect present.

Here you stay up late in the night to help a friend finish a term paper when last week they didn’t even call when you were sick. You gave a classmate your umbrella to borrow a month ago, and today you come back shaking from the rain because they never bothered to return it.

A thousand little kindnesses that the world outside the Hårga spit on. 

He knows that all these moments of careless apathy towards you will only strengthen the draw you’ll feel when you finally meet his family.

You have the heart of a Hårga and he knows that you’ll feel that connection.

Still, the way the outside world, the way your friends and family slight you at every turn, makes his blood run hot. He’s never felt anger like this before. It is all consuming and yet he must stomach it alone.

And so his tongue is careless sometimes. He asks in tones that he shouldn’t use with you “you’re going out with them again?” and “but didn’t they-?” and still he is angry. The words do not ease the feelings because they do not fix the problem. 

Pelle must lead you into the arms of his family and their way of life. He cannot push you. But he doesn’t know how not to take care of you. 

He wants to beat away the leeches and moths that cling to your light and whisk you away to home where the sun will warm you with its love.

Your fights are gentle, and so you might never refer to them as fights when people ask you if you ever argue with Pelle. 

There is no yelling, or balled fists, or the animal sensation of fight or flight. He leads you to sit down with him and holds your face in his hands. Unthinkingly you mimic the gesture and he smiles at you lovingly. One kiss and he tells you that he doesn’t like your friends. Another and he says that you deserve better, deserve the world. 

You try to get a word in edgewise, to deny the claims he makes, to tell him that they really do care about you, but the words are smothered by his soft lips. He kisses you until your brain goes somewhere loved and numb. He slips your coat off of your shoulders and pulls you close. He keeps you there until you forget that you had anywhere to be besides his arms. 

You and Pelle don’t fight. 

chucky and tiffany 

Tiffany is used to Chucky being a piece of shit. You are not.

Upside to fighting with Chucky is that Tiffany is immediately on your side, even if you’re in the wrong (I’m joking it’s always Chucky’s fault.)

Downside is that the whole house is now up in fucking chaos. 

chucky: tiff where are my fucking keys?

tiffany: in hell! why don’t you go and grab them?

You appreciate her fighting spirit but she’s really going in on y’all’s man. 

Which is not to say that Chucky doesn’t deserve it. Because he does deserve it, but you know from personal experience that being on Tiffany’s bad side is scary.

Why are you and Chucky fighting? Chucky is an insensitive asshole, and even the toughest skin isn’t bullet proof. 

The aftermath of whatever Chucky did is a lot of sullen silence from you; the sounds of a knife chopping a little too loudly in the kitchen from Tiff; and loud bits of huffing and puffing from Chucky as he stomps around the house. 

At first he thinks he can just wait out your anger until you start missing him. It used to work with Tiffany all the time!

But this relationship involves three people. You’re not so quick to get desperately lonely, especially if Tiffany isn’t the partner you’re fighting with. Do you miss Chucky? Sure. Do you miss him enough to let him be an asshole just to get some cuddle time in on the couch? As if! Tiffany is the better cuddler anyway. 

The man child is going to have to say sorry and mean it. 

Of course this means that your relationship is going be sans-Chucky for at least a week.

Tiffany reaches the breaking point before Chucky does. Obviously more in-tune with your feelings she can tell how much the fight is getting to you and no one messes with her sweetheart! Not even Chucky.

You’re going to hear her delicately clearing her throat, look up from your phone, and find Tiffany holding Chucky at fucking knife point. 

tiffany: do you have anything to say, chucky?

chucky, trying to decide if he’ll let tiffany kill him just to prove a point: ....

tiffany: i’ll start with your dick-

chucky: i’m sorry! are you fucking hAPPY?!

You’re gonna be like no!!! I do not accept the apology you gave me under extreme duress! At which point you turn over in bed and pull the covers over your head.

You’ll hear rapid-fire whispering and then the bed dips behind you. A knee presses into your back, and kisses are pressed carelessly to where your head should be beneath the covers. Then, finally, the quietest “I didn’t mean it, doll.” as he pulls the blanket back in order to look at your face. 

You’re stopped dead by the softness on his face. By the softness he let’s you see, even if it’s only for a moment. It might not be the words I’m sorry but it sounds like them. It sounds like an I miss you, as well.

When you drop your phone and throw your arms around his neck, touching him for the first time in a week, Chucky sighs in relief. 

Not ten seconds passes before Tiffany has thrown herself over the both of you, suffocating you in her loving embrace. Just like that, balance is restored in the Lee Ray-Valentine household. For now. 

[helioleti]

I've been rewatching ATLA several times lately and this time I especially ended up wondering a lot about Iroh and Ozai's past and characters in general. I just can't help but think it weird that Ozai is the ultimate trashbag of a humanbeing while Iroh ended up preaching harmony and peace. It just doesn't make any sense. These guys are brothers. They were brought up by the same parents, in the same fascist imperialistic nation, they were taught the same values growing up. You're trying to tell me the difference is that Iroh was destined to be the person he eventually came to be, but Ozai was just born evil? No, I don't think so.

I have two hot takes that I'm gonna elaborate:

1. Iroh had a guidance Ozai lacked

2. Ozai was the less favored son

(Disclaimer: I haven't read the comics yet so I don't know how deep they've already gone into this subject at some point. I'm trying to interpret and analyze the stuff that I got from the animated series only. If anything I say contradicts what has already been confirmed in the comics, feel free to correct me.)

Hear me out. Iroh wasn't born a saint. Everyone is aware of this, especially Iroh himself. He laid siege to Ba Sing Se for 2 years, costing the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom thousands of lives. Everyone knew that if the Fire Nation took over the capital, it meant almost ultimate victory for the Fire Nation. He even went as far as making a offhand sadistic jokes about burning the city to the ground in that letter to Zuko and Azula.

Iroh acknowledges it himself; He was a different man.

So what changed?

Yes, his son died. It broke and shattered him from the inside, making him drop all efforts to continue fighting in the war. To continue what had been his lifelong ambition, what he believed to be his destiny. He had a literal vision about taking over Ba Sing Se when he was a child, and that had been what he'd been pursuing ever since. But the death of his son managed to crumble all of that into nothingness. How is that possible?

Don't get me wrong. I think it's completely valid. I just don't understand how Lu Ten and Iroh could've had such a loving and caring relationship in the first place, when that's clearly something unusual among the royal family. Ozai burned and banished Zuko without a second thought, not to mention all the other shit he did to him growing up. Ozai didn't give two shits about Azula either, he only ever intended to use her as his weapon. Doesn't seem too surprising, if you ask me. Azulon didn't hesitate to demand that Ozai kill his own son if he wanted the throne. That's the man that raised Ozai, so it's just logical that Ozai learned that behavior and those values from his own father.

Even 9 year old Azula thinks it laughable that Iroh would fall apart at the death of his son. She is a child and this is how she thinks. The reason Zuko doesn't think like this is because he's had the guidance of his mother, unlike Azula. This is the kind of mentality these kids grow up with. They grew up with war and so did Iroh and Ozai.

So why was Iroh's relationship with Lu Ten so different? Where did Iroh experience the kind of compassion and love he passed on to his own son, that Ozai definitely didn't? People act on how they've come to learn, so where did Iroh learn to care about his son to a point that it made him give up on his lifelong ambition?

Let's review a very crucial information we have on Iroh and Ozai as siblings: They have a huge age gap.

Frankly, I'm guessing about 10-20 years. Looks more like 20 to me, but that could also be Iroh's greater amount of endured pain and war making him look older than he actually is. But no one can deny that an age gap is definitely there. Which can also indicate they had different upbringings, despite having grown up in the same family as brothers.

What does this mean? Well, that's just me theorizing now, but I can definitely imagine that Iroh had someone, a family member maybe, there for him who wasn't around or didn't care to be when Ozai grew up. There must've been someone there who gave Iroh emotional security and guidance throughout his upbringing. Who? That's up to imagination. A friend of the family? A friendly uncle? His own mother ((or father))? (The last two things worked out for Zuko in the end, didn't they?) Otherwise I can't really explain myself why Iroh had enough values to love the way he loved Lu Ten, while Ozai clearly didn't give two fucks about his children at any point in his life.

Iroh was the firstborn son, the one who had a vision very early in his life that his destiny was to take over Ba Sing Se. Probably the one who got to have a family member care about him enough to show him how to love.

(I like to point this out a lot because I find it very interesting, and very significant. Please A:TLA give us more info on Iroh's past!!)

Which brings me to my second take: Ozai was the less favored son.

Iroh was clearly a son to be proud of. He was a master firebender, the "Dragon of the West", if you will. He apparently had a vision as a boy that he'd conquer the most "impenetrable city" in the world. He probably lived up to his parent's expectations for his whole life, especially having no sibling to be compared to for a significant part of his life. He broke through the outter wall of Ba Sing Se during his siege. Yada yada yada, you get my point. He's the best son they could've wished for.

And Ozai? As far as I know, he barely even has any military achievements. Taking over Ba Sing Se was Azula's doing. While Iroh laid siege to the capital, he was at home chilling in the palace. He's the younger brother to an established hero and was never meant to be firelord. Now, I haven't read the comics for more info on Ozai's biography, but this man barely had a chance to live up to his parent's standards with Iroh as an older brother. If my theory is correct, Ozai also didn't have any person to provide him emotional guidance throughout his life. (*cough* like Azula)

The logical outcome is: infinite jealousy.

And when Ozai suggests to Azulon that he revoke Iroh's birthright to become firelord, this is Azulon's answer:

Azulon doesn't even hesitate to call Ozai out on his bullshit. He doesn't hesitate to take offense at the suggestion of betraying Iroh, and he even seems to care about Iroh's suffering. Not to mention that Azulon is overall annoyed with Ozai's request for an audience and sends the rest of Ozai's family away as soon as he can, to get whatever it is Ozai wants over with.

I could also mention the fact that Ozai tried to impress Azulon with his daughter's skills (Azula, even named after him) and the overall strained relationship these two seem to exhibit. It's obviously very different from Azulon's relationship with Iroh, if the way he talks about said man is anything to show for.

What if Azulon treated Ozai the same way Ozai treated Zuko? (Probably without the physical abuse, but you get my point.) What if this is where Ozai learned to treat a "useless" kid like shit, maybe also in a way to cope with how he was treated himself?

Getting deeper into the fact that Ozai is rather a loser compared to Iroh, without any big military achievements and without value for anything beyond that, this also explains a lot about Ozai's constant need to establish his dominance.

First; Becoming Firelord through radical manners (you know, killing his own son or killing his own father)

Second; Publicly burning and banishing his own son whom he considers a weakling, who dared to speak up in his war room. Doing this to have everyone know that he doesn't associate himself with weakness and that he will not ever tolerate any form of disrespect.

Third; The whole Phoenix King act. No one can tell me this isn't a madman's doing. This is literally to show off that he is the most powerful person in the world.

Ozai is so obsessed with proving himself and his superiority to everyone, including himself and probably Iroh too. This makes most sense if we consider that he probably lived in his brother's shadow for his whole life, ignored by probably every guiding figure he's ever had in his life, maybe even considered a laughingstock by his own father.

Perhaps this is also the reason Ozai didn't have any problem with Iroh accompanying Zuko in banishment. His brother, the hero in whose shadow he grew up, and his son, the failure he'd wanted out of the way for a long time already. It would erase Iroh's image that made him superior to him, once and for all. For himself and the world. I believe that branding him a traitor was the biggest satisfaction Ozai had ever experienced in his life.

I absolutely despise Ozai with every fibre of my heart, but it amazes me how ATLA continues to leave so much room for interpretation and explanation for a character as despicable as him. Writing this, even had me feel sympathy for him at some point. Feel free to disagree with me or add anything, I'm eager to hear everyone's thoughts about Ozai and Iroh's backstories because I'm geniuinely very curious.

[agoddamn]

I saw your earlier post on not connecting with the Luke & Vader relationship. I definitely agree with you. I've always thought that when Luke grew older (cos he was what 22/23 in rotj) & had more time to think about vader & all he did, he might've felt differently- especially since Leia was hurt personally by vader on a scale that's different from Luke's own experiences with vader. Luke held onto his own dreams for a father that never existed-that dream would definitely die when he's older.

When I watched ROTJ for the first time I was honestly shocked that Luke was acting like Vader was his father, because why would you believe anything that came out of the mouth of someone trying to fuck you up? I completely thought the climax of ESB was a lie and the only reason Luke had been so upset was, you know, being in horrible pain over the severed hand.

And then when people start going in on, "Obi-Wan hid his children from him! How dare! Family is so important!"--to me, it's just as obvious as the sky is blue that if you choke your wife you don't deserve your kids. You actively hurt your kids, you don't deserve your kids. Easy-peasy. Next question. You want a relationship with your kids? Maybe don't torture and mutilate them.

AUs where Vader somehow raises Luke always feel slimy and wrong to me, for that reason. Not in a "don't-do-this" way, but in a "Christ this is dark" way. I just can't remotely buy it ending up as anything other than dystopian. You don't solve the problem of a man hurting his children by giving him the children. That can never work.

There's some juicy fanfic potential in Vader realizing he tortured Leia, but I don't think I've ever read something that rang emotionally true about it to me. My own feelings on it are a bit more...

I think Leia would be rather disgusted at the idea of Vader being upset that he tortured her; it only drives home how he doesn't feel particular regret over the hundreds (thousands??) of other people he's tortured or killed. It's still, ultimately, a selfish reaction because it demonstrates that only his offspring matter.

She'd be insulted that this, this quirk of fate that she has no control over and doesn't even want to be associated with, would be the reason she'd deserve sympathy. That all the things she chose to do--smuggling plans, sowing dissent, working for the Rebellion--couldn't outweigh the X chromosome that she never chose. It's a rejection of all her choices and even disrespects the idea of her making a choice at all.

Someone official--maybe Hidalgo?--said something interesting in an interview about how the whole reason Luke was able to forgive/redeem/appeal/matter to Vader is because they're abstracts to each other. I don't think that Luke could have maintained his belief in Vader having good left in him if he'd seen the nursery slaughter, and I don't think Vader could have let himself believe Luke's judgement if he thought that Luke had seen the nursery slaughter. I think it's a cool perspective on it because it leans into the hypothetical nature of their relationship instead of just foundationally assuming that "OBVIOUSLY a son should always forgive his father".

(all this is why I also think it's important that Owen and Beru raise Luke instead of Padme or Obi-Wan; he needs a blank slate, an outside perspective, no baggage.)

[reallybadfeeling]

It's been weeks and this idea won't fucking leave me alone so here I am, getting it out of my system by throwing it to the wolves.

WHAT IF Qui-Gon never took Obi-Wan as his Padawan BUT he pushed Dooku to be Obi-wan's Master instead?

Oh, and of course Yoda agrees with Qui-Gon that Dooku would be a better match.

Like, Yoda is such a troll that I kinda think he would basically challenge Dooku to try and make Obi-Wan less of a Maverick than Qui-Gon.

And Dooku is about to say no and fucking go to the other side of the Galaxy so that they would fucking stop pushing this thing to happen!

But of course Qui-Gon and Yoda meddles and somehow Dooku ends up having a debate with Obi-Wan about politics, the Senate, the Jedi Order and "YOU WON, QUI-GON! HE'S TOO SMART TO BE YOUR PADAWAN!" (Because of course Obi-Wan wins him over with his brain and his witty sarcasm!)

And having a Padawan kind of prevents Dooku from turning, because despite how much he despises what both the Senate and the Council are becoming, he has Obi-Wan to remind him that there are still good Jedi that can change the Galaxy.

So when Naboo happens Qui-Gon doesn't have a Padawan and asks Dooku to come deal with the talking, because he's obviously better at it. And Dooku agrees, more for the teaching experience for Obi-Wan than anything, but that's not important.

Obi-Wan kinda loves the whole experience despite the shenanigans happening around him, mainly because Dooku is so annoyed at Qui-Gon's methods and the two of them bicker constantly (just to prove that despite how much Dooku repeats the whole "you shouldn't let yourself get attached to people, they'll betray you", he's still kinda fond of Qui-Gon).

That doesn't prevent Dooku from loudly disapproving Qui-Gon's idea of becoming Anakin's Master when they stumble onto the kid.

I can kinda picture Dooku and Qui-Gon discussing it, with Dooku telling him that the Council would never allow it and Qui-Gon repeating that it's the will of the Force so they'll let him do it.

And in the meantime Anakin and Obi-Wan are listening to it all, and Anakin is asking thousands of questions about the Jedi and the ship and his lightsaber and... Obi-Wan is annoyed, because he wanted to enjoy the bickering between the two Masters, but he answers anyway.

When they get to Coruscant, the Council agrees with Qui-Gon's request (which, he rubs into Dooku's face), but they kind of have to still finish the job on Naboo.

And the whole duel with Maul is very different, because Dooku is there and "HOW DARE YOU TRY TO KILL MY PADAWAN?" Which, neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan know to whom it's referred to, since Maul tried to kill them both before Dooku defeats Maul.

Not long after that Obi-Wan is Knighted, but since him and Dooku are such good politicians and the Galaxy is a political mess, they kind of travel together nonstop for most of Anakin's apprenticeship.

During their sporadic visit to Coruscant, Anakin still kind of clings to Obi-Wan, because everyone at the Temple praises him and Dooku constantly, and Anakin still remembers those first days away from Tattooine, and how Obi-Wan answered all his questions, and let him hold his lightsabers and... he basically has this weird hero worship/silly crush on Obi-Wan.

Till this one time the Council decides that Anakin is old enough for a mission without his Master, but not wise enough to be left alone. So who do they pick to go with him? The most reliable Knight they have: Obi-Wan.

And oh dear, Obi-Wan feels like trouble follow Anakin just as much as they always followed Qui-Gon and it's easy to see why the Council disapproves of their methods so much...

But Obi-Wan finds out he actually doesn't mind the change of pace. And Anakin does indeed have potential to become a great Jedi. Though, when the fuck did the little kid he remembers from Tattoine became a young man taller than him?! That's just wrong. He's not old! NOPE! Is he old enough for a Padawan of his own? Oh boi, Obi-Wan needs a cup of tea and to meditate on it before Anakin's bad influence rubs on him and rushes into something stupid!

Aaaaand, that's it, this all that's been nagging my brain for now. I'm sure I'll come up with more later, 'cause I enjoy torturing myself with dumb ideas.

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[hornets nest from my flickr files]

* * * * *

In Washington, Ginni Thomas calls on Jesus to save Donald Trump by convincing lawmakers to overturn the 2020 election. In Pennsylvania, Doug Mastriano picks up his very own Sword of David, with which he intends to smite the godless Democrats come Election Day in November. In Idaho, they’re handling snakes to ward off the pedophile libruls and the lizard-people in the British Royal Family, and down South, God only knows what’s cooking in their febrile, hateful minds. 

All over America in 2022, it seems that wacky Christian Nationalists are rising up like so much smoke from a fascist censer – intent upon choking the life out of our experiment in self-governance, and I've had enough. All of you know my political leanings in this regard, and we’ll get back to them soon. But this evening I’ve got a sharp theological bone to pick with these Evangelical twats - and it comes straight out of the Old Testament. 

It has long stuck in my craw that the vast, vast, vast, vast, vast, vast majority of Christians still screw up the Ten Commandments. I don’t mean they forget them, or say them in the wrong order, or toss in “Freedom of Speech” instead of “Honor thy father and mother” when they get stuck. What I mean is that almost every Christian in Christendom misunderstands a central precept of Exodus (20:2-17) and Deuteronomy (5:6-12). Both explorations of Moses’s sacred chat atop Mount Sinai list among the no-nos this sublimely faceted gem: “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.” 

Anyone who spent any time in the faith remembers that line – and nearly all of us were taught that it meant you weren’t supposed to say either “Goddammit” or “Jesus Fucking Christ.” For propriety’s sake, I get that. But does cursing with God’s name rate as a sin equally as foul as either murder or coveting thy neighbor’s wife’s ass? Of course not. What that Commandment very obviously warns against is VANITY – and the worst of all vanities is presuming yourself to be an authority on the very mind of God. The most heinous of all vanities in this life is to arrogate the sovereignty of God’s name to oneself. Saying “I SPEAK FOR GOD ON THIS EARTH” is the very pinnacle of hubris – and that, to be clear, is ALL these fucking preachers do. 

All of them - ALL OF THEM - say they know what God wants and that HE speaks through them. What a revolting violation of the covenant it is to even think, “I know what God wants you to do.” Who the hell are you? Who the hell are you, Ginni Thomas, to tell me what's what about a chicken's butt? Stick that Sword of David up your own ass, Doug Mastriano. You’re no Christian, and you redouble the proof to that conclusion every time you claim to be one with the arrogance of a king. Real followers of Christ (and Rabbi Hillel, and Krishnamurti, and a thousand other true sages beside) act with compassion and love – and whatever you’re doing there with those snakes guys, that’s ain’t it. 

Over 1000 years ago, the Buddhist sage Lin Chi instructed those seeking enlightenment thusly. He said, “if you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.” I think he probably meant that figuratively – as randomly killing travelers is never great for one’s spiritual path. Rather, what he meant, I think, is that truth and wisdom can only be found by “circling the endless star,” as Neruda might say, and that anyone claiming they have enlightenment to sell is both a liar and a fraud. I think he mean that, as a rule, we shouldn't listen to preachers of any kind, particularly those who claim to know the truth. By my reckoning, we could use a hell of a lot more of that mentality in the Christian tradition, too. 

I fled the Catholic Church years and years and years ago, primarily because I didn’t think then – and I don’t think now – that Jesus would have very much to do with those who put the word “Christian” on their spiritual CV. The Christ I know, the one who still, for all my atheism, serves as a guide star – was about love alone. And not to put too fine a point upon it, love is NOT about smiting your enemies, nor installing pussy-grabbers into power so that they can condemn the supposed Sodomites of Evangelical fever dreams to perdition. 

The Christ I know is lives entirely in Matthew, Chapter 5, and Luke, Chapter 6. He’s the One you find preaching a sermon of humility upon the Mount of Beatitudes. But back to the point of this post: All you need to know about the danger – and the pure infidelity, the burning irreligiosity  – of the Christian Nationalists on the move in America today was once pointed by the great and goofy theologian Kurt Vonnegut who wrote in "Man Without a Country" these prophetic words:

“For some reason, the most vocal Christians among us never mention the Beatitudes. But, often with tears in their eyes, they demand that the Ten Commandments be posted in public buildings. And, of course, that’s Moses, not Jesus. I haven’t heard one of them demand that the Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes, be posted anywhere. Blessed are the merciful in a courtroom? Blessed are the peacemakers in the Pentagon? Give me a break!”

So damn true. And those loud, onerous, barking-mad, so-called "Christians" of the New American Right might even see that . . . if they finally learned the meaning of the Commandments they claim so piously to uphold. Love to you all.

[Michael J. Tallon]

[frecklesandstardust]

Let’s Talk About Klaus

Hi, friends. The Umbrella Academy’s second season came out recently. I finished it about twelve hours after. And I have feelings. We need to talk about Klaus. 

Now, here is my disclaimer. From the very first moment I saw him, Klaus was my favorite, but please read to the end before yelling about how Klaus-stans refuse to see his negative qualities. Thank you <3 (Also, this will involve spoilers for Season 2 and probably be an essay, so be prepared.)

Okay, first of all. Let’s look at Season 1 Klaus. 

He’s an asshole. Just like all of his siblings. They were raised by a narcissistic egomaniac and given hero complexes from pretty much the second they were born. Obviously they all lack empathy and healthy coping mechanisms. We can all agree on that. 

However, Klaus is also kind. So unbelievably kind. He makes crass jokes and looks out for himself first, but he is also so caring. 

When we first see him, he is encouraging people in rehab. He has a rapport with the EMT who brings him back to life. He hugs Allison as soon as he sees her at the mansion and seems genuinely concerned about her and her life. When the giant portal opens, he grabs a fire extinguisher and runs to the front to try and protect his siblings. Siblings who essentially ignored and belittled him for years. 

Fast forward and we see him helping Diego and Five and Luther. We see him caring, sincerely caring about his siblings. He breaks a snowglobe over his head to help Five get the answers he needs. He follows Luther to a rave and dies trying to save his life, even though he’s riddled with PTSD and freshly sober. We see him try so fucking hard to not give out any information about Five when he’s being literally tortured by assassins. He saves Diego from Hazel and Cha-Cha at the hotel, even though he could have stayed safe in the car. He risked his life to save a brother who didn’t even notice he had been kidnapped. 

We watch him die. We watch him get locked in a museum by his father figure and tortured by his abilities. We watch him be traumatized over and over again by ghosts that look just as gruesome as the day they died. We watch him be hurt and kidnapped. We watch him get thrust into a literal war, where he lost his soulmate after staying and fighting for ten months because he was just that in love with Dave. 

Out of every character, Klaus clearly has the most trauma. This isn't even including the fact that he was homeless for years and alluded to non-consensual sexual situations. Ergo, trading sex for a place to sleep and things like that. I am personally of the belief that Reggie was the reason Klaus broke his jaw, which Diego talks about in S1, but that’s my own opinion. 

Looking at all of that, Klaus has PTSD out the whazoo. Like, he is filled to the brim with trauma and no one cares enough to ask or help him. Five sees him after Dave dies and only cares about the briefcase. Diego hears that he lost someone and has the absolute audacity to call Klaus “lucky” because at least he can see them whenever he wants. Not one of his siblings understands Klaus’s powers and that’s terrifying because he had to deal with screaming, tormented ghosts completely by himself. Imagine that. Powers that you can’t control eating you alive and the only thing that helps dim the noise is drugs. 

And your family doesn’t care enough to ask. They just write you off as a useless junkie. 

Now, like I mentioned earlier, Klaus is not an innocent quote unquote soft boi. He is inherently selfish. But, he had to be. He had to be selfish in order to survive. He was on the streets. Alone. If he wasn’t selfish, he would have been dead ten times over. 

He stole things. He lied. He hurt people. He was an asshole. Just like they all were. 

But he was never cruel. 

His relationship with Ben in the first season was pretty awesome. We get to see the snark and the familiarity and the bond between them. And it makes sense, to some extent, why Ben is constantly trying to get Klaus to be better. If Klaus hasn’t seen his siblings for years, neither has Ben. I genuinely think Ben wanted to believe that they had changed. He wanted his siblings to be good, decent people. 

That’s why he told Klaus to go after Luther. Why he told him that his family would notice he was missing when he get kidnapped by Cha-Cha and Hazel. 

But it does not excuse the fact that Ben never apologized. He was wrong and he never said sorry for it. He inadvertently got Klaus killed and he never admitted that he made a mistake. 

He was there for so much of Klaus’s trauma and he just brushed it off. We never see Ben try to be there for Klaus or try to help him come to terms with everything. Ben can see the other ghosts. He knows that they’re terrifying and that Klaus’s powers are completely haywire. Why doesn’t he acknowledge that? 

Let’s move on to Season 2. 

For some reason, all of Klaus’s character development has been tossed out the window. He is a wildcard with no plot line to follow. He says random things and seems to act as comedic relief for the most part, except it rarely works.

For starters, his powers are completely gone, for the most part. We see him in a brief opening scene absolutely kicking ass with his ghost army. But, after that, we don’t see any ghost except Ben. We don’t see him learning to control his powers or talking to ghosts. We don’t even hear about his powers. It’s like they’ve been erased. 

That kind of trauma doesn’t go away. Especially when we find out he has been sober for three years. 

I’ve seen some people argue that he traded addictions. Swapped the drugs for the cult and the adoration that came with it. I don’t agree to that for a few reasons. 

First, he is very clearly uncomfortable with the cult touching him. And we see in the flashback that it happened completely by accident. Klaus was, again, trying to survive. Was it selfish? Yeah. Did he use that old woman to shamelessly find a place in a world he’s not supposed to exist in? Yeah! But, like I stated earlier, Klaus knows how to survive. He knows what to do to get by. All he is doing is trying to survive. Ben can scream all he wants about fairness, but he wasn’t offering up any options to get Klaus a place to sleep and a way to survive in the past. 

Second, we don’t know how the cult came about exactly. We don’t know what started it. We don’t know how it spiraled from whatever it started as into a cult. And Klaus hates it. He spends the entire season trying to get away from everyone. He used it as a means to survive and then wanted space. His entire plan was to get to 1963 and save Dave--probably from the start of 1960, to be honest. But to get to Dave, he had to survive. He had to get to a place where saving Dave was possible. He can’t save him if he’s dead or homeless. 

Third, Klaus very openly is touch-starved and desperate for attention. He spent his childhood being overlooked and his adulthood being treated like a disease. He just wants someone to take him seriously and care about him. The cult does. They love him for who he is, for his weird humor and mannerisms. They believe him when he talks. He’s never had that before, not since Dave. 

He finally has a group of people that genuinely care about what he has to say. Even if it’s all bullshit! They still listen to him. So, of course he sticks around. Of course he lets it grow. He thinks everyone he loves is dead! He’s holding onto the only thing he can. It just happens to be a cult. 

Next point: Ben. 

Ooh boy, this is gonna be a long one.

Ben is also not a soft boi. One tender scene with Vanya does not undo an entire season of cruelty and callousness. 

Before we get into that, let’s talk about the point everyone brings up: Klaus didn’t tell anyone Ben was there! 

Why should he? They never believed him the first thousand times he tried to tell them. What makes it any different fifty years in the past? 

But aside from that, I have two theories. 

One, I’m curious as to if he was subconsciously trying to punish Ben. Ben essentially got him killed at the rave with Luther. He also never apologized, as I mentioned earlier. He blows Klaus off, just like the rest of his siblings, even though, out of anyone, Ben should know better. From the very beginning of S2, Ben is saying some pretty nasty stuff to Klaus. Low blows that shouldn’t be brought up. If that’s been happening for 3+ years, it’s possible that Klaus internally is punishing Ben for being just like the others. 

Second, he’s scared of losing Ben. It’s been 17 years of only having Ben by his side. Constantly. And we know Klaus has watched the love of his life bleed out right in front of him. That’s PTSD. And PTSD doesn’t exactly involve healthy coping methods. So, it’s entirely possible that Klaus doesn’t saying anything about Ben being there because he is scared to lose him to his siblings. If Ben is corporeal, if they know Ben is there, what’s stopping Ben from leaving to go spend all his time with someone else? Someone that isn’t Klaus? Klaus could be trying to protect himself from losing another person. 

Does that make it okay for Klaus to hide the fact that Ben is there? No. But does it kind of make sense? Yeah. Ben deserved to reconnect with his family, but Klaus is traumatized beyond belief and clearly isn’t in the right state to make sound and logical decisions all the time. If we can forgive Five for murdering the Commission Board in cold blood and Vanya for blowing up the world twice, we can forgive Klaus for keeping Ben’s existence to himself (especially since he tried to tell them in S1 and was immediately written off as an attention whore.)

Now, let’s talk about the possession, aka my least favorite thing about the entire season. 

Ben possessing Klaus is assault. End of story. Non-negotiable. It’s not funny. It’s not cute. It’s not “payback.” It’s assault. 

We know that Klaus is terrified by his powers. We know that he has trauma in his past, involving non-consensual experiences. So does Ben. Worse, Ben was there for a lot of it. 

Ben flat out ignored Klaus’s discomfort for his own selfish gain. He was so hellbent on possessing Klaus that he ignored the fact that Klaus was terrified to go to sleep because he knew Ben would possess him without consent. 

And let’s acknowledge the fact that Klaus doesn’t owe Ben anything. He has no obligation to let himself be possessed. Ben is dead. And that’s horrible. It’s unfair and Ben did not deserve to die. But he. is. dead. The dead do not get free access to the bodies of the living just because they want to feel things again. 

Ben completely disregarded Klaus’s feelings because he had a crush on a girl who didn’t even know he existed. Klaus, who willingly accepted possession the second he realized it was important to Ben. Klaus, who laid out strict ground rules, showing he was clearly terrified of the idea, but still did it anyway because he loves his brother and harbors guilt for conjuring him the day of Ben’s funeral. Klaus, who had just been brushed off after failing to stop Dave from enlisting.

Ben possesses him and almost immediately starts to make out with a girl who thinks he is Klaus. That is sexual assault. If I have a twin sister and that twin sister sleeps with my husband, who believes she is me, then she has raped him. That is rape. 

Ben doing anything physical with that girl, who clearly showed that she was interested in Klaus, is sexual assault. She did not consent to sleep with Ben. She consented to sleep with Klaus, who was trying his best to break the possession and stop the entire thing from happening. 

And Ben fought him on it. We see them struggle in Klaus’s body for the next several minutes. Ben doesn’t care that Klaus is clearly uncomfortable, that Klaus wants him out. He selfishly wants to stay in control because of his own desires. He ignores Klaus’s rules and does what he wants without considering the consequences. 

This is the third time that Ben has used possession to control Klaus. We see it when they are fighting earlier in the season at the cult mansion. We see it again at the dinner with Reginald. We see Klaus essentially have a seizure (and we see none of his family members ask if he is okay. They just roll their eyes.) We see Klaus literally vomit once he forces Ben out of him in that alley with Five and Luther. Still, no one asks if he is okay. 

Worse than that, Ben says that he no regrets. And then reiterates the statement! Ben assaulted his brother and does not give a flying fuck. That’s crueler than anything Klaus has ever done. I would argue that it’s the cruelest thing any of the Hargreeves have done, to be honest. 

It doesn’t matter how much of an asshole Klaus is or how selfish or how flamboyant. His consent still matters. His boundaries are just as important. 

Overall, this season just gave Klaus more trauma while still leaving his PTSD and mental illness completely unaddressed. They essentially removed his powers and took away his bond with Ben. Like, in the first season, Ben is almost always with Klaus. That is Klaus’s power, after all. In the second season, Klaus’s entire arc is without Ben. All of his missions are without Ben present. 

There is absolutely no fucking way that Klaus wouldn't bring Ben with him to get tacos with Vanya and Allison. He loves Ben, more than anyone. We see that constantly in the first season, outside of a few mishaps. 

I love Ben. I genuinely love Ben and his story in the first season. But in S2, they took him and twisted him into a callous thing with no respect for consent or his brother. If those three years with Klaus in 1960 were anywhere near as bad as what we see in 1963, I can see why Klaus wouldn’t want Ben around his family. 

I was supposed to love Ben and cry for him. And don’t get me wrong, I did. I cried a lot in the last episode. But that scene with Vanya? Where he tells her she’s not a monster and that they should have done better and that they could help her control her powers? That’s the exact same damn speech he should have told Klaus. Vanya’s destruction was always outward. It always cost millions of people their lives. Klaus’s was inward. So why does Vanya deserve the help and love and support while Klaus gets tossed aside?

They both needed a family and only one of them got it this season. Sure, Allison and Klaus had some great scenes together. But she didn’t ask if he was okay when Ben possessed him at dinner. She didn’t check on him. 

Klaus deserved better. He deserved to work through is trauma and to have a family that takes care of him and supports him and helps him figure out how to deal with the ghosts. He deserved to control his own body and to say no when Ben wanted to possess him. He deserved a goddamn hug. 

Klaus was inherently selfish. However, he also gave up everything. He sacrificed his entire relationship with Dave to try and save his life. If he had succeeded, if Dave had never enlisted, they never would have met. They never would have fallen in love. Dave would never remember being with him. He nearly gave that up to protect the love of his life. 

Klaus is not perfect. He’s an asshole at best sometimes. But he’s also kind and compassionate and loves harder than every other character on that show. He deserved better. 

This has turned into a massive essay, but the bottom line is that S2 let Klaus and Ben down. So many things were handled poorly--from consent to mental illness. It could have been great. It could have been an opportunity to fix a lot of the mistakes made in the first season. Ben and Klaus could have talked everything out and figured out the ghosts and the war and the trauma together. They were never given that chance. 

There were so many good parts of this season, but the bad parts were so bad that it tainted the rest. I know the writers could have done better. They did it with Luther and Allison! They made their characters great this season and showcased some amazing relationships between the siblings. I’m confused as to how they let Klaus and Ben fall through the cracks so heavily. 

[ambiguousdisorderken]

help! a thought a thought!

s13: cas comes back from the empty without his grace and jack is very much a baby.

cas promised kelly he'd look after him, but despite all those parenting books qnd online forums, looking after a nephil is no easy task, curiously more so when it comes to jack's human wants and needs. he sees the winchesters’ intent tohelp, but jack is his charge, and cas is going to protect and look after this kid with his own limited resources even if it kills him. in return, he gets apologetic and compassionate looks from both the brothers, but dean's gaze is also... stern? no, serious. it's as if he's holding back.

cas feels judged.

at the end of one such days in which jack is being extremely... difficult, cas all but collapses. funny how an angel of the lord who once led heavenly armies and would annihilate on command like a good soldier has been brought to the brink of tears by an adorable chubby-cheeked infant with a penchant for making cas feel guilty for arguably being the worst parental figure in the whole of history. well, surely not as bad as abraham or ivan vasilyevich. cas would never harm a single blond hair on jack’s precious little head, but he’s not a good.

he's so immersed in his own frustration that he doesn't notice the door opening or the familiar weight of steps across the bedroom. he does notice the sudden shadow, and he definitely notices when jack's being taken from him by a pair of hands he rebuilt himself with the utmost care, never suspecting how he'd yearn for their touch years down the line.

dean is good with kids. he had to be. right now though, with jack? he doesn't have to be good, but he is, he's excellent. obviously better than castiel, since in less than a couple minutes jack’s long-winded on-and-off tantrum morphed into silence and then giggles. jack's actually delighted, toothless smile and happy squeals and little fists thrown in the air.

'how did you...?' cas asks stunned, wiping from his eyes the treacherous evidence of his failed parenting.

dean raises an eyebrow, but turns his face when jack's tiny hand pets his jaw. dean makes faces then, his beautiful features contorting into expressions cas had never seen. jack, laughs and curls up against dean's chest, face hiding in the junction between his neck and chin.

jack closes his red-rimmed eyes and sighs contentedly.

'dude. babies are all about vibes, man. they can sense shit, and you being all stressed out was not helping.'

cas looks down at his hands and feels every ounce of his inadequacy being maximized to stand as tall as the chrysler building.

'i... thought it'd be easier, dean. i try, i do. but jack... of course it's not his fault, that’s not what i’m saying. it's mine. he doesn't seem happy with me, and he obviously does not like me.'

dean stops rocking jack and sits on the bed next to cas, his face schooled into that expression cas has seen but can't tell the meaning of.

this time dean doesn't hold back though.

'one, that's a load of bullcrap. kid loves you. you're his dad, remember?' it's weird being admonished by dean on this particular subject, but if anyone would know about raising kids, that'd dean. he continues, 'which brings me to point number two. cas, babies are not easy. no parent has it all figured out, no matter how many books you read or how old you are. it's totally normal to hit a few bumps in the road, trust me.'

cas sighs, relieved by dean's soothing words of wisdom.

but cas' self-doubt must be a thousand-headed beast, experience has taught him many things, and right now that means he knows, from experience, that he's most likely to mess things up with jack as soon as dean hands him back.

he misses his powers. if he were still an angel he'd be able to bond with jack through their grace, and they’d have a more meaningful connection. or not.

dean, wonderful as he is, is only a human, and in less than five minutes he got jack wrapped around his finger. maybe even all “juiced-up” cas would be just as lacking.

'i wish i had your nurturing skills' cas confesses.

dean clears his throat.

'you have them' he says.

cas looks up and meets dean's determined yet nervous eyes. confused, cas clarifies, 'no, i meant i wish i could-'

dean cuts in, 'i know what you meant, cas. but i meant you have, uh, my... "nurturing skills" or whatever. because you have me. okay, cas? you have me.'

'oh?'

cas hopes, he does. but he isn't good at articulating his feelings when it comes to dean. perhaps cas learned it from him. after all, once he used to be able to declare his thoughts without flinching or feeling apprehensions of any kind.

but, when it comes to dean, he's afraid of saying the wrong thing, of saying too much.

dean continues, making what he can with cas' poor response, 'if you want, of course. and i mean... you're doing great with the little rugrat, cas, but normal babies are a handful and jack's half freaking angel. i know it's tough, and i don't like seeing you all...' he waves in cas' direction. baby-stained rumpled clothes and face worn, dark circles under the eyes are apparently not a very good look on him. he shouldn't be offended, but it still stings a bit, knowing he's doing a bad enough that his whole body is living proof of it.

'dean, you don't have to,' he replies.

'but i want to,' dean says without skipping a beat.

jack sighs happily.

'let me take care of him. with you.' his green eyes search into cas', his pitch slightly higher and his tone pleading, 'just let me help you, cas. please. we' re a - a good team, you and i. we've gone through shit must people can't even begin to imagine, so i think we can do this' his shoulder bumps gently against cas' arm. 'watcha' say, pal. wanna raise a baby together?'

cas stares back in shock, failing to taper down his burgeoning hope. but dean cannot mean what cas wants him to mean. it's not like that with them. they're friends. best friends. but do best friends raise kids together? he shouldn't poke at this.. thing, but the need to know is overpowers his better judgment, so his next words could very well be the last ones he uttered before getting his heart irreparably torn to shreds.

'i thought only couples raised children together, dean.'

dean huffs and rolls his eyes, 'that nuclear family crap is a big fat lie, cas. white picket-fence propaganda. there are many types of families in the world. not everyone gets to have a mom who lives long enough to raise her children or a dad who gives a fuck if his kids ate, consumed by a piss-poor avenger complex.'

of course. he should've known. absorbed by his own selfish wants, dean's complicated upbringing slipped from cas' mind, and now he's made the conversation awkward if dean's hesitancy is any indication to go by.

cas stays silent.

'but,' dean starts, his cheeks are colored red and he blinks twice then once again, keeping watery eyes at bay. 'we could do that too, cas. if that's.. if you'd, um, like that. you and me and this little one.'

dreaming. cas must be dreaming.

'like a family?' he asks suspiciously.

'like a family' dean says guarded.

but.

and because he needs to be sure, and dean probably didn't realize the very non-platonic implication of his statement, he asks 'like a... couple?'

'yes' the word is breathed out with pleasure and dean smiles at him warmly and openly, and he looks so beautiful like this, sitting on cas' bed with a sleepy jack safely tucked against his body.

'okay' cas says, because he doesn't know the etiquette for this specific scenario, and besides, they have to keep their voices low and their movements subtle if they want to keep jack from stirring awake.

'alright' dean says. then dean turns to whisper something in jack's ear, but the words are easily carried across what little space rests between them.

'heard that, baby? i’m gonna take good care of you and your daddy from now on.'

so, they take care of jack together. cas' parenting skills improve rather quickly, dean's natural instincts are lifesavers, and every day the three of them become happier and better rested. endless nights of cuddling will do that to you. in short, dean and cas raise their baby like a couple, and, with jack, they are, in every sense of the word, a family.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 3]

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Chilton struggles with his discomfort being touched and desire to cuddle, and grapples with his conscience.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide attempt & noncon (from previous chapters). Angsty fluff. 

2,300 words

“You’re coming home with me,” Dr. Chilton said with the authoritative tone of your boss, the hospital administrator. Then you looked at him with questions in your eyes, and his confidence quickly broke. “That is… I would like you to come home with me. It would be professionally irresponsible to leave you alone. You just tried to—”

“I didn’t,” you interjected. “I didn’t try to do anything. I just…” Thought about it. Planned it. Began to execute the plan. But you didn’t do anything.

Chilton watched you, his analytical gaze muddied with guilt. He held your arm as if you might drift away if he didn’t. You glanced down the wide marble hallway of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, but no one was there to see him grasping you so familiarly. You should have known it was safe—Dr. Chilton wouldn’t have risked public affection if there was a chance of being discovered. The main hall was darkened. This wasn’t an emergency hospital, so there were only one or two medical personnel on call overnight, and guards whose rounds Chilton knew by heart.

“If you prefer, I could have you kept under observation. However, it would be more pleasant if I did it myself. Simply to make sure you are alright.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I’ve never thought about killing myself before. I’ve never gone through with it,” you shrugged dismissively.

“That is not a reason not to be worried,” his voice pitched up in alarm. “In fact, I am more concerned that this is a pattern.”

Fuck. You forgot you were talking to a psychiatrist.

How could you make him understand you didn’t need help? You would never have the guts to actually go through with it, however much you wanted to. Were you even depressed? Probably not. You were just a dumb, dramatic, half-assed piece of shit who couldn’t even finish—STOP!

Fuck.

“OK,” you conceded, tongue numb and heavy. “If you think it’s best… I’ll go with you.”

***

It wasn’t until you were sobbing in the passenger seat of his classic red cabriolet that Chilton began to have doubts about his own intentions.

“Perhaps it would be better if I brought you to a friend’s house,” he offered softly. Your head shot up, puffy eyes filled with—of all things—betrayal. “Or a hospital.”

“You’re going to check me into a psych ward after fucking me?”

He stiffened. In the few months you’d worked at BSHCI, you always seemed cheerful and naïve—the cutting remark took him by surprise.

Right after you made it, your hands flew to your mouth. “Sorry…” you murmured, equally taken aback. “I didn’t mean that. I know you would never take advantage of me.”

The apology cut deeper than the insult, though you wouldn’t understand why. He fell silent and stricken as he turned the ignition.

Dr. Chilton’s home was an obscenely modern monstrosity with all white walls, white kitchen, hard angles, and open spaces that gave it an air of luxury, but moreover, vacancy. It was a five-star hotel: grandiose, without a single hint of a person living in it.

He offered you the guest-room, like a gentleman—no! He would take the guest-room, and you could—

The press of your lips cut off his nervous babbling. You smiled (a weak, tired smile so different from the sunlight that radiated from your face in public) and said you didn’t want to be alone. So he led you to his bedroom, another pompously large space that dwarfed the king-size bed at its center. He often had trouble sleeping, but never considered that his bedroom’s fishbowl quality could have anything to do with it.

His blood pressure was dangerously high as he stood next to his bed. How was he supposed to sleep next to you? Undress in front of you? He was near panic at his foolish decision to bring you home when there was a sudden weight around his middle grabbing him from behind. He gasped and jerked away before realizing, quite obviously, it was you. But his heart was still racing in his ears, and he winced as you reached for him again.

“Don’t… touch me, please.”

Your eyes widened, mortified. “S-sorry sir,” you stammered, and it didn’t escape his notice that your entire body went rigid, or that you reverted to calling him “sir” like when he was reprimanding you at work. You must have been expecting him to blow up at you. He’d conditioned this response. He’d successfully made you afraid of him, and his reward was a sharp pang in his chest.

His hands found your shoulders, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “It is all right,” he said. His best effort to be comforting came out dreadfully stiff and monotone. “And you… you may call me Frederick, if you like.”

He watched your throat tighten as you swallowed. With relief, he felt your shoulders relax, and then you looked up—your eyes fell on his like dawn breaking over Chesapeake Bay. Your mouth shaped into the first syllable of his name, but paused as your eyes locked on his left cheek.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. “Is it because…” You reached up to caress the round scar where a bullet had entered, but withdrew your hand quickly before making contact (and had the decency to blanch at your faux pas).

“Yes,” he gritted his teeth. “Because of that.” And because of the ones left on his abdomen by Gideon’s scalpel. And the scars not visible on the surface, left by years of neglect.

You shifted uncomfortably, seemingly at a loss if physical contact was off-limits. “I’m sorry.”

“It is all right. I am fine.”

Your lips twitched upward at that, and a gentle, sarcastic puff of air escaped your nose. Chilton straightened his posture—he’d been called out, and he knew it. If anyone else had dared laugh, he likely would have gone into a defensive pique and shut down, but instead, he returned your lopsided smirk.

Look at the two of you, pretending you’re fine. Just fine.

“That is to say, I am not incapable of touch”—he squeezed your shoulders as if to prove a point—“Our… rendezvous earlier was… enjoyable. I simply do not like being caught by surprise,” he explained haltingly. His cheeks heated. The truth was, he was bluffing: he had little experience with affectionate touch, so he couldn’t say what he was comfortable with. But surprises he was certain he did not appreciate.

“Then are you sure about sharing a bed?” you asked with tentative shyness. “I like cuddling. But if it doesn’t feel good to you, then…”

“It will be more than all right,” so long as you do not thrash too much in your sleep, he added mentally. He frowned. “I would like to enjoy cuddling.”

But he was never conditioned to enjoy physical contact by affectionate parents or by lovers, and life experience had done little but teach him to anticipate pain. Dr. Chilton understood how abnormal brains functioned. He knew he might never gain that oxytocin boost normal people get from the act of twining their bodies around each other. Still, it meant a great deal that you wanted to twine your body around his—that his simple presence pressed claustrophobically to your skin might invoke a positive emotional response.

Exposure therapy was the only treatment. If he was to become accustomed to being touched, he must practice.

“What should I do to support you?”

“Just go slowly,” he yielded. “Give me warning.”

***

He didn’t know why he showed you. Perhaps there was no other choice—sleeping with contact lenses always made his eyes red and irritated by morning. But perhaps he hoped that you would run away and get it over with. A masochistic side of him wanted to see your face contort in horror, disgust. For you to realize this hideous thing had fucked you, and curse him for hiding the truth.

Anticipation of your impending rejection felt like a boulder lifting off his chest. He was being crushed under his own happiness, unaccustomed to bearing your thoughtful gazes and kind words. The world would be right again when you ran.

“Come here a moment,” he called you into the master bathroom, voice calm but a quarter octave too high with strain. “You deserve to see this.”

Every muscle in his frail, hacked-to-pieces-and-put-back-together body tensed as you cautiously poked your head through the door and saw him standing in front of the mirror. You remained placid, but your eyes registered shock as they fell on his ghostly blue dead eye, then shifted down to his sunken cheek—the bullet hole more pronounced without makeup covering it, a gap of teeth missing where the bullet tore through his jaw.

Instead of disgust, you approached him, padding across the bathroom tile in your bare feet. You asked if it was alright, and waited for his faltering nod before caressing his tattered face under your warm palm. You called him handsome. Rugged. You called him a thousand beautiful things in a tender, soothing voice that held such magic in it he almost believed the words were true.

***

Dr. Chilton held you warm to his chest through the night, barely sleeping himself. Sleeping was impossible under those conditions. The scene of his dark bedroom would give, from the outside, the impression of peaceful stillness, but uneasy emotions roiled inside him, rocking him like a boat on a stormy sea.

Fucking was different.

When his cock was buried deep inside of you, claiming, possessing you, a primal urge took him over, blinding all his senses with desire, blotting out his over-active thoughts. But the feeling of you resting silent and trusting in his bed sickened his stomach.

He stroked your hair, watching your perfect lips move ever so slightly with each exhale that passed between them. He had been so wrong about you. Underneath your bright, friendly, forced smile was a garden as thorny as his own, and he loved you all the more for it. More than you could ever know. More than he imagined possible when he thought of you as a sunflower soaring toward heaven, high above his reach—an unobtainable treasure he admired with envious eyes.

For once in his miserable life, Dr. Chilton found someone who understood his pain.

A sunflower was just another plant trying to escape the cold, dark soil.

He flinched at being touched, especially on his abdomen or face. Holding you while you were deep in a sound sleep from which you barely stirred was tolerable. Not as pleasant as he thought it should have been, but not unpleasant. The sensation of contact was a bit squirmy, like worms writhing under his rib cage, but the warmth of your body, the sight of your peaceful face nestled against his chest made him feel protective. Strong. Desirable. You felt safe with him. A new kind of contentment washed over him, and so he bore the squiggling worms and hoped they would go away with time.

You felt safe with him.

His stomach turned again.

You felt safe, because you didn’t know that Dr. Chilton heard everything inside the BSHCI walls, including the staff break room. You didn’t know he was listening when you told Nurse Clerval that your boyfriend’s night shifts were putting pressure on your relationship. That Chilton began scheduling your shifts to conflict with his, hoping it would be the last straw. And it was. A few weeks later, you were single, and he celebrated his victory alone with a Scotch in his office, a smirk on his lips as he watched you cry to Clerval on the security feed.

You wouldn’t have let him hold you if you knew how deliberate his efforts had been to break you—to dull your shine enough that you might consider him an option, even though he was too cowardly to ever ask you for a date.

In the end, everything worked out better than he could have planned. The ends justified the means, did they not?

Forget the fact that, had a janitor not been cleaning his office, you would have been found dead on the floor of the supply closet tomorrow. Gone forever. How could he have known he pushed you that far?

Dr. Chilton had given up on himself long ago, but he had never considered ending his life. Instead, he used his misery to justify all manner of unscrupulous conduct. He hated himself so deeply that he might as well prey on a disassociating patient reliving memories of sexual abuse. After weeks in a coma, losing an eye, a kidney, half of his hearing, did he not deserve to take what he wanted? The possibility of getting caught was worth a moment’s pleasure when he hardly had anything to lose.

Was he preying on you, he wondered, as you slept in his arms?

No. This was different than Julianne. You were consenting, aware of yourself and your actions. A little depressed perhaps, but nothing that would have you deemed mentally unfit to stand trial. If you ever committed a crime, you would not be sentenced to his care.

You were wonderful, kind, and melancholy, and you wanted him. Your skin was soft, and your lips softer. He dipped his head to kiss them with the lightest ghost of pressure so you would not wake up. Your fingers curled in his silk pajamas, and you murmured a few cooing syllables, nuzzling closer before you stilled again. He would take care of you from now on. Do right by you. Everything he had done was worth it, because you were here with him.

Still, his stomach turned. The worms wriggled in his intestines, and no matter how heavy his eyelids, he could not sleep.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:  @beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes​ / @barbasimp​ / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia!! I love your work and have consistently been reading it for over a couple of years, currently every TIP update u post makes my days a bit brighter 🥰

It is also thanks to you that I started posting fics last year after more than three years not doing so. While some of my fics have been wildly popular in a fandom some others don't seem to have landed as well within the same one, so I wanted to ask, what do you do about those stories that excite you but that don't seem to have found an audience yet, or that they never will?? How do you work through the fear of them not being worth your writing time?

Have a lovely day 💚🍀

Hi anon,

This is a hugely complicated question.

For a start, for writing that is for income, if I think it won't do well, I don't write it (although only to a point, I wrote The Gentle Wolf because asexual representation mattered more to me than sales, but it still hit hard when that turned out to be true). I don't like to mess with things that pay the bills. I hate that I have to look at metrics in that sense, but I do. But thankfully we're not talking about original fiction:

For fanfiction, things are different, and there might be a lot of different things going on.

For a start, almost always, when people ask me this question they are still getting some interaction on their fics, just not as much as they wanted or imagined. It can really help to like, remember to be grateful for every person who interacts, and not just the 'quantity' of interactions.

I think like... I am a big fan of 'write for yourself' but it's also true that I write for interaction on AO3. Just... only you can decide how much of the former will compensate for not much of the latter. There are people out there who are like 'if I was only writing for myself I'd keep it in my computer.' I'm not like that, and I don't vibe that way. I write for myself but enjoy sharing it, in case something that worked well for me, works well for a stranger. Everyone is different and that's eventually going to be what the crux of this post is, lol.

Popularity is influenced by the fact that some fandoms are more dead than others and lack interaction across the board in general (Persona 5, for example, is notorious for this). Some fandoms like certain tropes more than others. Some fandoms are massively popular for three weeks and then die almost immediately. And so on and so on.

Ultimately fandom is fickle, it's loyal to the stories they like more than the authors they like, and you can't predict what will be a flash in the pan and what won't be, and it doesn't always have anything to do with the quality of the fic itself or the tags you used. (This is sort of like how sketches will sometimes get tens of thousands of notes and a 300 hour single piece of quality art will get 400 notes, while a professional artist tears their hair out in pieces).

Sometimes, a fic will be more interesting to me than the reality of fandom interaction and I'll write it. Touching and Melting for Houseki no Kuni is a good example of that. A tiny fic for honestly an extremely quiet and tiny western fandom in terms of fic, which looks like it had a lot of interaction 3 years on, but had almost nothing in the first few months. And sometimes the fic idea won't be more interesting to me than the reality of the fandom interaction, and I won't write it. I go story idea by story idea.

But I've also taught myself to really think about a) the way I talk about interaction and b) to really value every individual that leaves a kudos, or comments, or public bookmarks. When I sort of started out with Shadows and Light, I remember being so bummed when a story didn't do as well, and thinking that meant it was doing 'badly.' Let's be real, Game Theory when it started out had less than a tenth of the interaction of SALverse, and I thought I had failed. If I'd given up at that point, well... all of this wouldn't exist.

And then just looking at fanfiction, it's like.. well, sometimes fics do a lot worse than other fics, there's usually at least one person who will read it and leave a kudos. I remind myself that to that person, the story mattered or meant something, which meant I didn't just write it for myself anymore, there is interaction.

This is much harder on stories that have zero comments, and zero kudos, obviously, no one likes to feel as though they are shouting into the void. But it's also my experience that writers who've had popular fics, don't often have 'zero kudos fics' when they say a fic is doing really badly. They just..maybe need to value the individual interactions alongside how good a 'mass' of interaction can feel, or alongside how good 'quantity' can feel. I do really think that's a skill that a lot of like...enthusiastic fanfiction writers have mastered or at least are learning.

Sometimes it really helps to have somewhere in private to vent to when you feel emotionally overloaded or insecure, and honestly sometimes it can help to re-evaluate.

For some people, writing fic when a certain threshold of interaction isn't reached, just isn't worth it. I can't convince people like that to keep writing. If there's a deep seated 'this isn't worth it' then stop doing it.

If there's 'this is insecurity and I'm not good at valuing everyone and I feel down right now but it'll pass' then...work quietly and patiently and compassionately on strengthening your resilience and your trust in your own writing, and your ability to value individuals who interact and engage on your fics. If you don't do this, you may end up bitter and resentful, and that can influence your entire relationship with fandom, and worse, the people who interact with your fics.

Also, finally:

How do you work through the fear of them not being worth your writing time?

In fanfiction, I do not base whether something is worth my writing time on the quantity of people who will interact with it. It is worth my writing time because I'm really excited to write it, and I want to share it, even if people don't respond immediately, or even if only one person ever comments.

I don't...have this fear that you have based on the things you're basing it on - my fears are different to yours. It's fanfiction. It's worth my writing time because I'm eager to write or fix or alter something in canon or I want to make the two boys fuck because no one else was going to, and because I can generally trust that one person out there will probably read it, even if I go back over 10 years ago and my Livejournal fics were only getting like one comment per chapter. If that.

If your metric for 'worthiness' is 'quantity of interaction' then - I'm the wrong person to talk to, I'm literally motivated to write fanfiction by completely different factors to you. I didn't start SAL knowing it would get popular, I thought people would hate me because I killed Jamie in the first chapter, and up until that point none of my fics had been popular.

I can't convince you on the things that convince me, when our foundational motivations are different. If you want quantity and that's what 'worth' means to you, I don't know what to tell you, I would never have written SAL in the first place if I hadn't been the kind of person to just write fanfic for almost no / or no interactions, and still enjoy that single person who said 'I really enjoyed this thank you for writing.' I didn't spring into being as someone who was writing fics that got a lot of interaction, that came...years later, y'know?

So what is worthy to me sounds like it's also just different to what is worthy to you. Ultimately, there are people only writing fanfiction on the basis of how many people interact with them, and...I don't know how those people keep choosing to write honestly, and I think a lot eventually abandon it, because there's no algorithm to crack in order to be successful every time. Maybe...remind yourself that you've had popular fics in the past and therefore you will again? And that you can't get to that point without less popular fics on the step ladder in the meantime? Therefore, even a fic that doesn't feel 'worth your time' will be a stepping stone to the one that is?

Imho, I think my fics are worth my time because I enjoy reading them once they're finished. And then I think they're worth my time because other people enjoy them. Having a popular fic is fun and nice, but honestly, often a fluke, and doesn't always say anything about the quality of the writing (some of the most popular Yuri! on Ice stories with 10,000+ kudos were like...not always...the most well-written stories, but people were desperate for Content, and it was certainly that).

But yeah, how I think about fanfiction is very different to how I think about 'fiction that has to earn an income.' Ultimately I don't want to apply the latter philosophies to the former, other people do. If you're applying 'this needs to hit a certain threshold of interaction to be worthy' as your basis for writing fanfiction, then...we have very very different motivations for creating content in fandom! And I'm the wrong person to ask.

As I said, it's complicated, lol.

[rpd-rookie]

Five Stages of Fatherhood - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: Fatherhood can be wonderful but for Leon Kennedy, fatherhood is scary and he is not ready for it at all. How is he going to process your unexpected news?

Author’s note: I wanted to release this one-shot for Father's Day but it was far from being finished. But here it is. I was mainly inspired by the recent posts I saw on Tumblr. I hope I did Leon justice and that you'll love this story as much as I loved writing it. Don’t forget to like/reblog and give me your impression.

Tags: Angst; Fatherhood ; Depression; Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism ;Anxiety; Language 

Also Available on AO3

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

           They say those are the five stages of grief. Five stages you must overcome to be at peace with yourself. Five stages you must experience, however hard and painful they are, to find the strength to pull yourself back together and keep on living.       Leon knew those five stages all too well. He had experienced them more times than he could count through all those years fighting since the Raccoon City incident. They had paved his life, making him wonder why and if he would ever see an end to it all one day.   But what he didn’t know is that he was about to experience them again. But in a new unexpected way he would have never imagined.

1.    Denial

           I’m pregnant. Three simple words that made his simple life suddenly not so simple anymore, repeating and echoing in his head, making him feel like his whole world was suddenly crumbling around him, over him, burying him under rubbles of fear and uncertainty.       I’m pregnant. He didn’t just hear that. This was a dream, a hallucination due to sleep deprivation or a silly joke. It had to be. Because it couldn’t be real. This couldn’t happen to him. There was no way he had gotten you pregnant. Yes, you were fooling him. Right? … Right? He had a brief forced laugh, anxiety eating him up slowly. “Please tell me you’re joking.”             Pinned to his desk chair, he stared at you waiting for a silly answer or an amused grin. He obviously got neither of them and so he immediately froze, watching you frowning at him with a look that was way too grave and serious to his taste. “Do you really think I would joke about something like this?” Why not? Anything would be better than those three words being the truth. “How can that be so absurd to you that I might be pregnant?” Pregnant? He felt suddenly dizzy. No fucking way.

Mouth slightly opened, confused and petrified blue eyes fixed upon you, and a marble immobility. That’s all that remained of Leon as he searched for something to say, something to think, something to reassure himself with, something to tell him that this conversation, this moment, was not happening right now. 

Pregnant? Really? “I didn’t get you pregnant.” You stared at him in shock as he relentlessly shook his head. “I couldn’t. It’s not possible. I…” He cut himself off when he saw you looking away, huge tears suddenly flooding your usually joyful (colour) eyes.  

Clearly, that wasn’t the reaction you expected from him. But that’s all his brain could process at the moment, the only thing it could find to keep him afloat, to prevent him from drowning in panic. “There must be some sort of mistake. I can’t be a father. This is not happening.”         Leon was freaking out. He couldn’t deny it. The pounding of his heart in his chest was enough evidence. But years fighting BOWs had taught him not to show any ounce of panic even in the worst situations. So, mechanically, no emotion filtered through in voice, making it almost cold. Actually, it sounded so heartless it rooted you on the spot, unaware of what was going on right now in your boyfriend’s head and unable to understand that his weird reaction was just his reason trying to calm him down and help find a quick way-out before reaching an inevitable end. That inevitable end being Fatherhood.          

“What are you saying?” You dared ask, your face suddenly pale because of the terrible things he implied.   “I don’t want to be a father, Y/N.” He declared looking at you right in the eye. “I don’t want whatever you think is inside your womb right now.” You slumped in your chair, feeling speechless and shocked but most of all, insulted. Did he just call your child a ‘whatever’ and insinuated it wasn’t even there? Was he really denying everything? Saying you were wrong? “Take another test. I’m sure this must be some sort of mistake.”           You stared at him, bewildered and fighting to prevent your tears from falling as shock was slowly yet surely turning into sorrow and anger.    

2.    Anger

“There’s no mistake, Leon. A gynaecologist confirmed it. I’m three months pregnant! Fuck, do you really think I denied this pregnancy on purpose?” There was a sudden knot in your throat, strangling all your words. Leon shrugged. “Honestly, Y/N, I don’t get how someone cannot realize they’re pregnant.”             “Simple. Imagine your boyfriend almost dying in a bombing attack in DC, then pushing you out when you try to help him. Then one day, after an entire month watching him falling deeper and deeper into depression despite all your efforts to bring him comfort, you realise that he left without telling you where he’s going. After asking a few people, you learn that he’s decided to take some ‘vacation’ but you know all too well that this vacation of his is just him drowning himself in alcohol in some lousy hotel.” You spouted angrily, feeling all your hormones boiling inside of you. “And I guess you can also add his four weeks of radio silence and the worry you felt when you learn that he who you loved so freaking much was almost killed again in another bio-terrorist attack, this time in New York. I guess that’s a pretty good way to make you deny a pregnancy!”   “Oh, so this is my fault?!” He asked, almost shouting, thinking your were accusing him when in fact you were just accusing the horrible stress and the worry you had felt for the last ten weeks or so. “I’m the alcoholic bastard who knocked you up and you’re the poor lost innocent girl? That’s what you’re saying?”     “Do you even realise how hurtful you are? Do you really think that is what I want to hear right now?” You tried to block a sob, in vain and Leon sighed in exasperation as he briefly rolled his eyes. He won’t have your crocodile tears right now. “Don’t force me on a guilt trip, Y/N. Please.” He said, frozen stoicism making his features as strong and cold as marble. “Weren’t you on the pill, by the way?” He frowned, and a tear rolled down your cheek. You wiped it quickly. “You forgot it?”      

You tried to answer but you knew that the second you would talk it would unleash Leon’s anger and you were not ready to bear it. “For fuck’s sake, Y/N.” Leon gritted his teeth and glared while you instinctively braced yourselves, hands holding tightly at the armrest of your chair. “You only had one thing to think about! One!” He growled, a scolding finger pointed at your face. “Take a fucking pill!” “I may have forgotten once” You whispered almost inaudibly. “Oh, you forgot?” He scoffed before slamming his hand against the wooden desk as he brutally stood up making you jump in your chair. “And then she blames me for my depression. Fantastic.” You frowned. That’s not what you had meant. “Leon…”     “You’re as responsible as I am, Y/N. You may have not realised you were pregnant because of what I did but you are the one forgot to take a fucking pill. And, how could you forget? How could you screw my life, both our lives, like that?” Leon screamed as he walked in circles in his office, like a lion in a cage, except that he was lost. He was lost in fear, panic and anger. And he had no control over them. Hard to bear for someone usually so grounded. And that what was pissed him off the most in this situation. Not the news of your pregnancy but lack of control.      

“Do you really think I want to be a father at the moment? Or ever? Do you really think our lives or this world are fit to welcome a kid right now?” His voice trembled, powerful emotions finally getting the better of him. A child of his could not be born in such an unsafe dark world. A child could not be part of his messed up cataclysmic life. Family was not made for him. He couldn’t be the devoted agent he was, save the world from awful monsters and have a normal life waiting for him at home. Leon had come to that conclusion years ago. And he even had accepted it long before meeting you.   “No. But it’s there now. So please, let’s figure out what to do.” You begged, understanding his fear and yet still trying to reason with him.     “What do you want to figure out, Y/N? I told you I didn’t want to be a father. And I thought I made that pretty clear when we had the baby conversation at the beginning of our relationship.”       Crystal clear. No living together, no marriage, no children. So were the terms of your relationship. A sacrifice he had asked you to make if you truly wanted to be with him. And you had made it out of love for him. But there was someone else, someone else you loved as deeply as you loved Leon if not more.

“So what do I do?” You asked, lost, using the pronoun ‘I’ because you truly felt on your own right now. “Fuck, I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t fucking know.”

3.    Bargaining

           But you eventually made a choice, one Leon never saw coming. And all he got was a letter; a simple piece of paper to explain the sacrifice you had decided to make. A letter not even truly addressed to him that made him realise that words could indeed hurt more than actions because, had he had the choice, he would have taken a thousand knives in the heart over those hundreds painful tearstained words.

                       “My dear baby,

           As I write this to you, you’re barely the size of a peach, taking a small place in my womb but already a big one in my heart in a way I never thought humanly possible. If someone had told me that one day I would love someone that intensely, that unconditionally to a point I would sacrifice everything for them, even my own life, I would have laughed to their face. But here you are, not even born and yet making me take a decision I never believed I would take. Giving up on the man I love.                    Yes, it’s going to be just the two of us from now on. Mother and child building a life together. Not the perfect family portrait but it will be ours and it will be full of love and tenderness. And I hope you’ll like it despite its flaws.                   I wish I had given you a dad but fate decided otherwise. He decided otherwise. But please, don’t hate him for that. Your dad is an incredible man. A man I love and will always love. A man that will always be a part of me whatever I do. A man that offered me the chance to be a mother. But he is not ready to make a room for you in his heart the way I did.                  I guess he would have under other circumstances but you don’t need to know them just yet. What you need to know is that your dad is a hero and that heroes sacrifice themselves. Always. Remember him that way. As a selfless man who chose the safety of the world – the world you live in - over his own happiness, because he’s done too much good for you or me to hate him.                        But don’t worry, my baby. While Daddy is making the world a safer place, I am here to make it a loving one.

           I love you,

           Your mum.”

That letter stayed on his coffee table for days, lying there for him to read again and again, next to a bottle of fine old whisky Leon would empty one glass after another, one regret after another, begging God –even though he did not believed in him – to bring you back to him.

There’s nothing worse than regrets, nothing worse than sitting alone with yourself and wait for sorrow to finally drown you, nothing worse than being lost in a maze of ‘what if’ and ‘if only’ and knowing that you cannot change anything.

What if he had made an effort? What if he had reacted otherwise and not like an ass? What if he had told you he loved you? What if he had said it would be okay? What if he had simply accepted this baby? How is life would be right now?

And he imagined it. He imagined himself at home with you in his arms, hand over your belly, feeling his child kicking and rolling under his palm. He imagined your smile, your soft giggles. Your happiness. And it crushed him. It crushed him because he wasn’t able to imagine anything else. He could not imagine the dark world he knew all too well. He could not imagine the fear or the pain he always thought he would feel in this situation.

And with regrets came guilt.

If only he had made and effort. If only he had reacted otherwise and not like an ass. If only he had told you he loved you. If only he had said it would be okay. If only he had accepted your baby. His life would be so much better right now.

4.    Depression

But you were gone and with you all his hopes of future happiness. You had taken everything from him, leaving him alone, in the dark and purposeless, wandering in his fancy apartment with a new bottle of liquor each evening.

Leon knew depression. But this depression, the one he was experiencing right now, was the worst he had ever experienced. Because if you were gone, it was not because of a bullet, it was not because of a bomb or a BOW. It was because of him. It was entirely his fault. And he couldn’t even change it.

You would not see him, not even talk to him, despite all the messages left on your voicemail or the letters in which he apologized and begged you to come back, telling you if was ready to change and that he was ready to welcome this baby if it meant you'd be together again. And it destroyed him.

He became a mess and he eventually did what he did best. He left, finding refuge in an isolated part of America, a lost cottage in the mountains to drink his sorrow away in peace, somewhere where no one would judge him or find him.

He was wrong about the last part. As one day, after weeks and weeks of radio silence and isolation, an old friend came to knock at his door to kick his ass back to where he belonged. Guess there was no escaping Claire Redfield.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? The Leon I know would never sit there powerlessly and accept his fate that easily.” Leon would have sent anyone packing after a sentence like that one. But Claire wasn’t just anyone. He listened to her. “You want Y/N back? Then quit your bullshit, Leon, and go find her.” “She doesn’t want to talk to me, Claire.” She scoffed, taking his glass of whisky away from him and throwing the liquid away. “So what? You’re gonna stay here for the rest of your miserable life, drinking and crying, and concede defeat? That doesn’t sound like you.” He accepted her scolding, admitting she was right but he had lost the strength to fight.       “I know it’s hard, Leon. I do.” Her tone was suddenly so soft and comforting. “I know what it is to lose someone you love as deeply as you love Y/N. But you can still fix it.”   “How? She pushed me out of her life. She even moved out. She doesn’t want me anymore.” Claire sighed. “How naïve you are. She loves you. She wants you back. She really does but she doesn’t want you to accept this baby just because you feel like you don’t have a choice. She wants you to want it, truly want it.”

There was a silence, a moment of introspection in which Leon felt the fear and the anxiety rushing in his veins again, knotting his stomach tightly. “I’m not ready, Claire. I’m scared.” Tears misted up his tired blue eyes. “ I know. And it’s normal. But there’s a girl in a hospital out there who’s about to give birth to your child and she needs you, now more than ever.”

5.    Acceptance

           His head was dizzy, his hands were clammy and his legs were trembling. As Leon was following the nurse in the neonatology wing of the maternity hospital, dressed in a hospital uniform, he wondered if it was the smell of disinfectant or the fright he was feeling growing inside of him that was making him want to puke right now. Perhaps a little bit of both.     “It’s this way.” The nurse opened a door and waved him to join her by a small incubator in the middle of the room, a sweet smile on her face.

But Leon froze, completely petrified. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. All he could do was watching at his five pounds of fear sleeping few steps away from him. “Someone’s here to see you, little angel. It’s your daddy.”         Daddy? The word made Leon tremble and small tears appear in his eyes, tears that instantly grew bigger when the small creature finally moved its tiny arms. “Many fathers are afraid when they come here. But I assure you there’s nothing to fear. Your baby is fragile but you won’t hurt her, I promise.” Leon’s blue eyes met briefly the nurse before fixing themselves upon the face of the little thing lying in the incubator. “A daughter?”  He had a daughter? He was the father of a little girl? This tiny angel in a pink beanie right there?   He approached her, instinctively, wanting so badly to see her from up close. She was so beautiful and yet so tiny.

“Would you like to hold her?” Leon nodded, without thinking twice about it and the nurse made him sit down and remove the top of his hospital uniform, informing him that it would be better for his daughter to feel his skin since it was warmer and more reassuring than any fabric.    

That first contact felt weird but Leon was certain of one thing, he had never hold anything so minuscule, light and fragile in his entire life. It scared him for a second, afraid she would break, but the instinct to protect her was stronger than anything else. “I’ll leave you two alone. If you need anything I’m not far.” Leon didn’t notice the nurse leave, mesmerized by that piece of him nestled in his arms right against his naked chest, watching her with wonder and awe, barely believing that he had made this … that you both had made this. “You’re so perfect.” He whispered as he dared caress her soft tender rosy cheek. His skin felt so rough against hers that she grimaced slightly. “So pure.”

Her hands were so little, just like her feet. Leon touched her fingers, still impressed by their size and shivered when they suddenly grabbed his index. “Wow, how strong you are, little princess.” He grinned, looking at her weak grip until he felt a pair of eyes staring at him.

They were dark and blue, soft innocent baby eyes scrutinizing him with astonishment, discovering his face and bonding with him in ways Leon had never thought possible. He could see the world in those blue eyes just as much as his daughter was discovering the world through his.   And he could feel love, strong and unconditional, a love he would never be able to feel for anyone else, he was sure of it. A fatherly love. One that would make him move mountains just for the sake of protecting his child. One that would make him give up his life for hers. How beautiful yet how scary.

And he cried tears of joy and guilt, happy to have her in his life and yet sorry that he hadn’t be there for her sorry. He had missed too much. First echography, first move, first kick, first cry. All that because of fear and stubbornness. And he felt awful because of it.          

A hand pressed gently on his shoulder. Leon turned around to see you standing next to him, a tired smile on your face. “Y/N”  You knelt by his side, softly caressing the head of your daughter who had fallen asleep in the strong arms of her father. “I’m sorry... I am so sorry. I should have been there for you.”             “ You’re here now. And that’s all that matters.”

Yes, he was here and he would remain here, by his daughter’s side and by yours, until his last breath. For first steps, first words, first birthday, first drawing, first day at school, first love, first heartbreak. He would forever be here for her and make the world a safer place for her. He had finally found a reason to keep fighting. And it was five pounds of pure love.    

Little (baby’s name) Claire Kennedy.

Making his life brighter despite five stages of fatherhood he would willingly go through again if it meant he could hold her in his arms forever.