#But it is canon that even after an entire day of torture and while suffering from a werewolf bite

[lordofthestrix]

becoming a worm for a week or being compelled to think himself Elijah again for an hour

Send  me  this  or  that  questions  for  my  muse  ! Out—out are the lights—out all! And, over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

[lesbicosmos]

day 5 of @painlandweek !!

day 5 prompt: canon divergence

summary:

what if, while esther was torturing edwin with her machine in episode 8, he screamed out specifically for charles? well, charles simply wouldn't be able to handle that without doing something about it.

notes:

title from i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie (one of the most payneland songs ever idc)

also on ao3!!

fear is the heart of love

Charles gasped awake, only to find himself in a vaguely familiar kitchen, with the face of Esther Finch staring back at him, a smirk on her face.

What had even happened? They’d said goodbye to Crystal, and then the next thing he knew, the butcher shop blew up and he and Edwin were trapped in a tiny cage in their most basic forms – tiny spheres of densely packed spectral energy. He didn’t remember anything else after that until right now, with the witch’s face only inches from his.

“Oh…there he is…” Esther said condescendingly. “Pow! Bam! Fire, burning! Remember that?” she teased, laughing. “I’m feeling bad that I trapped you in that little glass box, but…you teens, you’re just so hard to pin down.”

Charles was so angry. He wanted to say something, to scream, but couldn’t bring himself to. He had no idea where Edwin was, and that terrified him. For fuck’s sake, they’d only just escaped Hell! Could they not have had a little more time to recover from what happened before they were kidnapped by an immortal vengeful witch?

“And, if I’m being honest, I didn’t want you to ruin my plan and try to rescue your pal.”

At the mere mention of Edwin, Charles went to move, to grab her, to do anything to attack, but barely moved before finding himself in intense pain. Shit. Chares groaned, breathing heavily as he tried to move into a position where the collar that held him wasn’t touching his neck.

“Oh! Nasty sting. The choker’s iron,” Esther said, proudly.

“Where is Edwin?” Charles demanded. “Don’t you dare-”

“Where is Edwin? Where is he, mate? Oh!” Esther mocked, with a terrible impression of Charles’s accent. She laughed. “Honey, don’t be jealous. Once I get him up and screaming, I’ll come back and play with you, yeah?” The playful tone to her voice made Charles wish he had his cricket bat. “Just you wait,” she added, more severely.

Charles’s face contorted into an angry snarl.

“Boop!” she said, high pitched playfulness back in her voice as she tapped Charles’s nose, stood up and walked right past him, out of the kitchen.

Charles struggled, desperate to do something, anything, trying to move without hitting the iron circle around his neck. Monty cawed in his cage behind him.

From the other room, he could vaguely hear what Esther was saying over the music she was blasting throughout the house.

“Charles says hi,” she said.

Right, okay. At least Edwin was only in the next room. He wasn’t too far.

“Charles!” he heard Edwin yell. He sounded panicked, but not in pain. Not yet, at least.

Charles looked around desperately, trying to think of anything he could possibly use to escape. He really didn’t want to have to break out with his bare hands, but he hadn’t entirely dismissed the idea.

Esther’s voice had trailed off and he wasn’t able to make out what she was saying, but then he heard a mechanical whirring echoing through the house. What was she doing to him?

“This is amazing,” he finally heard her say after a few minutes. “I know it hurts, but you’re taking it like such a champ,” she said, presumably to Edwin. “Such a good boy. Don’t worry, it’s gonna get a lot worse.”

She was cackling. Charles wanted to strangle her.

Not too long later, the screaming started. Charles’s unbeating heart sank in his chest at the sound. Edwin was in there, suffering, and he was stuck in the fucking kitchen, chained to the counter with nothing but the repetitive cawing of a traitorous crow in his ear.

Edwin’s screams were horrifying, visceral. It made Charles’s blood boil at the thought. What was she doing to him for this to make him scream like that, after everything he had been through in Hell? And why couldn’t he do anything about it? Bloody hell, he was supposed to be Edwin’s protector! He was always meant to be there to step in between Edwin and whatever it was trying to hurt him. He’d already failed him once, already just watched in shock as the doll-head-spider-demon snatched him from right beside him, forcing him to re-live the worst things imaginable over and over again. But Charles had saved him then, marched right down there and got him back, so why couldn’t he save him now?

Charles weighed up his options, trying to think clearly despite the heart-wrenching echoes and the fact he was trying his hardest not to start crying. There were things around the room that he could probably use, if only he could reach them.

Monty cawed again, and Charles groaned in frustration.

“If you’re not gonna be helpful, could you please just shut up!” he yelled, turning to face the bird. His cage was open, almost tauntingly. The crow was free while he was imprisoned, chained in an iron collar.

Without making another sound, Monty flew out of the cage and out of the open window on the other side of the room.

“Fucking crow,” Charles muttered.

The screaming stopped, along with the whirring. He heard Esther’s voice, saying something indistinguishable. Maybe she’d given up? Stopped torturing Edwin and decided it was Charles’s turn now? Charles didn’t care. He hoped that was the case. He wished it was him in whatever machine she had created rather than Edwin.

Of course, this was Esther Finch he was talking about. She wasn’t that reasonable. She was just taunting him. The whirring kicked back in, louder this time, drowning out her wicked laugh. And the screams started again, only this time they were different. This time, Edwin was screaming out for Charles.

Hearing his own name in Edwin’s hoarse and wounded voice, paired with his strangled sobs of pain, broke something within Charles that wasn’t just his heart. Something in his mind snapped, like a call to action. He had to do something. No matter the consequence. He had to get him out of there. The mere thought of losing Edwin now, after everything; the mere thought of losing him at all just wasn’t a thought that made any semblance of sense in Charles’s mind. He could not accept it.

Which was why, holding his breath in anticipation of the pain, Charles moved onto his knees and spun around, facing the counter. He only hissed slightly at the pain as the choker grazed his neck. He reached into the pockets of his trousers, praying his gloves were in there to form any protection they could – they weren’t, of course. They were in the pockets of his jacket, which he assumed Esther had flung somewhere in the kitchen out of his reach just to taunt him.

“Right. Okay,” he whispered to himself, preparing for what he knew he had to do.

He reached out, wrapping both hands around the very end of the chain, right where it joined the edge of the counter. He grunted in pain, but pushed it away, the sounds of Edwin still screaming and crying out for him drowning out any feelings he might have had about his own situation. Ignoring the smoke beginning to rise from where the iron met his hands, ignoring the burning sensation eating away at him, Charles pulled on the chain. He pulled as hard as he could, hoping Esther hadn’t put some sort of enchantment on it.

Charles bit down on the inside of his cheek so hard that it would have bled if he were alive in an attempt to stay quiet. He couldn’t have Esther hearing his escape attempt. Sure, it might draw her away from Edwin temporarily, but she would only put Charles in an even worse situation, one he might not physically be able to escape, leaving Edwin abandoned in his torture.

Charles thought about Edwin as he desperately tried to break off the chain. He thought about his dry sarcastic humour and his lack of understanding of some of the modern world. He thought about how at peace he looked while reading a book about some new magic he was practising and how relaxed he seemed when it was just the two of them at the office. He thought about how immensely kind he was at heart, beneath the stern studious guise; about how that first night the two of them met, despite having just escaped Hell itself, he had sat and talked to a cold dying stranger, read to him as he slipped away. He thought about everything he had been through, being sucked back into Hell for a second time and torn apart over and over again; thought about how broken and vulnerable and impossibly brave he had been on that staircase, pouring his heart out to the boy he loved, the boy who loved him so much in return. He thought about how he couldn’t conceivably lose him, about how there was no Charles Rowland without Edwin Payne, not anymore.

All of that, along with the sound of Charles’s name being cried throughout the house, gave Charles enough willpower, enough anger- and love-fuelled strength, to break the chain from the side of the counter, launching himself backwards against the opposite wall. He winced as the collar hit the front of his neck on the rebound, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Iron burns were temporary and would fade in a few hours. What really mattered was that he was free, he could save Edwin.

He scrambled to his feet, holding his head up in a way that attempted to avoid touching the scorching iron. He left the kitchen and could see through into the other room. He couldn’t see Esther herself, could only hear her laughter, but he could see Edwin. He was strapped to a table, several metal rods all pointed down and prodding at him, either forcing some sort of energy into him or, the more likely option, drawing it out. He was glowing somehow, his body barely even corporeal, and his eyes were screwed tightly shut.

It was even worse than Charles anticipated. There was no way he could possibly fight Esther on his own, not when she was this powerful and had full control over whatever this device was that she was using to torture Edwin. He had to weaken her somehow, make her more vulnerable. He had to kill the snake that was keeping her young.

As though sensing Charles’s presence close by, Edwin looked over, and exhausted green eyes met determined brown ones.

“I’m going to save you,” Charles mouthed, hoping Edwin could read his lips. If he couldn’t, he at least hoped Edwin knew him well enough to assume. “I promise.”

As difficult as it was to turn his back, to look away from Edwin when he was in such a situation, Charles knew he would only be there suffering for longer if he didn’t get a move on.

He raced back into the kitchen, crouching down next to the cupboard that hid the entrance to the snake’s underground lair. In his haste, he’d forgotten about the band of iron still locked around his neck, and cursed as it touched his skin. He spotted his jacket thrown across the stove as predicted, and rummaged through the pockets. He put his gloves on and took out the lockpicking kit he kept in there for emergencies. Despite his hands shaking in the hurry, he expertly unpicked the lock on the collar, catching it in his hands before it could clatter to the ground and alert Esther to his freedom. He gently placed it down on the counter, before rushing back to the cupboard and unlocking the door. He pulled the cord inside, revealing the gaping hole that led straight downwards into the snake’s basement.

Ah. He realised he didn’t have his rope. Or anything to attack the snake with once he was down there. Everything was in his stupid infinite backpack, which was still at the fucking butcher’s shop. Trying to best a serpent that big with his bare hands was going to be a ghostly suicide mission, and would do nothing to help save Edwin.

Just as he was about to scream out in frustration, the sound of flapping wings caught his attention. He turned around to see Monty flying back in through the window. Clasped tightly in his beak was the handle of Charles’s backpack. He swooped down, dropping the backpack on the ground before the ghost, standing beside it proudly.

“Where’d you find this?” Charles asked in disbelief.

Monty cawed.

“Redemption arc, eh?”

Charles reached into the bag, taking out the rope Edwin had previously used to climb down into the depths of the house. He tied one end of the rope to the metal stovetop, hoping it would be strong enough to withstand his weight. Then, he grabbed the backpack, took hold of the rope, and jumped down.

It seemed like pure darkness down there, as though the place was just a void with hundreds upon thousands of bones and half-disintegrated clothes and toys forming a sort of nightmarish carpet. Charles knew the snake was down there though, hiding in the shadows.

He reached into the bag once again. He knew his trusted cricket bat just wouldn’t cut it this time, not against something as huge and powerful as that snake. And there wasn’t time to try. This called for a different weapon.

“I know I left one in here somewhere,” he muttered, rummaging around until he found what he was looking for. “Aha.” He pulled out a long, slightly curved sword, immediately brandishing it and standing his ground.

He could hear the beast close by, lurking, preparing to attack. What the snake didn’t know was Charles was prepared too.

At least, he thought he was. The thing came out of the shadows from behind, knocking him down and sending the sword flying across the floor. Charles groaned, standing up immediately and retrieving his weapon. It was only then he had realised he had actually felt the attack, and stumbled forwards slightly. Magic snake, magic wounds. This might be harder than he thought.

And with Edwin up there suffering as long as this thing was still alive, that just wouldn’t do. Charles stood up straight, holding the sword ready to attack. He knew where it was now, could hear it edging towards him, hissing. It was right behind him, closing in. When it was close enough, Charles leapt upwards, utilising his ghostly ability of not fully adhering to the laws of gravity, flipping backwards in mid-air and bringing the sword down on the snake’s neck as it moved to attack the spot he had been standing in moments prior.

With a wave of magical flames, the snake was gone. Not just dead, but properly gone, leaving no trace.

Right, Charles thought. Now he just had to get back up there and deal with whatever was left of that witch. He had no idea how old she was, but he was hoping to find a fragile shell of a being where the powerful, deranged Esther Finch once stood. He climbed back up the rope, thankful that it seemed sturdy enough under his weight, and collapsed on the kitchen floor.

As he was catching his breath, he heard the front door open. He sat up to find Crystal and Niko sneaking through the house towards him.

“Crystal!” Charles hissed.

“Charles? Oh my god, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, it’s Edwin we need to worry about. I’ve killed the snake, she should have aged by now.”

“How? Your bag- we were gonna bring it but then that fucking crow came-”

“He brought the bag to me, it’s fine, now let’s go.”

Charles got up to move, but Crystal stopped him.

“Hey, wait. We came up with a plan.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Well, you’ve done half of it, but I’ve got Esther covered. You two go in there and get Edwin out of that machine.”

Charles and Niko nodded, crawling through the hallway to the other room while Crystal walked around to where Esther was. As it turned out, they hadn’t needed to sneak. Esther was in a heap on the ground, looking so wrinkled and fragile it was barely even a fight anymore. Crystal stepped over to her, crouching down by her side. She tried to hiss something at her, but Crystal just grabbed her wrist, her head tipping back and her eyes going white as she slipped into Esther’s memories. While she did that, Charles and Niko darted over to Edwin.

The machine had turned itself off, seemingly connected to Esther’s life force, and Edwin was panting, stilly lying flat on the table.

“Hey,” Charles said, standing beside the table and placing his hands either side of Edwin’s face. “We’ve got you. You’re alright.”

“Charles…” Edwin said weakly.

Gently, the two of them pulled Edwin up into a sitting position, and he peered down at where Crystal was kneeling beside Esther.

“Come on, mate, let’s get you out of here.”

Charles wrapped one of Edwin’s arms around his shoulders and lifted him off the table, as gently as he could. He had no idea what kind of pain he was in, and the last thing he wanted was to make any of it worse.

“Charles…your hands,” Edwin said, weakly lifting a hand to point at the burns on Charles’s palms.

“They’ll heal, Edwin, it’s you I’m worried about.”

Carefully, they carried Edwin out into the hall and towards the front door, but before they could open it, it opened on its own. There was a woman stood there, tall and dripping water from a source none of them could identify.

“No!” they heard the body that was barely Esther cry out. “No! Please!”

The strange woman in the door silently stepped in, grabbing Esther by the ankles as she screamed out. She dragged her out of the door, slamming it behind her.

Crystal, out of breath, must have seen the confused shock on all three of their faces and simply explained, “Lilith.”

When they got back to the Tongue and Tail – or what was left of it at least – Charles immediately took Edwin back to the office through the closest mirror, moving him to sit on the sofa. He was still shaken up by everything, so let Charles guide him. Charles knelt on the ground in front of him, seemingly checking him over for any injuries.

“Charles. What happened to your hands?” Edwin asked, worriedly.

“Mate, don’t worry about me, honestly,” Charles insisted.

“Charles.”

Charles sighed, knowing Edwin wasn’t going to give this up.

“Look,” he said, offering his hands out to him. “They’re fine. We’re ghosts, iron burns heal quick.”

Charles was right. Where the burns had originally been intense, reddened, like any burn on a living person, now they had already become less inflamed, and had even begun to scar over.

Edwin’s hand reached for Charles’s jaw, cupping his face and his fingers gently brushed over the similar marks on his neck.

“What did she do to you?”

“I really think you’re focusing on the wrong person here.”

Edwin moved his hands, instead taking Charles’s in his own. He hesitated for a moment before bringing Charles’s hands up to his face and gently pressing a kiss to his palm.

Charles froze up. He didn’t know how to respond to that, to a touch so gentle from his best friend, from the boy who had suffered so much. He’d just been tortured, had the energy of his own trauma sucked out of him by a witch for nearly two hours, all only a couple of days after escaping Hell for a second time, and here he was holding Charles’s hands so gently, kissing the scars that had formed. Charles thought his iron burns were nothing compared to what Edwin was going through, yet Edwin only seemed worried about him.

Edwin must have felt Charles freeze up because he let go of his hands, moving away from him slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hey, don’t apologise.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn’t, okay?”

“But now you know how I feel-”

Charles took Edwin’s face in his hands, gently stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“I know. And…” he took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually. When you were in Hell, then when Esther had you, it made me realise… I really couldn’t go on without you. You’re…alright, I might not be sure if I’m in love with you, but I think I could be. The only reason I don’t know is because I’ve got nothing to compare it to, I don’t really know what it feels like. But yeah, I could be. I want to be. You’re the only person I could ever imagine loving this much.”

There had been tears welling up in Edwin’s eyes ever since Charles had seen him strapped to that table, but they only appeared to be threatening to spill now.

“Charles, please do not say these things to make me happy.”

“I’m not,” Charles shook his head. “I mean it. God, Edwin, you’re everything to me.”

“And you are everything to me,” Edwin said austerely. “Which means you cannot go throwing yourself into danger or pain for me as often as you do.”

“I couldn’t let that witch keep using you as a battery! Hearing you screaming, I…” Charles trailed off, now holding back tears of his own at the memory of that sound, of Edwin suffering and Charles feeling so powerless to stop it. “I can’t lose you, okay?”

“Charles…the feeling is mutual.”

Charles acted on an impulse. It was what he always did, and it had a tendency to end poorly for them, but this time it felt right. It was simply an instinct to lean forwards slightly, closing the gap between his lips and Edwin’s. He kissed him softly, gently, and Edwin gasped before kissing back. When they parted, Charles’s hands still on Edwin’s cheeks, he leaned back in only to rest their foreheads together. If any breath actually escaped their lungs when they breathed, they would have been able to feel the warmth on each other’s faces.

“I will always protect you,” Charles whispered. “You can’t stop me.”

Edwin sighed, his eyes falling closed.

“Well, I suppose we just have to try and avoid any existence-threatening situations as much as we can.”

“I highly doubt there’s gonna be another Esther Finch around,” Charles shuddered slightly at the thought.

No, they needed a well-earned break from creatures as intense as her.

“We can only hope.”

Charles finally removed his hands from Edwin’s face, this time snaking his arms around Edwin’s waist to pull him in for a hug. It was awkward, with Edwin being on the sofa and Charles being knelt on the ground in front of him, but they made it work. They held each other tightly.

They were safe.

They were home.

They were together.

And that was all that mattered.

[iravaid]

(in reference to your reblog)

I would absolutely love an exhaustive breakdown of all of your decisions regarding ‘Simon Riley in Situations’

That series consumes me. Much like in the way that Simon was consumed by the desert. I have been fundamentally altered by it.

Oh my god, genuinely thank you so much for asking

This became a very long set of rambles that I have two split in two, possessed by the talk too much demons... sad! Here is the first part, the second part I'll tack on in a later reblog.

More below, I get a little bit Pepe Silvia in this, but oh well lmao

An Introduction

I’m going to preface this with stating that the comics are bad. On an artistic and writer’s standpoint, their net value is negative. I have read those six wretched issues at least seven times through and feel confident in that assertion. I have no idea why people think they’re actually good, in the face of muddy rendering and an overall displeasing art style, Americanised writing with poor panelling and pacing and dialogue, among other torture-porn related things.

That being said, there are moments of competency that shine through, past the early 2000s edge and casual sexism + racist stereotypes, which in turn irritates me because it does show there could have been a better story here. And Yet. But the comics have been a well of spiteful inspiration, first with Except You, and second with In The Desert (and perhaps more to come), and I do want to talk about that. (and I do know that the comics aren’t necessarily canon for the reboot Ghost, but like. C’mon. Work with what we’ve currently got. Even if my money is on Makarov in the reboot having something to do with Ghost’s past, considering the knowing look he and Price share upon seeing the photo.)

Simon is a character that has been doomed by the narrative since day one, and while it would not be a surprise if he survives MW3 on account of the company wanting to make money off his multiplayer counterpart, there is a certain compelling grief in knowing his fate was always going to be how it was in the original trilogy. Simon suffers: Simon dies; Ghost suffers: Ghost dies. There is no other way this story ends. And there is something about the cyclical nature of his life, and patterns to be found in a such a story, which I think are extremely fun to try and enforce, as well as emphasise. It’s this, among other things, that makes him a compelling character to me. Well – that and him being tall, built like a brick-shithouse, gravelly voice, wears a skull mask, has a strong sense of loyalty and compassion for fellow soldiers… (but that’s beside the point!!!!).

The things he went through in the comics had occasionally been so over the top that I need a moment to stand back and go ‘… really? Like. Really? After all that, you put him through more?’ after every reread. It’s not enough that his entire family was murdered but also his psychiatrist and superior officer, and so on and so on. But unfortunately, I have to reiterate that the comics have been a source of inspiration. ‘Simon Riley In Situations’ is an extension of this spiteful motivation to retell/improve upon what the comics were trying to do, as well as occasionally extrapolating on them, or even warping canon to better accommodate my own headcanons/the rebooted universe.

I love stories were a main/side character goes through an incredible change, to the point where they’re noticeably and irreparably different to how they were at the beginning of the story, for better or for worse. Examples that come to mind, currently, are Jinx from Arcane, Zuko from ATLA, Ahsoka in Clone Wars, Steve from Stranger Things. To me, the transformation of Simon into Ghost is something very compelling. The Simon Riley that’s about to fly to the states with Major Vernon is a man very, very different to the Simon Riley freshly recruited into the 141 by Shepherd. But fundamentally they’re still the same person, and that can be an important facet for a big change in a character imo.

I like using a lot of poems and songs and the occasional bible reference in my works. I know it’s fanfiction and maybe for some people that’s overdoing it, but I love it. I love how art informs and inspires itself, and I love using the inherent emotional and cultural connections attached to a specific work in order to enhance that of my own writing. I think it’s good practice, and maybe it doesn’t matter that it’s expressed in the form of fanfiction. I’m a better writer because of it, and that’s something of significance to me: I never studied English lit/creative writing at a higher level of education, so this is where it will be expressed.

Skulls, Death, and the Ghost

Skulls haunt Simon throughout the comics; in turn, Simon has been haunted by the Ghost he’s doomed to become for a very long time. Roba wears skull face-paint when torturing and attempting to brainwash Simon, Simon’s father used to wear skull face-paint when performing, Simon smeared toothpaste on his face when in recovery from Roba’s captivity and it resembled a skull, Tommy wore a skull mask to emulate his father, and Simon hallucinates skeletons/skulls at different points in the comics. Finally, when his family are killed and Simon goes on his revenge mission, he wears the same face paint as he did during Día de Los Muertos when Roba captured him. He claims that the brainwashing didn’t ‘work’ (as the comics put it), but here Simon is, wearing the same mask as his tormentors. I wanted to stretch that recurring imagery by adding the vocalist wearing the skull face-paint in chapter one of Except You. Something there about returning to form, or perhaps finally looking back to see what exactly is that thing who’s been lurking in the back of your mind. I describe the skull reoccurring as “morbidly familiar” in that this has always been Simon’s fate, and it doesn’t matter what he does to try and escape, because he will always return to it.

It can also be stretched to symbolise his close relationship with Death. Simon has ‘died’ a lot of times in the story. At first he believes he’s dead on a subconscious level (nightmares with Roba’ saying he killed him), but then issues 3+4 happen, and that belief escalates into a conscious conviction that he died on the concrete floor in Roba’s captivity; he died out there in the desert; he died surrounded by his family’s corpses on Christmas; he died the moment he killed Roba; he died for good at the end of MW2. Roba killed Simon, and Ghost put whatever ‘Simon Riley’ once was to rest in the funeral pyre of his childhood home. Ghost has always had to everything on his own up until this point: even give himself a proper sendoff. A part of me wonders if Ghost believes himself, on some level, to be the keeper of Simon’s memory and identity. That is what a ghost is, right? The thing that lingers after a tragedy.

It's something incredibly interesting to consider present-era Ghost. Does he still think he’s dead? Is he waiting for the rot to set in? Has he been so dissociated from himself for so long that he doesn’t know how else to function, and on some level is terrified of what might happen, should he in turn look back to face whatever is left of ‘Simon Riley’? Maybe Ghost can be interpreted as the one that came back ‘wrong’, and he’s waiting for other people to notice that there’s nothing left but a corpse. He has gotten very little help by way of therapy/counselling, and probably doesn’t have the tools nor language at his disposal to neither work through these things, nor know how to voice them in the first place. That’s one of the reasons I wrote Simon as not fully aware of the definition of ‘child abuse’ and how it related to him. He knows Nigel (his father) was a cunt and a wifebeater, but he doesn’t know those necessary psych terms to properly begin processing what happened to him both as a child and adult, because who could have taught him? He never got the chance to go to DBT or CBT, and that hazy moment of time with Dr Halloway probably wasn’t conducive to learning about things like CPTSD and trauma and abusive households. I tried to extrapolate this, with Simon’s internalised ableism also being a block to fully accepting or even processing those terms. He’s in a lot of pain, and he very, very desperately wants to move on, to return to how he used to be before all of ‘this’. Will talk later on about how the military factors in to keeping the status quo of ‘the Ghost’.

In tarot (love you tarot love symbolisms in it love when it’s used in media mwah mwah), the death card symbolises major change, rebirth, and endings and beginnings.

If anything, Simon Riley is defined by his deaths and rebirths, how he keeps forcing himself to change in order to survive a brutal narrative set for him. And Ghost, who bears a skull-face not dissimilar to the grim-reaper, perhaps wears this taboo symbol to ward off ‘evil’, or to use that fear in order to keep people at arm’s length, in response to these injustices done to him by fate and the machinations of people far crueller than Simon. He has been through a lot, and still he keeps moving, keeps completing missions and being a ‘good soldier’, because that’s all Simon knows. He’s like a shark in that way, or a well-trained dog: he was never taught, nor given the chance to learn, how to not be a soldier. This is something me and @narramin, affectionately refer to as hound-coding, which, god, really suits Simon. Will talk about it further on.

Roba Himself

Manuel Roba is certainly there. It’s honestly incredibly disappointing to see how this specific character was handled, how heavily the writers leaned into stereotypes to depict Roba – there’s a panel of him holding a burrito for fuck’s sake. This caricature of a villain is both lazily written, but also serves to reduce the impact he has on Simon. This man is supposed to be the primary antagonist, above Simon’s abusive father. He is the reason that Ghost exists, the reason the Riley family are dead, and can be considered the primary catalyst for most of the comics’ plot. And yet this man, and all that he represents in Simon’s suffering, is reduced to the fat ‘El Gordo’ with dialogue lines that are ultimately meaningless, a personal motivation that is only said in his dying breath without further exploration, and ultimately is a villain without any teeth. I think Roba has the potential to be a terrifying figure, one this kind of dark story needs in order to ensure that Simon’s suffering isn’t made a joke when compared to the one at the source of it all.

There are moments of competency and personality that shine through here and there. The pink deck chair in the sensory overload room, the ‘plant flowers over [the grave]’ line, as well as Roba choosing to make himself appear as the grim reaper himself as a way to express ultimate power over his captives’ lives (and, in turn, Simon killing Roba and choosing to don the skull-face could be seen as him taking that control back).

There is a set of panels, one from issue 5 and another from issue 6, that piques my attention when placed together (seen below). Simon has tried so hard to convince himself and others that he is fine, that Roba’s brainwashing failed, that he is not deeply affected by the seven months of torture and humiliation and dehumanisation. But then he comes back from the dead wearing the same face-paint as Roba. He refers to himself as death, as does Roba. That man has his claws deep in Simon, and Roba knew this, and he died with a smile on his face because of it. As quoted by his final words: in the end Roba is just one man. Killing him won’t bring back the Rileys and it won’t stop the pain Ghost is in (but by god is it Ghost’s right to put that man down for what he did to him.).

The following paragraphs will discuss the torture Simon was subjected to in Roba’s captivity and features discussion of the sexual assault he experienced, as well as being him drugged + detailed acts of dehumanisation. The section itself will be bracketed with a ‘-’, feel free to skip to the final paragraph marked of this section if you’d prefer.

-

In my writing I want to show a competent, terrifying Roba. He should be purposeful in how he goes about breaking these men down in order to build them up into the dutiful hounds Roba so obviously wanted. That’s part of why I think, and wrote, Roba having never touched Simon, he made sure it was his men assaulting Simon while he watched (for one reason or another). And when they were finished Roba would try to manipulate the situation into one being Simon’s fault and that Roba, and only Roba, could fix for him. Simon needed to see Roba as the one with the power to control all these awful things happening to him, and that his own obstinance is the reason he’s suffering. Roba would make an offer – if you listen to me, follow what I say, I can make this stop. I can stop them from touching you ever again. It’s purposefully and insidiously phrased, he’s trying to make all this seem like Simon’s fault for not ‘giving in’. In turn, the prolonged torture and dehumanisation would best be served as well-thought-out tactics.

I’m not a fan of how every other captive was noted as too ‘weak’ or whatever to hold out against all that Roba was doing to them, only for Vernon to say that his methods were ‘genius’ – not with a near 100% mortality rate it fucking isn’t. It would be interesting to explore a fic where Roba was actually competent enough for those aforementioned super soldiers to be a real thing (and we’ll make death proud of us touches on this very well I recommend this fic). But, regardless, I find exploring the ways Simon could have been dehumanised/tortured without succumbing to infection or shock or a sudden heart attack from the sheer amount of stress and trauma to be morbidly interesting. I’m a morbid person, so this tracks lmao (it’s regardless a matter of balance, though, because we’re trying not to fall into that Edge the comics loved so much). I also want to note that Roba rarely, if ever, called Simon by his real name. It’s always ‘English’ or ‘Mr. Death’. A name is a powerful thing to control, stripping a person of their name is a common dehumanisation tactic, one that even the military has been known to use in order to get all these individuals into acting as one mass. It’s also a sign of non-acknowledgement, in my eyes. Simon was not a person to Roba, not really, just a dog that needed moulding. In a way, Ghost referring to himself as ‘Ghost’ may also be a tactic to distance himself from Simon in order to cope with the Everything that’s happened to him.

The next point is just as important as the prior ones: what kind of effect would all this have on Simon in different stages of the comics? And what kind of inner monologue and mindset would he have in order to endure these awful, awful things? And how would he heal from it, considering how the events of the comics went down? He has no control over the situation as a whole, but I imagine that Simon is the kind of person to try and grasp for anything to have control over regardless – he’s exhausted but he still might try to lay in a way that keeps him protected or stills his roiling gut, he’ll occasionally still try to lash out against the narcos, he’ll try and joke with Sparks and Washington in order to help them cling to their humanity (as well as preserve his own identity as a protector, which I want to get into later). He especially utilises dissociation as a ‘tool’ developed from living under the same roof as Nigel Fucking Riley. It provided a very necessary reprieve, and Simon probably believes he’d been ‘broken’ by his father long before Roba ever got his hands on him. Simon at this point probably (maladaptively, in the long run) perceives his ability to dissociate from the body to be a way to control what he truly feels. He can get some kind of control over experiencing multiple instances of sexual assault, over MONTHS, by creating a clear delineation between the body and the person. I wonder if this laid the groundworks for the self-perceived split between Simon Riley and Ghost.

He’s out of that place, Roba is dead and whatever was left of the Zaragoza cartel is hopefully long gone. But where does that leave Simon, whose primary coping mechanisms are either feeling horrific, yawning numbness, or forcing all that pain and fear and humiliation into over-powering anger? All these things kept him alive then… but now what? He has been subjected to a horrific slew of experiences in seven months, over two-hundred days. How do you approach that kind of deal and unpackaging and addressing of that trauma? It’s something in and of itself would be a compelling story to tell, especially with his childhood trauma informing how he processes those experiences. Simon has been physically and psychologically changed by Roba, even if he tried to ‘resist’ – even though interrogation resistance training only lasts for so long.

Sometimes I wonder at what point did Simon realise they weren’t torturing him for information, but to make him into something that wasn’t human. At what point did he realise that there was a reason they made him crawl down the hallways on his hands and knees with a collar around his neck, or that they fed him dog food off the ground, or that he might have been kept in retrofitted dog kennels, in a long-abandoned dog fighting pit.

I wonder if there were times he wished he’d just let go and listen to Roba, and kill the people the latter wanted him to kill; just so that the pain would stop, and he could be more than this thing surviving on the concrete floor. Very interesting to consider, what with the comics implying that Sparks and potentially Washington were also drugged in order to force a dependence on them, as a way to further exert control over them. I’m not sure why Simon didn’t also experience this. Yet another Comics Cringe Moment.

-

Ultimately, when I see Roba I think of a Judge Holden-esque figure: an intelligent man who has taken a step back, looked at the violence of the world, and ultimately came to the conclusion that, 1.) It is in man’s nature to wage war and be violent, and 2.) It is Roba’s right to control that flow of violence. He had Simon, Sparks, and Washington, and others who came before them, tortured, brutalised, dehumanised, starved, assaulted, and vivisected with intents to brainwash them into his own personal soldiers/bodyguards. He wanted to perverse nature and control something that was never his to control, and I think a character like that should ooze calculated cruelty and a disdain for the optimistic/what he perceives as weak. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, in Roba’s eyes, and he wants to be the one holding the leash.

Dogs and Hounds

Speaking of dogs, let’s get into hound-coding. Dog/hound/wolf metaphors are used for characters in a plethora of ways: dogs and other canines are embedded deeply in a lot of cultures and that can be seen in how disparate a dog can be used in symbolism. The rabid dog that requires put down, versus the loyal-to-a-fault dog whose diligence will be its downfall. The dog that hunts you down relentlessly against the dog that protects and nurtures. Vicious and borderline obsessed, pursuing a singular goal with tunnel-vision; dangerous predator stalking you from the shadows; wholly dedicated to a sole purpose in life; kicked to the point where anger lines their teeth and they meet the world with a bite, because they’ll never let anyone hurt them again; a caregiver and teacher, sometimes even a leader that will look out for who they see as family.

With Simon Riley, I feel he is a hound, the kind that’s been kicked enough times to know to bite first and ask questions later – but can someone please be gentle? Please, can’t someone let him rest? Then the narrative slaps his muzzle and tells him the story isn’t done yet. Simon, off the coattails of escaping his childhood home as a teenager, finds purpose in the military and clings to it. So much of Simon’s identity can be tied to him being a protector, as well as a soldier; he’s proud of his achievements within the SAS, cocky, even. He is well trained in violence and well experienced, too; he’s risen above to make a reputation for himself as a tough sonofabitch within the SAS, which is pretty famously full of that type of person.

The dog can be moulded into a lot of different things in fiction, just as it has in real life. So can Simon, so can Ghost: he’s a character that has been subjected to extreme kinds of change, with some very clear distinctions between Pre-Roba Simon, During-Roba, Post-Roba, Post-Family Massacre, and Post-Jungle Raid. That’s one of the reasons why I think the dog metaphor, and its imagery, can provide very impactful parallels for Simon. What is a dog, if not loyal and loving? Didn’t we make it that way? And what is a dog, if not defined by the job it can fulfil. We made it that way. What use is Simon to the military, if he won’t do what he was trained to do. I wonder if he worries about that in between missions: losing his purpose and identity one way or another.

Ghost is a good leader; he knows how to direct a team and how to keep Soap calm during the chaos in Las Almas. I imagine he found sanctuary in the camaraderie that can be found in a military environment, compared to his chaotic homelife. He doesn’t necessarily have to be open about it, or all that externally happy. But it’s regardless a community that has provided Ghost with some form of support (ironic, again, considering it’s the military, but that is how it works). Like a pack animal, one might say.

His potential relationship with Soap, if people take it that way (I do and will be talking about it more later #peaceandlove), reminds me of the poem ‘bait dog’ among others, here's an excerpt from the end of it: “And she still flinches / When I reach to pet her / but she smiles / once I get behind the ears / you will not heal from everything / that does not mean / you will stop being loved.”, and I feel that’s a very lovely image when applied to Soapghost, y’know? Simon has been through a lot, and Soap is emotionally mature enough to recognise that and give him space, while still putting in that necessary work to bridge certain gaps. Kind of like the slow burn of getting a rescue dog to trust you, except it’s your human superior officer with CPTSD and an edgy comic book backstory. They will doubtless have issues and bumps in the road, but they’ll also have shitty jokes and a lot of patience to keep things buoyed. Love wins or WHATEVER.

Roba tried to make Simon into an attack dog, too. Treated him like one, and I imagine there was a point where Simon was starting to believe it. Then he gets buried alive and has to dig his way out. He has to drag himself through the desert (more to come on that) and survive months of recovery until he has a chance to return to the state he physically was. I imagine this time of injury was awful for Simon: he felt incompetent on top of the other churning emotions one would have after surviving so many months of All That. Simon, I imagine, has always defined himself by his ability to provide, protection or otherwise, as well as his own physical prowess. It’s what kept him and his family safe all this time. It also led to him being picked for that fateful mission. I think Simon is a man shown to be capable of that single-minded focus of a hound that’s caught the scent, especially when he spent months tracking down Roba in the jungle.

Simon is a dog constantly having to remember its teeth. There is a lot to be said about dogs that learn to bite back.

I have reached a character limit here but still have a lot to talk about, please hold (and tysm, again, for the ask)

[palestickyprinces]

on my hands and knees begging for a family tree (or multiple ones!!) for your original hotd/asoiaf characters...

anon your hand in marriage immediately. how did you know about my one true passion. reveal yourself in my dms within three days else you'll start to cough

some of these are way more in depth because i. well. i only just made some (cough the tullys and martells cough) while others i worked for a day or two on. the targaryen ones look weird bc this site doesnt like incest (or even when two siblings marry another set of siblings). i will put it under a read more lest it take 5 days to scroll past

me looking at anon

we're just gonna go in order of how i have them saved el oh el. also i was gonna link the trees but then realized anyone can edit them and i dont trust people not to fuck up my hard work so now you have to suffer my shitty screenshots. sorry

Maryce Redwyne

(ignore the fact it links to aemond, its just how the site works) now this one is a little weird bc i never fully committed to when it takes place in her canon so some people are dead who shouldnt be some people arent dead who should be etc... also daeron doesn't exist here cuz uhhh. well. i just never put him in.

this verse is also the ones my ocs vaerra targaryen and alyssa targaryen (of pentos), but i ended up removing them since its really maryce's story and i didnt want to include them for like two appearances worth of time

you may notice she has a child who's formerly gone entirely unmentioned...

Lorea Baratheon

this one is straightforward its just the canon family tree plus lorea. i have various other ocs and possible cousins in mind for her story but i dont think any are included in this. however i did go insane adding practically the entire lannister and baratheon/targaryen family trees theres like 60+ people in this one

House Errol

never mentioned these guys (because i forgot they existed) but theyre fairly important players in lorea's story, she runs into the kingswood after (spoiler!) her mom tries to 🗡 her and ends up at haystack hall. sebastion ends up agreeing to let her stay, then as the war continues is the one to push her to claim the throne. totally not because he wants to be her hand and marry his son to her. who would ever do that.

House Mallister

theres a couple more piper cousins/siblings in law on the other side lyman but thats fine. lyman has a wife named lynette swann and i never decided if his name would remain lyman. also i forgot to ever name one of elinor's brothers in law oops

after the hashtag scandal of elinor having a bastard baby her mom gets her brother lucas to marry his son to elinor and elinor is shipped off to pinkmaiden forever. sad!

Ellyn Hightower + Daemion & Alyssa

considering daemion didnt even have his own tag until like yesterday i dont think i ever shared that he's criston's son so. spoiler! theres nothing like giving your affair baby nearly the same name as your husband ❤️ also daeron is again not here. sorry. would be funny to include him just for the sake of the recent headcanons about criston being his daddy tho. when ur cousin is also ur brother and its not even from the incest side of the family

(im not actually doing that. daeron will probably just not be included. unless i really like him when s3 comes out in a decade)

all the stuff to the side is just canon targ bullshit i added

House Tully

these crop weird on tumblr oops. click on em to see it better. i made alys larys's sister bc i just thought being tortured by ur sister in law is funnier than aunt etc. i considered naming zoe and elmo's dad ernie

House Martell

alia and aelyx are twins <3 i did not add all of daeron's various descendants or ancestors because frankly theres kind of a lot of them and again this site hates incest and it starts looking funny real quick. given more time i mightve added them and the great bastards and all but this is what you get for now

maron said their first kid could have a targy name since they'd be a martell either way so daenerys insisted he give the second one a dornish name and then with the twins they just followed their previous pattern of girl gets dornish boy gets targy. these guys are arguably the happiest family of ocs i got

maron had a paramour before wedding daenerys and he sent her away before the marriage because he knew daenerys would take offense to it, and he didn't want to risk the still fairly new targ-martell alliance, or risk angering daeron, which could theoretically pose a risk to maron's own sister. the family's one real conflict is that the paramour has a son who later shows up claiming he's maron's REAL oldest child and that aeron is actually a blackfyre. thankfully the dornish are not stupid and basically just go ????? before kicking the kid out. well actually a lot more happens than just that but yk how it is. that plotline is also only barely existant. i havent even read a knight of the seven kingdoms yet

if you actually read all this then YAYYYYY come be my friend pls. or just send me more asks about my ocs. i love answering questions and talking for way too long i NEED more asks

[lilyoffandoms]

Blades Drabble - Tyril x Maiele

Warnings & A/N: A different POV to this one. Angst and canon-compliant trauma.

He was still running high on adrenaline from her attack. He had offered to take first watch, hoping Maiele would get some sleep. He saw the dark shadows under Maiele’s eyes, he saw the dark scars Maiele tried to hide, he saw the pain Maiele hid behind his smiles.

He wished Maiele would talk to him like he had before.

Before- he shuddered at the memory of that day.

Before she kidnapped him.

She had stolen Maiele from him once, he'd die before he would allow that to happen again. He swore it to himself. His solemn vow to Maiele. He would not let Maiele go through that again. Not while he was living and breathing.

The others had fallen asleep easily enough once the adrenaline from Valex’s attack had worn off. It had not been the same for Maiele. Tyril could hear him shifting restlessly.

He wondered if he should go over there and ask him…

Ask him what?

How do you ask someone to reopen wounds and deep trauma?

It had been so easy before. They had shared everything with each other. Words had come easily between them when the others had been long asleep. Back when they were on a similar mission. Stories shared beside a fire and memories whispered beside each other when they didn’t want to sleep. Good and bad, they had been shared willingly and openly without needing to ask.

Now?

Why was it so different now?

Now it felt stilted and awkward.

It was as if they were strangers.

Strangers and yet, not.

He still remembered the good times they shared. The laughter, the hugs, the kisses, and -his cheeks heating at the memory - deeper moments spent in each others arms.

Now they were strangers that kissed as if they had been lovers all along.

Now they were strangers that remembered the steps but to two entirely different dances.

He shut his eyes trying to work though things.

He wish Maiele would talk to him.

Like he once had.

But he had changed.

Despite the changes in all of them, he saw the changes in Maiele the most. He saw Maiele drowning in his own trauma and so he shared his own with him in hopes Maiele would open up.

But it only seemed to drive a wedge further between them.

He wished Maiele would talk to anyone.

Even if it was him.

Tyril shuddered. Maiele had lost a year and had only memories of pain, imprisonment, torture, and oppressive darkness to mark that time lost.

He had scars to serve as reminders of all he could not recall and all he had suffered.

He was now being asked to fight his torturer and save the realm again.

He was a realm walker. A magical being relegated to human legend and the mere memory of the elves. Tyril should have shared more with Maiele about what he knew of realm walkers back at Whitewater after Maiele had opened that first portal back.

But Tyril had been too caught up in the unbelievability of witnessing such a feat of magic that he had not thought what that meant for Maiele.

What must it be like to open portals to other realms or even to areas within their own? It was incredible to even think. But the reality of it was probably a far different experience for Maiele. He was the only one who could do it. What must that be like?

He had the safety of them all to think about.

The fate of the realms in his hands alone.

Tyril’s patrol brought him to a stop beside Maiele, now asleep, albeit a restless one by the looks of it. He wondered if he was even in this realm or in the other one he talked about. What had he called it? The in-between? Was he with The Watcher?

Tyril frowned with a sigh and went to wake Imtura for her shift. Eventually settling down beside Maiele.

He wished he would talk to him. Cry in his arms. Confide in him. Scream at him. Anything but hold it in and cover it all with a smile that wasn’t quite Maiele’s brilliant, carefree smile he had come to love.

He lay down and wrapped his arm around Maiele, hoping to provide any comfort he could through his touch.

“Please talk to me,” he whispered sadly.

——————————

All Choices Tag: @storyofmychoices @aallotarenunelma

Other Tags: @choicesbookclub

[fantasyinvader]

If you think about it, each Houses’ relationship with the three poisons/flames makes Edelgard a foil to their leader.

Eagles/Attachment: Byleth may hear Edelgard’s backstory and even begin to understand her reasoning, but at the end of the day they don’t allow that attachment to blind them. They can see the points that contradict her narrative or the reality of her actions.

Edelgard, on the other hand, is unwilling to question the stories her father told her even when evidence to the contrary is spelt out right in front of her. For instance, she insists the experiments were because the nobility wanted to make a strong Emperor while Thales, the one who conducted the experiments, tells her they wanted to make her a weapon against the Goddess and Rhea. She’s willing to cut everyone else out of her life, including those she once had romantic feelings for, except him.

Lions/Delusion. Dimitri’s arc is him letting go of his belief that he needs to avenge the dead, living for them, which also ends up torturing him as he’s fully aware that he’s hurting others and believes himself worthy of death himself. He’s suicidal before he’s taught to let it go and learn to live for himself, which results in him wanting to make things better for people now rather than later.

Edelgard, comparatively, says that her actions will be justified by the people who will benefit from them in the future. That it doesn’t matter if she’s causing people to suffer now, as those hypothetical people will be better off for it. She’s doing this all for people WHO DON’T EXIST. She’s willing to kill as many people and push her ideology onto them because IMAGINARY PEOPLE will benefit from them. She has dehumanized her own casualties by claiming that the people who aren’t even alive yet will outnumber them. She’s even willing to turn herself into a monster for this yet still believes she’s fighting for humanity. That’s delusional, especially when her reforms are said to oppress the people and kill anyone who dissents.

Deer/Hatred and Aversion. Claude has been viewed as an outsider his entire life, blaming it on the Church of Seiros building a fort between Fodlan and Almyra. Seeming to pick up on this, Solon tries to feed him information against Rhea. While his feelings towards the Church result in him manipulating them into liberating the Great Bridge so he can march on the Empire in SS, resulting in his defeat and leaving the Alliance to rot rather than hand anything over to it, in the Deer route he works with the Church due to his teacher. This also leads to him questioning his assumptions about them and even viewing them as a positive influence. He leaves Fodlan in the care of Byleth, Rhea’s successor, and takes back lessons from the Alliance to transform Almyra into a country that invades for shits and giggles into a trading one to help cultural exchange occur in support of his ideals.

In contrast, Edelgard blames the Church for societies ills because of her father’s stories. Her father is heavily implied to have been a puppet of TWSITD, the people who tortured her and whose actions and influence on the Empire she canonically turns a blind eye to in order to attack the Church. Even when she does kick them out in Hopes, she continues to go after the Church.

Per JPN Dimitri, Edelgard’s path is the animal one. The antithesis of the path of Enlightenment. With Byleth, Dimitri and Claude all having one of the three poisons/flames as a flaw that could ruin them, Edelgard has all three. Her route is the antithesis of the rest of the game, it’s the villain route.

[starvels]

STARVELS 2022 FIC WRAP:

a complete listing of all marvel fics i published in the calendar year of 2022 under the cut.

thank you for such an incredible year, marvel fandom! please know i cherish every single reblog and comment and kudos so much. 🥰💖✨

find my fic posts here | fic talk here | my asks with not-fic here | my art | my edits

in reverse chronological order, all on AO3:

down the rabbit hole PWP. Armor Kink. Superpowered Sex. Heavy BDSM. Risk Aware Consensual Kink. Masochism. Sub Steve Rogers. Deepthroating. Multiple Orgasms. Bondage. Deep Penetration. Size Kink. Strength Kink. Slapping. Humiliation. Technological Kink. Open Relationship. Steve spends an entire afternoon at the mercy of the Iron Man armor. He gets exactly what he asks for, and then some.

since we're alone (you can show me your heart) 616: Early Canon. Asexuality. Established Relationship. Queer Themes. Fluff. Massage. Team Dynamics. Superhero Realism. Steve supposes it sucks the fun out of things - of assuming things about famous people’s sex lives - to know the truth. It’s not so fun to imagine that Tony has trouble getting off after the chest plate and the drinking and the heart meds. It’s not so fun to imagine that Steve isn’t interested in getting off with anyone all that much at all, even Tony. - Steve is ace, Tony is trans and the team is bright and hopeful and living together on 890 Fifth.

Devils In the Canyon 1872: Ensemble Cast. Hurt/Comfort. Vampires and Werewolves. Torture. Injury Recovery. Getting Together. Queer Themes. Body Worship. Power Dynamics. Blood Kink. The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known. It’s been eight months since Steve survived Fisk’s attempt to shoot him dead in the street. Now, he has been captured by vampire hunters who are looking to torture him for information about Tony Stark’s daytime retreat location. But, Steve’s not much good at following directions or giving into pain. And as he refuses to give up Stark, Timely refuses to give up on their Sheriff. They’ll find him, he knows it. Steve just has to hope it isn’t too late to save what’s left of him.

into the ricochet 616: Established Relationship. Hurt/Comfort. Mind/Mood Altering Substances. Kidnapping. Cuddling & Snuggling Team Dynamics. Superhero Realism. Blood and Injury. Tony’s gaze finally slides over Steve’s, trying to keep looking down the hall and Steve sees it: the dilated pupils so wide they drown out the blue, framed in sharp contrast against the bloodshot whites of Tony’s eyes. “Shit. The needle. It pricked you after all, didn’t it? You’ve been dosed.” “What needle,” Tony says under his breath. Which is - not a good sign in the least.

a slow ticking wildness 1872: Hurt/Comfort. Established Relationship. Fix-It of Sorts. Injury Recovery. Sleeping Together. Sensuality. Three weeks ago, Tony burned his hands in his forge. Since then, he's been unable to use them, useless and listless. Relying on the kindness of strangers ain't exactly his expertise. Luckily, Sheriff Steve Rogers has good hands and a heart hale enough to keep offering bits of help and hope to Tony, no matter that he ain't all that good at accepting them.

blue oleander Ultimates: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse. Survival Horror. PTSD. Space Opera. Mental Instability. Steve Rogers with a sword Janet Van Dyne with brass knuckles. Open Ending. It's been seven years since Earth was destroyed. What remains of humanity, of the superhero community, is on a ship, half-lost in the deep of space. But they're not alone. And what crawls through the portals in the aft cargo bay, day after day, is about as human as Steve feels anymore.

a lagoon too deep 64087: Alternate Universe - Evil AU. Demons. Blood and Violence. Dark Crack. Altered Mental States. Torture. Character Study. The Demonic Avengers are good at two things: bringing chaos and suffering to New York City and having a laugh while doing it.

stop bath Ultimates: Ensemble Cast. Blackmail. Friends With Benefits. Internalized Homophobia. Complicated Consent. Power Dynamics. Queer Themes. Body Dysphoria. Superhero Realism. Gun Kink. Developing Relationship. Missions. PTSD. Open Ending. It’s not complicated. One piece of paper. Short, to the point. Times New Roman. Repulsive. Continue engagements with Tony Stark until further instructions. ‘Engagements.’ Such a pretty, innocuous term. ‘Until further instructions.’ Such a sweet, auguring threat. They don’t even have to say, or else. Steve gets the message: keep his private life private and his employment gainful by continuing to suck dick.

entry point 616: PWP. Dom/sub. Heavy BDSM. Consensual Non-Consent. Risk Aware Consensual Kink. Bondage. Slapping. Breathplay. Gags. Facials. Dom Steve Rogers. Topping from the Bottom. They stare at each other for one moment. Tony’s pupils are just as blown as Steve’s were in the mirror earlier. “Please,” Tony tries. His voice is perfectly cracked. He licks his lips. “I don’t want, not like this — Steve, don’t do this —“ God, that should not be as hot as it is. Steve covers his own groan by bruising Tony’s lips with his own. Kisses him so messy and spit-slick it’s more a fight than a kiss.

the long and short of it (stevetony games 2022 fills) 616, 1872: Food as a Metaphor for Love. POV Outsider. Coffee Shops. Fluff. Superhuman Realism. Kink Negotiation. Whipping. Established Relationship. Masochism. Character Study. 1872: canon divergence mutual pining over a campfire 616: canon compliant outsider POV in a coffeeshop 616: established relationship whipping kink negotiation

pass the knife 616: Canon Divergence. Unreliable Narrator. Sexual Violence. Choking. Masturbation. Self-Harm. Internalized Homophobia. Rape/Non-con Elements. Mindwipe Fallout. Incursions. Psychological Horror. The multiverse has been saved and rebooted; everything is fine and good. At least, it would be, if Steve could just stop having strangely detailed intrusive thoughts about beating Tony with his bare hands. (Everything would be fine and good, if Steve could stop enjoying the thoughts more and more.)

fine as cream gravy 1872: S/T/OC. Established Relationship. PWP. Casual Sex. Threesome. Cock Worship. Deepthroating. Overstimulation. The complexity and simplicity of being gay in the marvel wild west. Tony’s an old hat at sucking cock. Steve himself ain’t nowhere near as talented. But luckily, Tony seems to enjoy both giving Steve tips on how to suck proper, and bringing amenable fellers home to give Steve plenty of opportunities to practice honing his craft. Steve likes to think of it as a solid goshdarn win for everyone involved.

lounge act 616: Established Relationship. PWP. Domestic Fluff. Power Play. Scent Kink. Frottage. Gentle Kissing. Body Worship. Post-Battle. Steve's eyes run over Tony’s scruff, over Tony’s exposed V of bare skin and chest hair, the soft terrycloth of his maroon robe, and the haphazard tie looped at Tony’s waist. “Loosen it,” Steve says, nodding his chin at it. Tony does.

tenenbaum 616: Canon Divergence. Extremis Tony Stark. Body/ Psychological Horror. Memory Alteration. Transhumanism. Established Relationship. Power Play. Electro-kink. Unreliable Narrator. “Did you choose this?” Steve asks. He looks over Tony’s face like the undersheath will grow to cover Tony’s lips suddenly, and choke him to oblivion. He searches Tony’s shoulder and forearms for any trace of the ports, like they’re going to magically open and swallow him whole. It is not magic, Tony wants to tell him. It’s better. It’s science. It’s a nano-network of superconductors hopped up on peptide-peptide logic. It’s an adaptive mimetic artifact. It’s an utter innovation in pan-spectrum stimuli reflex response. It’s an end and a beginning and both and neither of those at once. It’s him now, Tony_Stark_V.2.01. not an it. “I choose it now,” Tony says, finally.

stars glued to our thighs 616: Established Relationship. PWP. Overstimulation. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex. Tony Stark's Red Thong of Justice. Nipple Play. Trans Characters. Steve’s been out of town for a few weeks, doing the superhero thing. To welcome Steve back home properly, Tony clears some space for Steve to slide right into.

salt lick 616: Canon Divergence. Early In Canon. SeaMonster!Steve. PWP. Superpowered Sex. Tentacles. Bondage. Temperature Play. Creature Fic. When the Avengers find Steve Rogers in the ice, they discover that he’s a little more than just human, a little more aquatic in nature. Tony Stark, Iron Man, and fellow Avenger, can’t stop thinking about Steve's extra bits in a more than teammate sort of way.

morphokinetics 3490: Bodyswap. Established Relationship. Domestic Avengers. Selfcest. Trans characters and gender exploration. Superhero realism. Two weeks now, Natasha's been stuck in Steve’s body. Two weeks of protein heavy meals and using a hologram for all her meetings and being benched from Avengers call outs. Two weeks without good, nasty sex with her boyfriend. Far, far too long, in Natasha Stark’s opinion. Time to take matters into her borrowed hands.

annealing 616: Angst. Hurt/No Comfort. Major Character Injury. Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms. Established Relationship. Steve stares at the place Iron Man went down on the horizon. Any moment now, maybe. He could — maybe Tony will come hobbling out and do a wobbly-skip into the air. One repulsor not working, maybe. Worse for the wear, sure, but conscious, alive, fighting. Steve looks and waits. Iron Man stays down.

thank you again! 😘 please enjoy, reblogs are beloved, you are beloved, etc.

[early20sfailingplenty]

May I request a blurb for Bo? Maybe with the prompt, “I’m thinking about keeping you.”

hhhhh 🥺😍 I went dark!soft Bo for this bc that's my favourite type of greasy mechanic.

WARNINGS - canon typical darkness & violence, Bo does The Chair Ritual (implied pre-blurb), reader is physically & psychologically tortured by Bo (happens pre-blurb & comes to a close within the blurb), swearing (Bo & within narrative), intimidating Bo, possessive language (from Bo).

GENDER NEUTRAL, NO CODED LANGUAGE, "YOU" AND Y/N USED.

Word count: 1, 194.

The pieces had fallen into place slowly. First, you had been nice to Lester, who had rung Bo up as he had driven off the old washed out road and asked him to be nice to you by way of giving you at least a quick and clean death, because you had been so lovely to talk to for the entire fifteen mile drive and Lester didn't want you to suffer for too long. Your friends could be killed however because they had been rude and standoffish, but you, oh... Lester made sure to give Bo a physical description of you so that you could be picked out easily. For your kindness to his littlest brother alone, for usually did Lester phone up the eldest Sinclair in a rage or in tears after dropping 'tourists' off, Bo decided he would give you a chance even before you pulled into town.

Then, you had complimented Vincent's art and made the man blush so hard under his mask that he half expected it to begin to soften in the places where his embarrassment burned the hottest, hidden was he in the shadows of the House of Wax, his only companions being his sculptures other than his elder twin and his sweet girl Jonesy. Your words had made it difficult for Vincent to take the multitude of opportunities to kill you, and in the end your first words to Bo back at the gas station had been your name, followed by a genuine compliment about how beautiful Ambrose was. Your friends hadn't been impressed and so you had insisted to them, even when you had thought Bo wasn't around, that you did enjoy the town and you wanted to come back some day.

Those words were going to bite you on the ass sooner than you knew.

While waiting up at the house for Bo to grab what you needed for your car, small comments and quiet hushed whispers had been heard by the twins while they had been stalking you, hunting you and tracking your every move, but your sincerity during every interaction had been what broke the camel's back for Bo. He had literally swept you off your feet before you knew what was happening, and he had taken you down to the basement underneath the garage. You hadn't made it easy for him to maintain his grip on you; you kicked, struggled and fought as hard as you could, but Bo was the true definition of the word 'ruthless' and none of your struggles seemed to touch him at all.

Unbeknownst by you, you weren't going to die in Ambrose. You had been kind right from the start and separating you from the people you had come into town with had been ridiculously simple, which had allowed Bo to make his sudden move with no build up or forewarning. Despite he and his twin's choice, though, it wasn't going to be easy to become a permanent resident of the ghost town.

You had yet to prove that your kindness and compliments were more than just something you were saying for its own sake. Pretty words were one thing, but pretty words which remained true after the novelty of a new place had worn off were quite another. In but a moment could your stability be ripped away from you and everyone knew it, including you.

You remained in the chair for about a week, though it felt like forever to you. Every second felt like an hour strapped to that chair and your body ached all the time from being sat up for so long. Bo sometimes lowered the chair down so that you were staring at the dirty ceiling instead of the wall full of polaroid's of other victims if he felt like torturing you from a different angle but for the most part, you had been slightly reclined in a mostly upright position.

On the eighth day, when you were sore and achy, psychologically at the end of your tether and physically unable to bear much more, disorientated and unknowing of even the time of day, Bo decided to take pity on you. You had held up well and you had fought your own for longer than most people who ended up in The Chair did and he figured it was about time to get you out and see if your kind words remained after what he had done to you. He doubted it highly but a part of him always hoped that one day he would find someone who wanted to stay.

The door creaked open and closed shut quietly and you heard the familiar scuff of worn boots on a concrete floor through the haze of your threshold consciousness. If Bo wasn't in the basement, then nine times out of ten you lost your grip on your body out of exhaustion. You moaned and there came a light laugh from beside you as a calloused hand brushed your shoulder.

"All righ', darlin'." The tone of voice was softer in an attempt to soothe, but there was still a metallic edge to every syllable which dripped off his tongue.

You opened your eyes as best as you could and winced at the harsh and bright overhead lights, which cast thick black shadows across the walls with every move Bo made. He put one hand on the arm of The Chair furthest from where he was and the other hand on the opposite arm so that he caged you in from all angles, and got right in your face. His wolfish grin made your stomach drop, even with your emotional fatigue.

"Y'know, Y/N," Bo's smirk took on a darker dynamic despite the oddly tender look in his eyes, "I'm thinking about keeping you."

"Wh-what do you - "

Bo leaned in and ran the cool tip of his nose along your forehead, "Would'ya like that, darlin'? Y'spoke such pretty words when y'got here - "

Realisation.

Your survival was dependent on all those genuine compliments? It seemed so ludicrous that you almost wanted to laugh. Almost. But you didn't. Instead, you hurriedly nodded, and did your best to meet Bo's icy blues with your own. You could tell that he wasn't wholly comfortable with that, but he allowed it for a few seconds before his gaze settled on the bridge of your nose.

Neither of you knew were to go from here, but getting you out of your restraints seemed like a good start. Bo seemed to have a similar train of thought, too, for he said, "M'sorry, this is, uh - this is gonna hurt. Even if m'gentle." He shrugged and got to work. Something in his tone told you that what he said was not an empty platitude but it came from personal experience. As the mystery deepened, as the trauma settled into your bones, as Bo bent over one of your wrists to help you out, you wondered what it would take to get you out of Ambrose.

Unbeknownst to you, only your death could do that. But Bo would follow you there, even still. He let go not that which was his.

[jillianallen14]

Spirk fanfic rec

Some amazing Spirk fanfic to bless your dash because I’m falling in love with this shit all over again (this is like the 10th time this has happened lol):

Entering Orbit:  Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch; rated m; 30,957 words

Papers in the Roadside:  Non-Starfleet AU. Jim owns a small bar in Chicago, keeps on picking up strays and taking care of everyone no matter how hard it makes his own life. Spock is a journalist writing feature articles for the Chicago Tribune; he depicts the world with uncanny skill, but hides more than one personal drama and is possibly under surveillance from the Vulcan royal family. They meet by accident just before their lives start to spin out of control; rated e; 49,637 words

Take Refuge in What You Know:  AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma; rated e; 120,334 words

Listen, this is not only my favorite Star Trek fic of all time, it’s also one of my favorite fanfics in general. It’s right up there with Text Talk and The Shoebox Project from the HP fandom, which if you’ve read, you know are incredible and frankly life-changing. And this fanfic changed my life. The description the author gives doesn’t do the beauty of this fic justice. I suffer from agoraphobia and Spock’s depiction as an agoraphobic man was probably the most well-researched, sympathetic, empathetic, caring, realistic portrayal of what it’s like to be agoraphobic that I’ve ever witnessed in fiction. It made me cry like a child because I had never felt so seen and understood. This writer is incredible, and this fic is incredible. I can’t recommend it enough. It’s an AU, which I’m usually pretty wary about, but it barely even feels like an AU. It just feels like Jim and Spock. The author’s understanding of both of their characters’ is perfect, like just a spot-on portrayal of who they are. This fic genuinely helped me accept who I am and helped me understand that I am capable of & deserving of love. If you don’t read any other Star Trek fics (and you def should read more Star Trek fics because they’re amazing), then let this one be the one you read. I dare you not to read it three times in a row like I did.

Observations:  First Officer Spock comments on life aboard the Enterprise and his service under Captain James T. Kirk; rated m; 500,000+ words.

So the author of this fic actually did a thing where they made this fic into two books (similar to what The Shoebox Project authors did many years ago in the HP fandom). They don’t get any money from people buying the books; the cost is just to go towards producing the books. This fic is the equivalent of two LARGE novels. We’re talking 600 pages & up. It’s a huge fic. Now, that being said, I read it in one day. ONE DAY. It’s that good. This is another one of my all-time favorite fics, though not quite as dear to my heart as the one I listed above. It’s focused on AOS, and tbh, I forget that what happens in this book isn’t actually canon. Like it’s so well-told, it just feels like it’s now part of the timeless story of Kirk & Spock. The “professional” Star Trek writers would never be brave enough to do what this author does with Kirk and Spock, though. This fic will make you angry, will make you laugh, will make you cry. It has such a good grasp on every single character. It also shows the love between the crew of the Enterprise, which is always a treat, and it’s beautifully done in this fic. It has a sorta-enemies-to-lovers arc between Spirk and an enemies-to-close-friends arc between Spock and McCoy that is beautifully done and fleshed out. This fic is definitely a journey to go through, and I can’t recommend it enough. It’s extremely slow burn, and you will want to slap both Kirk and Spock (and McCoy) upside the head at certain points lol. 

Of Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves:  The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves. Basically, it’s an AU where Kirk works at a coffee shop to pay his way through school, and Spock visits often. rated t; 16,429 words

Love, love, love, this fic. It’s cute, it’s in character. They have kind of a rocky start together, so it’s got a little bit of that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy i-hated-you-but-now-i-love-you-marry-me vibes to it. I’m a sucker for that, if you haven’t figured that out by now lol. It’s really good, and a really enjoyable read. And it’s not too long, if you’re in the mood for something on the shorter end of things.

 Please Don’t Touch the Vulcans:  The "yes" is out of Jim's mouth before he can think about it. Jim is chipper about having time off for the holidays. He asks everyone if they want to spend time together but sadly, everyone ditches Jim over the holidays because they have plans. McCoy visits his daughter, Nyota visits her family, and everyone splits. Not knowing Spock has feelings for him, Jim doesn't even bother asking if he wants to spend time together figuring he has something to do. Something cute, romantic with the boys spending time with one another and confessions; rated m; 17,690 words

Super cute and has lots of Sarek, which idk about y’all, but I’m always a fan of. Sarek and Jim kind of get to know each other a bit, and it’s cute. Sarek knows about they’re in love before Spock & Kirk know lol. If I remember correctly, there’s also some appearances from everyone’s favorite: Old!Spock! You also get a little bit of jealous and protective Young!Spock. So you’re in for a real treat with this one. 

The Ren shat’var Trilogy:  A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection; rated e; 184,411 words

Textual Attraction:  Valentine’s Day does not bring up pleasant memories for Cadet Kirk. But the serendipitous switch-up of his cell phone with a particular Vulcan professor’s will make his day far more interesting –and romantic. Perhaps some new memories can be made! 15,900 words

SO GOOD. Just SO good

Spaceman:  Academy AU. Five times Spock realizes he's attracted to a barista at the academy spaceport, and one time he decides to do something about it. rated t; 3728 words

Short, sweet, funny. You’ll love it.

Subtext: Texting your Vulcan first officer in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Especially when you have an obsessive crush on said Vulcan.The holidays are approaching and Jim is left entirely Spockless aboard the Enterprise when his First takes shore leave on New Vulcan. After some midnight pining, Jim sends a text he instantly regrets. That is, until Spock responds and willingly continues their textual communications to an inevitable conclusion; rated t; 13,032 words

Cute, sweet, funny. It’s a texting fic. I think you’ve probably figured out I love those. This one makes me laugh so fucking hard. Like actually laugh-out-loud-omg-did-i-just-snort kind of funny. Spock is great in this one

All Spock Wants For Christmas:  While Jim is away on a delegation mission, he panics about what to give Spock for Christmas. With help from Bones and Uhura, and in between some spam texting with Spock, Jim realizes he already has the perfect gift. And all it needs is wrapping paper and a bow; rated t; 11,966 words

And here we have another cute, sweet, funny texting fic. Sue me lol

The Morning After:  Jim convinces Spock to take shore leave with him on Risa, hoping the time together will help re-solidify their bond of friendship after some recent tension. Meanwhile, Spock convinces himself he's on Risa for one reason and one reason only, to prevent his wayward captain from getting into trouble. After a passionately illogical night of Romulan Ale and chocolate infused liquor, everything changes when Jim wakes with something other than a hangover filling his head. Something he's sure neither he nor Spock can handle. Because if Jim knows anything for sure, it's that his messed up thoughts belong nowhere near Spock's clean, ordered mind; rated m; 50,381 words

HAHA. This fic fucking cracks me up. You’ve got drunk boys pining over each other & not realizing it. You’ve got accidental marriage. You’ve got bed sharing. It’s great, it’s cute, it’s funny. 

Take This Sinking Boat (And Point It Home):  In which Spock pines, Jim isn’t stupid (except he kind of is), and Christopher Pike has had enough of this bullshit; 6698 words

Pike is great in this one, and it’s super, super funny.

Extracurricular Activities:   Spock returns to the Academy from a tour of duty to find an intriguing cadet captures his attention; rated e; 15,433 words

Veritas: Basically, Kirk and Spock are on trial because the Federation thinks they are emotionally compromised by each other, which is putting the lives of their crew in danger. They have to convince a court they’re not actually in love with each other. They think the claims are bullshit. They think it will be easy to prove that they aren’t in love or emotionally compromised, damn it. It isn’t; rated m; 186,80 words

This one is so, so good. A real gem off of Fanfic.net. I remember it was actually one of the first Spirk fanfics I ever read, and it blew me away. The progression of their relationship is really well-done and interesting. It has star-crossed lovers vibes and has some really emotionally intense moments in it, especially for Spock. 

A Habitual Affection:  Living in 1930s New York with the Vulcan you're secretly in love with is no simple thing. But Jim never liked anything simple. And then, the big snowstorm hit...; rated t; 7998 words

A beautiful TOS fic about one of the gayest episodes of Star Trek. Love this one. 

Atlas:  Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning; rated t; 135,529 words

A beaut. Really great characterization, and the progression of Jim and Spock’s relationship is really well-done.

[marshmallowprotection]

What is the possibility of Seven letting MC leave the apartment for a while to calm herself during his route? I understand why he act that way but I'm really scared of him during the apartment days on my first play. And honestly? I would get the hell out of there after he yelled those things at me. I always leave the scene whenever I get into argument with someone before things got worse. I still wouldn't want to make him worry so I won't get too far though. Maybe to the convenience store or the apartment facilities or whatever nearby as long as I'm away from him for a while.

Seven is highly paranoid during this period. He is generally a paranoid person but this is the highest point of it. There are a lot of people who forget or overlook the fact that he just realized he was not only lied to by V in the past, a man he considers his father figure, but he's also realized that his entire life is a lie. He sold his soul for Saeran. He sold himself out knowing that, at least, Saeran was going to be safe. 

He suffers and fights as he does in the agency only because he was promised by V and Rika that his brother would be protected from any danger that could come his way. He only did this because he believed Saeran was safe. If there wasn’t a chance that Saeran was going to be safe, he never would’ve let his twin behind with anyone. He never thought that Saeran would be tortured or abused or manipulated after he left. He blames himself. He is having an existential crisis and everything he knows and has believed is a lie. 

He genuinely thinks that it is his fault that Saeran has suffered, and you have to pause and think to yourself, "If Seven loves me, the reason why he's trying [and obviously failing] at being mean to me is because he fears that every choice he makes that involves you will put you in a space just as bad as Saeran is in now." He is so petrified at the thought of hurting you as he’s hurt Saeran. He looks at his reflection and feels disgusted with himself at the situation. 

How can he not feel sick when he thinks about the chance that you’ll suffer for loving him? He is afraid of keeping you close but he’s also afraid of keeping you away. He doesn’t want you to leave. There’s a huge chance that Saeran might try to take you and he doesn’t have the heart to deal with that, and there’s this other chance that Vanderwood finds you and uses you as a pawn against him since that’s what the agency does to loose ends that “don’t belong.” They use your loved ones against you and make you work until you die. 

You leave the apartment once canonically to go to the store, and it upsets him so much to the point of tears. He gets upset because “What if something happened to you when I wasn’t watching? What if someone hurt you? Took you? Used you or worse?!” It conflicts with everything he’s done to that point by trying to push you away from him for your own good. It wouldn’t make sense at first why he’s trying to keep you close when he’s saying otherwise. But, it’s true, he’s afraid of losing you and afraid of hurting you. This is... this is something that he’s going to be dealing with even after his route. 

Saeyoung Choi is a paranoid man. Even with a reasonable reason to be that way. Sometimes it can be... a lot, even if it’s coming from a good place in his heart. He would understand on a base level that you needed to be away from him but you’re... it’s complicated. If you, at least, told him that you needed to go to the store, he’d try to convince you that he can just have it delivered and you should stay there since you were almost kidnapped. Even if you do leave and decompress, the same thing that happens during the route will occur. 

So, like, you do this during his Route and it actually happens. There’s a phone call that you can check out!  

[majesticwren]

Remind Me How the Birds Sing (ChrissyxEddie)

A/N: Hello everyone ✨ I have no idea what this is. I've got struck by an idea today and here we are now. I have kind of a specific project for this, so there will be more parts coming because I NEED MORE CHRISSYXEDDIE STUFF. !Edit: this is now a reissue of the prelude since the entire project is fundamentally entirely different from what I had planned yesterday. So, back again, I hope you'll enjoy! P.S. The intro it's basically the same but I'll mark with a ~ the point where the entire scene was set and changed.!

Summary: Inexplicably a connection exists between Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson that bonds them even after "death do us apart". Even being lost to what Chrissy believes to be the afterlife, her path crosses Eddie's, once again bringing them close, despite existing on two different planes of existence.

Trigger Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Chrissy is a Ghost, Afterlife Concept, Mention of Death, Mention of Violence, Mention of Suffering, Mention of Drugs and Drugs Consumption, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers

Part 1 | Part 2

Words: 2k

Gif by: Tagged

Playlist

Part 0 - Prelude.

At first, there was fear.

An uncontrollable, frenzied, bone-gnawing and paralyzing feeling like no other she had ever experienced.

She had been scared before, sure. She remembered when Jason and his mates organised a movie night at the cinema to go watch Poltergeist. She hadn’t slept for days after that.

Or like the time she was way younger, scared of dark corners and clowns.

But nothing had ever been as frightful as the horrendous sentiment that had been chasing her throughout the last days of her life.

It was made of cold sweat and shivering skin, nerve-wracking insomnia or dreadful nightmares. Every time she got a glimpse of unnamed shadows crawling in the corner of her eye, shortness of breath would clutch her chest.

She was never at ease, never resting.  

Her stomach was contorted by never-ending nausea and sometimes – most of the time, it would peak into making her so sick she felt her insides could tear.

It was torture.

During that time, she found herself praying to everything that was holy to have mercy on her. To give her the chance to amend for whatever evil-doing she could have done to deserve such a punishment.

But then she would hear the tremendous echo of an off-pitch, old-kind pendulum clock and every time she knew: death was coming.

She didn’t know precisely how she knew, but she was certain of it. Still, mostly because of denial and partly because she didn’t have any intention to succumb to her fate, she did try and find an escape.

Even in all of that, she did find a moment of solace. Some peace and light, even hope in the darkness that her life became throughout those last, terrible days.

There, where she had never thought in a million years she would have found it, turning to the last person she ever thought she would have sought for her silent request for help, Eddie Munson. With his big, round, dark eyes and his wide and kind smile.

People called him a freak and she always heard so many terrible things about him… However, when she met him, she didn’t see any of that. He shined a light that made her feel warm for the first time in so long that she wasn’t even sure she had ever felt that way.

Even if they only exchanged a few words and she, Chrissy Cunningham, queen of Hawkins High, was turning to her last resort, fumbling into her darkness ready to try any mean necessary to make it all stop. And that would have been drugs. Still, Eddie became someone she knew she couldn’t let go of.

Before she could find an escape, death caught up with her.

Not before pain though.

Even if she could not feel much anymore if not long-gone echoes of memories, she could still hear the noise of her own bones snapping, while her muscles and skin tore.

She remembered being paralysed. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t scream.

It was a demon that had been following her. And that being greeted her at her death, trapping her soul in his clutch all the while promising it was time to end it all, that all of her pain would have gone away… That unhuman, forsaken creature born from nightmares and curses damned her soul.

Her only consolation was that she didn’t die alone. Of all the people she died right in front of Eddie, which turned out to be a sad, cold comfort. In a way soothing.

The source of such an evil, the being that murdered her did not lie though. The pain stopped.

Everything stopped.

Now everything was only black and silent.

To the point that for a time that both felt like a second and a million years, Chrissy thought that couldn’t possibly be the afterlife. And yet it appeared to be so.

She was gone. Not existing.

Gone.

Forever.

And she was floating above every emotion or conception to be scared or to feel lonely.

Yet, if she looked down, she could see her own hands and legs. She was still wearing her cheerleading uniform. Her skin wasn’t scarred or bruised. Her joints and bones weren’t broken.

She didn’t feel anything yet she had a physical shape.

Maybe it was only her imagination. Maybe that was a way to process it all. And one day she would have faded, as her consciousness and soul, were eaten, absorbed by the abyss that surrounded her.

She always thought the afterlife would have been made of light and peace. She even thought that spirits could still visit earth, to guide them or to just pass eternity.

Yes, Chrissy believed in ghosts even if the thought of it scared her when she was alive.

But she was clearly wrong.

There was no light, no angels singing or soft clouds to rest upon.

Only nothingness.

Time was impossible to comprehend in the black space she found herself being lost into. She didn’t know where she was nor when or how. She didn’t even have a guarantee that she was something at all.

Was she existing? Must have been, or her own thoughts seem to be such a waste to fill the darkness surrounding her.

But how could she exist when she was dead? Furthermore, how could she be existing when she felt one with the infinite nothingness surrounding her?

Sometimes her own thoughts seemed to have the ability to break her. Other times it soothed her to know she could still have an idea of self – and memories.

She loved to remember things like the sound of rain or the smell of chocolate chip pancakes – not that she was ever allowed to eat them, but she remembered their taste from the mornings of her birthdays when she was a child.

She remembered songs. Not that she knew much more than the rhythm of the bits or some words from the chorus… Unless it was Rhiannon, by Fleetwood Mac, that one she remembered so well she would find herself softly singing it, even dancing to it from time to time, when she felt like it.

Other times she remembered stuff like the weight of her pompoms or the feeling of fresh cotton sheets on her skin.

Memories didn’t come with the assumed melancholy or guilt, it felt more like an embrace.

Even being so unsure of her new state of existence, Chrissy thought many times it wasn’t unbearable, it wasn’t so bad… She could have gotten used to it.

After all, she always liked her own company and being alone, she didn’t mind embracing eternity that way.

And then, all of a sudden, just when she started to get acquainted with such thoughts and her new reality, with no notice or explanation, her world of pitch-black nothing shifted.

~ Something changed, as soft as the beat of butterfly wings through the air and yet as mighty as an earthquake shaking the ground.

She looked around, for once with the true intention to spot something, looking for the source of that energy change.

She even found herself holding her breath as a weird feeling tingled in her chest. Was it anticipation or was it fear?

Something else changed.

She felt as if her feet touched the ground - or whatever form of it. She was now standing as if somehow, she had a physical form. Or as if never before she perceived she was actually upright, under the influence of a form of gravity.

"Hello?" She called hesitantly.

Her voice echoed through the emptiness bounding her.

The longer silence surrounded her following her question, the more she found herself being disappointed.

But then again, how could she expect something had changed or ever would? She was dead.

For some reason that thought made her giggle.

Chrissy looked down, frowning.

If nothing changed, why could she suddenly feel the weight on that surface?

She tested it, taking a small step forward, feeling the ground under her shoes, only then realising it was covered by a thin layer of water.

She tapped the tip of her foot, splish-splashing in the paddle she stood into.

She had no way to see how big it was. Or if it had any edges at all.

But then again, she didn't mind it. Every time she tapped her foot, the water would make a soft, wet sound that filled the void around her.

It was nice. Pleasant. It made her feel... Something.

Somehow, she didn't mind the silence and the loneliness before, but now, because of that tiny shift in her condition, she recognised that such a small sound and ability to feel gave her the chance to become more courageous. Hopeful even.

As her emotions seemed to shake off the drapes of hibernation, she realised that much, much more had changed in the blink of an eye.

She could hear the loud and steady pace of her own heart beating.

How could that be possible, she didn't know. Maybe it was only memory and imagination. Maybe it worked in the same way as the reason why she could still perceive herself in her own body.

But the longer she listened the clearer it became that those weren't the only new sounds she could hear.

Another heartbeat echoed through the still air.

At first far, bearably there. But the more attention she paid to it, the louder it became, reaching her ears as if it came from her own chest.

A pounding beating, accelerated and desperate.

And the more she listened, moving blindly through an indefinite direction, trying to get closer, the more she heard. And felt.

In her own chest started to vibrate an almost forgotten sense of adrenaline and trepidation.

Soon the mysterious, foreign heartbeat shifted, becoming an echoing, equally rhythmic noise of a rushed, heavy pacing.

It was more than a hurried stride.

Someone was running. And it felt very much like it was coming towards her.

Chrissy didn't know what surrounded her. She imagined it to be the afterlife but, in all truth, she had never been sure to be truly alone.

Yet, she didn't react with fear to the sudden ravaging awareness that something was charging in the shadows in her direction.

No, she wasn't scared. But hopeful, curious... How much worse could she endure than death itself? Anything different from what she already met and acquainted with was good.

Even welcomed.

Then, right in front of her, literally appearing out of thin air, materialised a person.

Chrissy choked on her own breath from the surprise and the slight scare such a sudden vision gave her.

It took her a moment to focus on who stood right in front of her.

"E-Eddie?" She hesitated, unsure about her own words, incapable to believe her own eyes.

Was it really him?

How?

Why?

If he was there, did it mean he also died?

His expression looked so different from how she remembered him the last time she saw him... He looked lost in the depth of despair, so scared fear had turned his skin a grey-off colour.

He was out of breath. Every time he gasped for more air it seemed to be extremely painful.

Chrissy moved closer while he tried to catch his breath and strength to recover from the unbearable strain he must have been under.

"Eddie?" She called for him again trying to get his attention.

He didn't seem to see her. Or hear her.

In fact, he looked right through her, as if she wasn’t there at all.

It all didn't last longer than a minute. He immediately started to run again, passing her.

If she didn't have a clue of what was happening and why or how such a cataclysmic event took place, she also didn't have any intention to lose time thinking about it, risking losing a chance - whatever that might have been.

So, she followed him.

[ruby-whistler]

Why c!Dream should (and probably will be) redeemed

Hi! I’m bad with intros. You’ve read the title, so, let’s start with the definitions.

In this essay, we are considering the popularized definition of “redemption” instead of the classical one, which is, as per the Oxford Dictionary, “the act of saving or state of being saved from the power of evil; the act of redeeming.” That’s not however the way the word is used in fandom and media.

/dsmp /rp

The definition of redemption I’ll be working with in this essay is not forgiveness by the people who c!Dream has hurt, nor is it removing himself entirely from his past actions, but moreso the decision to change for the better and abandon destructive mindsets for himself and others.

A “redemption” in a narrative sense would be circumstances and a character arc that would allow that kind of healing and betterment.

I’d like to start this off by the fact that being “irredeemable”, in this sense, also doesn’t exist; redemption is a thing of conditions and choice, not of being allowed by someone else. You can’t gatekeep healing from people who seek it, just to be clear, and that even goes for people who have done terrible things.

Since I understand there is a lot of concern for c!Dream’s past actions, here is a post from people who are much more fit than me to speak on the matter, about the way in which they see a possible c!Dream redemption arc.

Another disclaimer, I am not going to be considering c!Dream only from the perspective of c!Tommy in this essay. c!Dream appears in other people’s perspectives and he himself has his own, unseen perspective. As a character, he is an individual person in his own right rather than just the antagonist of c!Tommy’s story, and so I do not have much concern for their narratives intertwining too much should this writing choice occur.

I’d also like to note that redemption is, in this sense, always a positive thing for everyone involved - someone who’s been prone to doing bad things in the past deciding not to do them anymore and try to change, or just simply heal enough to consider it, isn’t going to have a long-term negative effect in any of the characters, but rather the other way around. Healing is an unlimited resource, and the victims do not have to heal first for the person who hurt them to consider being better.

Here’s a well-written thread on Twitter that elaborates a bit to finish off this point, and let’s move on to actually talking about redemption in the context of the Dream SMP, and c!Dream specifically.

Why a c!Dream redemption arc is not only a good writing choice, but in this case the only good writing choice;

c!Dream, as we all know, has been subject to mental and physical abuse to the point of straight up torture by both c!Sam and c!Quackity (to different extents). He has been in indescribable amounts of suffering for the past 74 days at the time this essay will be published. That is six and something times the duration of the entire exile arc in canon.

Whatever the interpretation of his words in prison is, what is undeniable is first of all the fact his mental stability is absolutely crushed at this point, second that no human being could possibly ever deserve to undergo this, and third, his stay in the prison is showing off his humanity and making him out to be sympathetic.

Now, consider this; how would it feel if c!Tommy died at the end of the exile arc? Empty, there would be no catharsis to such an end, especially because of all of the hurt he’d gone through. Objectively, a bad writing choice.

Let’s compare, narratively of course, this situation to the prison arc. Even though I would never say one of them is “better” or “worse” than the other, since both are terrible and undeserved, c!Dream’s current state checks off all of the boxes that would make his death unsatisfying in the storyline; even if people want him gone, there would still be the dissatisfaction at the current build-up and why they even did it in the first place (it really wasn’t necessary to anyone else’s story to make him out as a victim, and yet they did) if they were planning to kill him off anyways. And since the prison arc is naturally meant to induce sympathy, even from an angst perspective it would simply not make sense within the themes and writing of the plot.

So, c!Dream can’t die, and he also can’t stay in the prison forever - the build-up must lead to something, which is logically a breakout. Great… what now?

Well, the Dream SMP prides itself in accurate representation of trauma and mental instability, specifically cc!Tommy and cc!Dream who have pulled it off incredibly during the exile arc.

Now, undoubtedly, after the prison, c!Dream is going to be just terribly traumatized- considering the writers’ past creative decisions, would it make sense for him to play the role of a dangerous, heartless villain in other people’s stories, while completely ignoring the logical fallout of what he’s been through?

In my mind, no. The most possible result is that cc!Dream is going to rightfully portray someone who’s been hurt so much he is broken, scared and tortured into submissions over months of agony and slowly stripping away of his agency, his dignity, his humanity. And that is… not going to be pretty, nor is he going to be in any way the same as before.

After everything, I’d be surprised if he can properly look at shears without shaking. That’s not villain behaviour, that’s the behaviour of someone who needs help.

Which leads me to another point, which is relatability. Believe me or not, there are people out there who heavily relate to c!Dream because they have been through things that allow them to see themselves in the character - abandonment, mental illness, etc. - or who have had destructive mindsets they have struggled to let go of in the past.

To them, as well as to the viewer, redeeming c!Dream could actually be a very good example, showcasing that anyone who has done bad things or has been hurt in the past can learn that it is possible to be better, to move on, to not be stuck in a loop but to actively seek help and then use that support to find the path to healing.

Making c!Dream a better person, who in a way, wins over his past, over his trauma, over the hurt he’s caused, and manages to actually get better… is inspiring, in a sense. It shows that you can abandon unhealthy mindsets, you can find a support group of people who care about you, you can make your life better simply by deciding to be better and then sticking to that, no matter how difficult the process.

This is why I believe that redeeming c!Dream would not be bad writing, but quite the opposite, and that the prison arc is an obvious set-up. Alright, but how does that work with the character? How could someone so widely hated mentally improve in such a seemingly violent and terrible environment? Would it even make sense within the context of c!Dream’s character so far? Well,

Why c!Dream has the capacity for healing and the Dream SMP the ability to provide it;

First of all, let’s remind ourselves that through c!Dream’s entire spiral he wasn’t ever directly given a chance to change. He was regarded as someone to defeat in order to accomplish a happy ending, or as someone who needed to be removed in order to achieve power on the SMP. Ever since the 16th, which is when the corruption of the character is the most obvious, there have been no attempts to reach out or to help him. I do not blame the characters for this - I am simply pointing out that since it has never happened before, we do not know how he would respond, and that, after everything he’s been through, any bit of kindness or compassion towards him will be a new concept he will have to learn to deal with somehow.

This point is especially driven home by the fact that both c!Quackity and c!Sam would often tell him he is a monster who deserves nothing but to suffer, and that what he’s going through is never going to amount to all the hurt he’s caused - basically removing any possibility for ever getting better (because by this logic, he doesn’t deserve support, and he doesn’t deserve to get better) from his line of sight.

He also hasn’t had a support system since shortly after the 16th, when his friends left him over c!George’s dethronement and made no effort to mend their relationship afterwards. c!Dream isn’t used to having allies and people on his side, but to being hated; again, wouldn’t that mean positive reinforcement could very well be all he needs to make the choice?

His bad mindsets - attachments are weakness, ends always justify the means, people will consider you a bad person no matter what you do - have been continuously proven right by his environment, even in prison. Any kind of subversion, plus an explanation as to why they are wrong, could be of great help to c!Dream.

Just another disclaimer; I do not believe c!Dream would change thanks to the treatment in prison, but rather despite it. His mental stability is non-existent at that point, and in order to get better he needs genuine emotional support from the people around him as well as to heal before he can redeem himself.

Alright, but… c!Dream has hurt a lot of people. Who would be fit to help him?

Let’s start off with the worst option and why it’s impossible the writers would even attempt this; c!Tommy.

c!Tommy has no responsibility to help or ever forgive c!Dream - not to say he could. The two, as it is, would drag each other down instead of helping in any capacity, and only make matters worse. The two of them shouldn’t even interact in the best case scenario - the best thing for both of them would be if they got enough healing and support individually that they could live around each other and not get their trauma or toxic habits triggered when interacting for whatever purpose of the plot.

So, if not c!Tommy (and c!Tubbo neither by extension), who could redeem c!Dream?

Well, he can’t do it on his own for sure. Being in nature with animals is nice, but further isolation from other people would merely help with the prison trauma, not with the state of his tendencies when interacting with others. He, once again, needs positive reinforcement from other people for him to heal properly.

There are two main options for this in my mind, and then there’s a few individuals he could also find comfort in, including people from both groups or those unaligned.

1) Kinoko Kingdom

From the people of this new country, c!Dream has never negatively interacted with c!Karl before, he has never hurt c!George and he hasn’t directly harmed c!Sapnap. Although the relationship with his old friend group could be difficult to rekindle, none of them have grudges against him that are too personal, and they have been canonically close friends since the beginning of the SMP, so it would be very much possible to rebuild burnt bridges. They’d be familiar, and with the addition of c!Karl they could be a good source of comfort for c!Dream after he either breaks out or is released from prison - just gotta convince c!Sapnap not to kill him first.

2) The Syndicate

From the Syndicate, c!Dream has never directly interacted with c!Nikki, and from what I know of her character she never seemed to be very affected by his actions - even doing his work for him when he was planning to burn down the L’Mantree. c!Techno is an ally who doesn’t have anything against him, and as for c!Ranboo, here is why I believe c!Dream being in the Syndicate could be positively influential on his character arc as well;

c!Ranboo and c!Philza have had a conversation about change, during which c!Ranboo made it clear he thinks everyone can change except for c!Dream; who, in his mind, is “too deep down the rabbit hole”. c!Philza replied that he thinks anyone can change if given enough time.

… you see what I’m getting at?

c!Dream has been implied to be an ally to c!Ranboo’s enderwalk state (or the state when he has access to his full memory), and hence would most likely not behave negatively towards him at all. While it might make it more difficult for c!Ranboo to deal with his own issues, it might also give him more motivation to get to the bottom of it as well, especially since he now has access to the person who, presumably, started this all. While this is going on, c!Dream would show himself in a much different light than c!Ranboo sees himin, which could lead to confusion, realization of the flaws in his own logic, and hence, positive character development.

Here’s a great post about why c!Techno as a character could be a great asset in c!Dream’s healing process & redemption, and why there is not much need to worry about him not knowing or finding out about c!Dream’s actions.

Of Kinoko Kingdom and the Syndicate, as far as I know, neither c!Tommy nor c!Tubbo have ever been directly involved with these groups, nor are they planning to.

Another important point to make is that, while c!Tommy needs to be kept away from c!Dream in order to heal properly, the same goes for c!Quackity and c!Sam in c!Dream’s case. While c!Quackity has high chances to interact with either Kinoko Kingdom or the Syndicate in the future, there’s an even higher chance, in that situation, that c!Dream would be offered protection, which is also important; there is no healing from trauma without the knowledge of safety, to some degree.

So, this was an essay as to why I think c!Dream’s recovery and redemption (one needs to come before the other, naturally) is not only extremely possible but also could be pulled off well and have a positive impact on both the characters, and the audience.

[gayseyjones]

what is a sally face ive heard of it before but only ever in like. positive contexts and that one time my friend told me about some kind of stepsibling retcon debacle

basically it was this hugeeeeely popular horror game and it's about the protag Sal aka Sally Face and while it starts off rlly interesting as like, a "Rated R" scooby doo, it just. completely nosedives into extreme racism in the later chapters. theres 3 black characters in the game and in order of appearance they are 1. a cop 2. typical "crackhead" stereotype that speaks in butchered AAVE and 3. Plot Convenient Gay Man who gets brutally tortured & murdered in detail on screen after losing his boyfriend and generally suffering loads. this is a common theme btw. all the canonically gay characters suffer horrifically. and also the plot goes from "there's an Evil Cult Worshipping Some Demons And They're Killing People We Have To Stop Them" to a complete bastardization of native american traditions and stories, which THEN culminates in the "mystic native american people" telling sal that He's The Chosen One To Stop The Great Evil and like. while sal's skin is gray and the creator said that was supposed to make it so he's "any race" he also only has eurocentric features and it's incredibly evocative of the white savior trope. also sal is canonically disabled and this is treated with literally 0 tact at all. For context sal has a disfigured face because of an accident from when he was a child and wears a "prosthetic face" aka a mask to cover it hence the name "Sally face" bc that's what bullies called him. most notably theres a scene where his love interest lifts up his goddamn mask without asking him to wipe his face and it's treated as an Awww Omg So Sweet <3 moment and its very annoying. as for the stepsibling retcon I did not hear about it being retconned but like. some context for that is sal has this friend named larry he's pretty cool a lot of people shipped them and then a new chapter released where their parents married and they became stepbrothers so. You can imagine the discourse that created.

also even if the game didn't hate black ppl and native americans and lgbt ppl and disabled ppl the plot still fucking SUCKS taking all that away. like that time sal killed Everyone In His Whole Entire Apartment Complex Including His Family Who He Loves So Much Without Hesitation After He Already Lost His Mom When He Was A Kid and it goes against everything he stands for as a character but okay. whatever. the writing is a goddamn mess.

And all of this drives me INSANE because I will be the first person to say that sally face started off good. it did. the first two chapters were really enjoyable. there were still some iffy bits because everything does but for a minute it was just a ragtag group of metalhead kids solving really weird gross mysteries in their town and it was fun. it was good. and then all the racism and homophobia happened and it was. not good. one of these days I need to write an entire essay about the rise and fall of sally face because it FASCINATES me

[distort-opia]

just for fun speculation, how do you think Jason and Joker meet up will go down. tbh i want Joker to suffer a little, but i am afraid Jason will " forgive" him in a form a beautiful Batman approved DC lesson instead.

i'm torn between " yeah Joker too popular to stay dead for a longer period of time so there is no point in Jason ending him" and " maybe because Joker's popularity has risen and his name is revealed, death would add to the impact of the comic and the " humanization" of the character". hell maybe Jason unwillingly gives him his energy and life back in the end.

Tbh, I'm a bit confused to what future meet-up you're referring to? Maybe I'm not up to date, but is there an anticipated confrontation between Jason and Joker right now, in comics? In Task Force Z or Urban Legends?

Either way, I don't think DC would go as far as making Jason... forgive Joker. Joker should suffer a little. I like both characters, and I still would absolutely hate it if they did something like that. Jason's anger is entirely justified and he shouldn't be made to feel as if he owes forgiveness, or as if he's in the wrong for feeling the way he does. What "lesson" would it even impart? That you should turn the other cheek even when a serial killer beats you half to death and then blows you up?

Besides, I think it's clear Jason's anger is less about Joker and more about Bruce. In Under the Red Hood, his sense of betrayal came from Bruce not doing anything at all about Jason's killer, and allowing him to go on. It's also made clear in Red Hood: Lost Days. Jason is shown almost killing Bruce and then Joker separately, but then deciding against it; realizing the point of his anger, and what he needed resolved, was Bruce's choice not to exact revenge. And so, Jason being depicted as "forgiving" Joker wouldn't really make sense, when the root of his betrayal is more related to Bruce. Even in the recent Black Label comic Suicide Squad: Get Joker! #3, Joker himself spells out what Jason realized in Lost Days, when the Red Hood approaches him with a loaded gun:

Joker doesn't care. Jason could kill him, could torture him, and Joker would most likely laugh or not fight it. Killing Joker would not be satisfying. Bruce doing it would be. And even Bruce knows it, otherwise he wouldn't have had that vision of what'd make him happy in Urban Legends #6, about Jason forgiving him after killing Joker, and then the Family all welcoming him with open arms. (It was such a simplistic and childish way of imagining it... "Kill Joker and it'll fix all of our problems!" As if the only issues the Family has with him are about that, and don't go much deeper. But alas, I digress.)

Also, I don't know if DC will have Jason kill Joker again -- they already did it recently with Batman: Three Jokers. If they kill Joker off, I think it'll probably be someone else. I'd still wait and see what ramifications Joker's name being revealed will have, and if they actually plan to do any humanization of the character through it. (I'm squinting my eyes so hard and hoping it's not to pave the way for a canon reveal of Joker's family being alive and him interacting with them; because again, while I do think this plot could be incredibly interesting, I have zero trust that DC would execute it well.) Also, Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing is slated to come out, and seeing as Joker (2021) was a high-selling DC comic last year... think I'd vote for "yeah Joker is too popular to stay dead for a longer period of time so there's no point in Jason ending him" in your conundrum, Anon.

[court-of-forever-undone]

I Knew You’d Come Back to Me

Chapter Two: Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you (Cardan’s POV)

Summary:  While homesick and heartbroken in the mortal world, Jude finds a pile of letters on her doorstep that include an official pardon and a love confession from Cardan. What is supposed to be a happy reunion quickly falls apart when Jude is told Cardan has returned to Nicasia in her absence. 

Cardan is determined to make it up to Jude. 

**This fic is inspired by the love story between Taylor Swift’s characters Betty, James, and August.**

Should you wish to listen: Cardigan | Betty | August

Tags: Multiple POVs, angst and a happy ending, Jurdan, post-wicked king, canon divergence

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Four Months Post Exile

If she has decided that she wishes to stay away and forget about Elfhame, me, then I will forget about her as well. Except that I can’t because for the eternity she has been gone there has been nothing to rid my thoughts of her.

I grab the nearest pitcher of wine, not that they are ever far from my reach as of late, and swallow as much of the tart liquid as I can. At least if I pass out there is a chance I may dream of her, or dream of losing her. But it is a chance I am willing to take.

There is a revel happening, for a reason I cannot remember. Probably honoring some guest that I cannot be bothered to care about at this point. I tend to the kingdom as best as I can for the day, but by the time the dawn is rising I do everything I can to forget the subtle human features that haunt me. The curve of her ear, the flush in her cheeks, the softness of her form.

Since she has been gone there has been an unbearable ache in my chest that only seems to worsen at her memory. I’ve taken back up with a variety of powders that I grew accustomed to at Balekin’s parties. The numbing sensation is highly preferable to the agonizing dread that awaits me in sobriety. At least when time passes differently, I can imagine that she is home again, or at the very least, I can pass more days until she returns.

Her return seems more and more uncertain because despite my letters, she has not come home, nor even responded to them. She has made no inclination that she intends to return, which is ridiculous because she is the queen. When she returns I will have to remember to remind her of all the accusations she threw my way at neglecting responsibilities, meanwhile she has spent months in the mortal world as if waiting for me to come bring her home myself.

I grin at the idea. A trip to the mortal world could quickly end this ridiculous torture. At least I would have the chance to see her in the flesh.

She could get her anger out and then return home with me. At this point, a curse from her lips would sound like music and her fingers curled around my neck would be ecstasy.

In time, that anger might turn to forgiveness and we can all move on from this nonsense.

Present Day

What a dreadful day today has been. I should have returned to my chambers the moment I was given news of a wine shortage because poisoned wine had been found in the castle’s cellars, because that meant I had to suffer through the small council’s bickering mostly sober, followed by hours of grievance hearings from folk. For a kingdom full of people who find me utterly incompetent, they sure do make plenty of pleas to the crown.

Only one hour remains until I can leave the presence of my court and scout for my own wine to drink, poisoned or otherwise.

“Cardan…?” Nicasia said with the air of a question.

I respond with a non-committal sound before glancing in her direction to my left. Again, she had found a seat nearest mine, despite my repeated reminder that she was no longer entitled to that spot. We were nothing beyond friends with a bit of history, even if my entire council, mother, and Nicasia herself thought it was ridiculous to prolong a “land-sea” alliance any longer.

I turn back to the conversation I had been ignoring and make an appropriate response, before quickly tuning them out again. Courtiers have nothing better to do than waste my time.

Admittedly, I could see my advisors’ point and I haven’t exactly fought to deny Nicasia’s advances anymore. Not when the one I want has rejected me entirely, favoring a mortal over me and forsaking our kingdom to my inadequate rule.

If I were a kinder soul, I might have been content to see her happy and adjusted to the mortal world, but I am not. I hate myself for sending her away and I hate her just as much for not wanting to return. Every time someone suggests I marry, I want to scream the truth for the entire kingdom to hear.

I married the mortal Jude Duarte. I did it so she would release her hold over me, but I also did it because I wanted to. I wanted to make her my queen and share this dreaded life with her; the powerful, defiant, occasionally murderous, human woman with all her soft features and perfectly odd ears.

Pride be damned. If she returned, I’d allow her anything. She would never need a geas to command me. She was already a ruler, she deserved the credit. The court would eventually adjust to the idea of a human ruler once they recognized her rule. I would lead the most devoted of her court and in our bedroom, I would further prove to her just how devoted I was by spreading --

Nicasia’s hand sliding over my knee snaps me from my thoughts. The touch of her hand felt sickly wrong considering my thoughts of Jude. I brush her hand aside and purposefully ignore the hurt look on her face. I may allow her into my room on nights where even the wine and the powders cannot bring me peace, but she knows I am far too sober and there are too many people around for that.

At the edge of my peripheral I see a dark shadow approaching. The Roach; always a welcomed distraction usually armed with wonderfully bad news.

“Come to tell me of another attempt on my life?” I murmur as he bows down to whisper in my ear.

“You are needed at once, your majesty” the goblin reports.

At that, I laugh but make no effort to move. “There is a first for everything. What is it?” I am happy to use whatever matter it is as an excuse to leave, but I am curious what requires my attention that the spies could not handle themselves.

“Jude has returned. She is waiting to see you.”

His words hit like the hilt of a sword to the chest. I stand, jumping the courtier closest to me.

“I have matters to attend to. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” I say to no one in particular, trying to ignore the loud pounding in my ears as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.

I begin to follow the Roach out of the room when I feel a hand on my arm.

“What is going on?” Nicasia asks, her eyes wide. I shake out of her grasp.

“It is a matter of great importance that does not concern you.” Instead of moving away, like my body demands to, I move in closer to her so only she can hear me. “I meant my words in the gardens. Do not show up this evening or any evening again.”

Her mouth fell slightly open as water rimmed her eyes. I didn't stay for her response, instead I turned back and followed the Roach into the tunnel, knowing every step was bringing me closer to Jude. As we stalk through the hallways, I cannot slow the questions bombarding my mind.

Did she decide against her life in the mortal world? Did she miss me as I have missed her? What should I say to her? Will she allow me to embrace her? Should I announce her return tonight?

I have envisioned dozens of scenarios of what I would say or do when she returned, but now that she is only a few steps away I have no plan past seeing her, holding her if I can, to make sure she is real and not my imagination come to life.

We take the final turn that I know leads to the headquarters for the Court of Shadows when Livier blocks the doorway.

“Where is she?”

I watch as her face contorts. She opens her mouth to respond before closing it again, clearly unsure how to answer. I don’t have patience for this. I have to see her now.

“Move Livier,” I demand.

How many months has it been since we had fallen asleep together after our vows? How long has it been that I’ve felt her pressed against me?

“Cardan, wait!” She exclaims as I try to move past her. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

I stop dead at her words.

Before I can speak, the Roach asks for me, “What do you mean? She sent us to get him.”

The pixie nods. “Yes. She went to the royal chambers, but she returned soon after and has stated she does not wish to speak.”

I cannot help the bite to my words. “To speak to anyone, or just me?”

Her silence gives me my answer. “Why?” I spit out.

She is on the other side of the wall. It has been months, what about my room could have made her decide against seeing me? A darker thought crosses my mind; what if she has decided to return to the mortal world again? The idea threatens to break me then and there in the dark tunnels beneath the castle.

Livier looks at her companion with unease.

“Why?” I demand again.

The Bomb swallows before explaining, “When she returned, she asked how long you and the Princess of the Undersea had been back together.”

My desperation melted into cruel pitiful laughter. She was jealous of Nicasia, while she had herself a human plaything. The hypocrisy was grand. I wonder how her face would look when I asked about the man and how she could possibly blame me when she broke our vows first. My laughter quickly fizzled into a frozen anger.

I needed to leave before the weight of the situation could bear down on me. In all my imaginations, I never predicted this. I had hoped she’d run to my arms or more realistically, slap me followed up with a kiss. But never returning and refusing to see me.

I want to beg to see her. Beg for her forgiveness. Beg her to stay even if she hates me.

As a king, I have every right to go wherever I please. But as a queen, she has the right to deny entry to anyone. So I turn in the tight hallway and take the turn that leads to my rooms.

She is home. She wouldn’t see me, but she is home, which meant I could fix this. She might not see me tonight, but I would win her forgiveness and maybe her love too.

****

After almost two weeks of announcements and planning, Jude’s coronation ball will begin soon. I have still yet to see her in person, but through messengers and letters she agreed to rule with me and begrudgingly accepted my proposal for a party to celebrate her return and status.

The actual coronation will not take place for another few weeks due to the time needed to gather all the court’s representatives, but this evening would be a full celebration nonetheless. She is home and that enough is cause to celebrate.

The party will also finally force Jude out of the shadows. I suspect she has moved around the castle quite a bit as I heard she met with her sisters and the Living Council, but she has made a careful effort to avoid me.

There have been several times where I have made it all the way to her door before deciding to leave and giving her the space she demands. For months now, I have had dreams of the moment we saw each other again; I have imagined her vulgar words and sweet touches. Tonight is the last night I can imagine because in a matter of hours I will see her again. For the evening, she will have no choice but to stand in the same room as me. I already announced her as my wife and Elfhame’s High Queen. After this evening, she can avoid me outside of official business, if she wishes. It would be devastating, but no more devastating than how it felt when she was gone.

I pace back and forth in my chambers thinking through all the details of the evening since I have nothing better to do. I dressed long ago in a suit twin to the dress I had sent for Jude. If I thought the last dress I designed for her was stunning, I am not sure I’ll be able to survive seeing her in tonight's creation. I gave the tailor a sketch of a silver gown with a fitted bodice and twin streams of fabric that flow from the shoulders. The hope was to create an illusion of the armor she seemed to favor. I doubt the tailor will disappoint and frankly, Jude could wear an old sack and still be devastatingly beautiful.

Before long I receive the signal to head to the ballroom. As I enter the room, I admire for the first time the servant’s efforts to fulfill my image for the evening. The decoration for a typical revel was nothing compared to the fanfare visible this evening. Long strings of lights and streamers hung from the ceiling and sweet and savory treats of all varieties are piled high on trays. The musicians and other entertainment for the evening are already in full swing keeping the guests happy and amused.

As is customary, the party has been going on for some time now, before the king and now queen enter. The center of the space is filled with revelers dancing and singing. At any other party, I would have gladly joined, but I cannot help the pooling sense of unease as I glance through the crowding looking for a particular face.

I do find the face I am looking for, but not the right person. Taryn is standing on the side of the dance floor chatting with some courtier. Locke is nowhere to be seen, which is for the best. If I notice him even causing Jude to frown this evening, I will have him locked in the dungeons for the night.

I occupy myself with some wine while I wait and use the opportunity to boast of Jude’s brilliance to anyone who decides they wish to speak with me. After about a dozen of these conversations, I finally catch a glimpse of her walking into the room with Vivianne at her side.

My Jude.

I admire her with total abandon. She is absolutely stunning. The movement of her steps causes the fabric to shimmer as it flows obscenely over her body. While I will imagine her in this dress for many nights to come, it is the crown that sits atop her head that captures my attention.

The crowd cheers at her arrival and many bow to her. While she keeps her emotions well concealed, I can see the smallest of smiles appear on her face. She enjoys the recognition. Seeing her now, if I could have given her this from the start I would have.

My heart-stopping queen.

I stay to the side where I am and watch her enjoyment from afar. She dances with her sisters from time to time and speaks to members of the gentry with ease. I know she has noted my presence, even if she has yet to look in my direction. When it is time to address the crowd, it is my turn to avoid her direction. I keep my speech to the folk short, enough to praise her and remind anyone who may be considering treason exactly who Jude Duarte is. At the final toast, I steel myself before addressing her directly.

“Welcome home, Jude.”

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, burning with a million unspoken words before she breaks away and turns to address the now-growing crowd around her.

It was the first time she acknowledged me since the morning I sent her away and suddenly the emotion behind that realization hits me all at once. I let my eyes linger on her turned back a moment longer, before downing my drink and disappearing into the gardens to wallow in my own self pity.

I told myself I would be happy if she just returned home, but now I realize how badly each moment I spend away from her aches. In school, I hated the way I longed for her. I had chalked it up to being a disgraceful obsession; one I would have been glad to be rid of whatever that meant for Jude. Now, I am equally obsessed with my mortal queen, but rather than having just my thoughts occupied with her, I feel a feral desperation to be near her, to set things right with her.

It is not uncommon for me to be followed, but when I hear soft steps behind me, the last person I expect to turn and see is Jude. Her brown eyes widened in surprise, as if she was not the one following me. We both stare at each other for a half a second too long, before Jude mumbles something and turns to leave. I take her by the arm before she can take a single step away. I won’t let her get away a second time.

“Ask me how hideous you look tonight,” the words tumble from my mouth before I can stop them.

She turns back to face me. I loosen my hold on her arm, but let my hand linger until she decides to brush it away.

“This again?” She asks, sounding more tired than annoyed. I didn’t realize how much I missed her voice.

Desperate to hear her again, I reply, “I can’t. You look like a knight from a story tonight.” A filthy story, perhaps.

Jude’s cheeks pinken as she shifts away from me. If I wasn’t afraid to lose her, I might have found her unease at my closeness cute.

“I’m glad to see the kingdom is still in one piece.” Jude acknowledges, changing the subject away from her. The distance between us feels infinitely greater than the foot of space physically separating us. I’d give anything to embrace her now.

“I had help,” I state simply. It is the truth. The Court of Shadows kept tabs on everyone, friends and enemies, and the Living Council for all the headaches they cause me, they did their job as well.

“Nicasia?” Jude didn’t try or simply failed to hide the accusation in the question.

I sigh heavily and take a seat on one of the garden’s benches. “Ahh that. Yes, it is about time we talked.” I motion for her to join me, to which she refuses.

“I don’t want to hear anything about the two of you. I understand we married out of political strategy, I won’t hold you to human standards of monogamy.” Jude echos my sigh, “After your letters, I thought… Well, I misunderstood the situation.”

My core twists at the way her voice trembled on the words. When did her pain stop being cruel amusement and instead became a twin knife that hurts us both?

“I meant every word in those letters” I murmured softly. How many times had I imagined this conversation before?

Anger burns across her face, “So, what? You got bored of waiting for me to return from the exile YOU-” she jams her pointer finger into my chest hard enough to bruise, “ordered! Maybe next time make sure your letters are actually delivered or perhaps don’t send me away in the first place.”

I stand, challenging her anger with my own. “You think I wouldn’t have waited? I went to bring you home. I saw you dancing with the mortal. Don’t pretend I was the first to stray.”

I expected more anger, denial perhaps, but not... confusion?

“What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t been with anyone else,” Jude yells exasperated.

“The blond male. I came to see you and…” I trail off when Jude laughs suddenly. “What could possibly be funny?”

She covers her face with her hands, shaking her head side to side, “Cardan, you saw me with a friend. Nothing ever happened between us, ever.”

Shame washes over me like a tidal wave. I had returned from that trip thinking Jude had made her decision to forget me and stay behind. I had walked straight into a revel and drank every drop of wine in sight. Nicasia found me a few hours later laying in the grass outside the castle and when she came near I did the one thing I thought would make me feel better.

Nicasia had been the first to notice me, my first real friend then lover. After Jude, I thought she could be the thing I needed again, but I was wrong. It didn’t take long for me to realize it would never be as it was before because my heart still belonged to Jude. If I had only spoken to Jude that night in the mortal world, none of this would have happened.

“I believed the reason for your continued absence was because you were still mad. I thought I could go to the mortal world and convince you to come home, but I saw you with the mortal man. I did not handle the thought of you with another well. Nicasia was there when I got back and… I let her into my bed, but it was you that I thought of every moment you were gone.”

Several emotions ripple across her face before she quickly schooled her face into the impenetrable mask she wears around others. She wears around me too. I continue before the fear of her rejection can stop me.

“There are no tricks within my words, so please hear me when I promise you, Jude, mortal High Queen of Elfhame, it is you I love. My heart is yours and forever will be. There will be no other’s, and if you choose to have me again, it will only be you.”

I raise my hand to cup her face and watch as her eyes flutter close. My name falls off her lips like a plea and I think it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I lower myself to meet her soft lips. Her hands soon find the front of my jacket and I don't fight when she tugs me closer to her.

Without breaking the kiss, I use my free hand to grip her lower back and pull her back into the garden seat with me. On my lap, Jude opens herself up to me and I greedily take in more of her, missing the taste of her. I can’t help but continue to caress her body with my fingertips, long after we break to catch our breath. I place a series of kisses along her neck, each more drawn out than the last before I speak the cruel fact still on my mind, “of all my terribleness, the worst thing I ever did was what I did to you.”

It hurts knowing I can speak those words aloud. I reach up to wipe a stray tear that has fallen from her eyes.

“Will you have me again, Jude?” My heart pounds in the wake of the question. I watch as she considers it. Truthfully, I wouldn't blame her if she refused me, but it would be torturous to have her so near and not mine.

Slowly, she gives a subtle nod and I don’t hide my sigh of relief. She stares at me for a second longer, before smiling, “I love you, Cardan."

I capture her lips again, finding her more addictive than the sweetest wine.

“My sweet nemesis, how glad I am you have returned.”

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[merrysithmas]

Obviously the Falcon show should've shown Bucky coming terms with the fact that he should write his OWN name in his book of victims.

It should have been made visually clear by the end of the series that he doesnt have to apologize for heinous crimes committed by Hydra hijacking his body and obliterating his bodily autonomy to incomprehensible levels, easentially using him like a criminal pump n dump. Every new assignment, new agonizing training, new puppetry, another violent rape of his body and mind.

Bucky is not at all even akin to say Tony Stark, who suffered immense guilt during the entire Infinity Saga regarding his former life as a weapons dealer. Tony's (valid) guilt resulted in a compulsive desire to protect the earth, ultimately ending in his voluntary death. Tony is time and again shown as a tortured hero despite his initial complacency in his morally bereft actions. Bucky gets no such luck- even though Bucky, in his former life, committed no such atrocities and in fact was likely one of the most heroic pre-superhero normals in the MCU.

Bucky was a well-liked, smart, athletic, happy boy who cast aside any manner of social expectation to throw in his lot, time, and energy, again and again, with chronically ill, disabled, social menace Steve Rogers. Bucky canonically nursed Steve's injuries, was his stalwart companion through all life's difficulties (his illnesses, his mother's death, Steve's psychological inferiority complex and mental anguish resulting from his social standing) and the Crash, and mostly importantly, Bucky did not want to go to war.

He was drafted (something that seemingly would have been key to bring up in Falcon re: his lifetime as an unwilling soldier). And, emotionally, Bucky ardently tried to dissuade Steve from joining the army, for fear he'd lose him. Despite not wanting to fight and being tortured, Bucky stayed in the military post-rescue from Azzano because he could not fathom leaving Steve. He planted his feet in a burning building shouting "No! not without you!" refusing to leave without Steve even after his rescue from months of torture. Til the end of the line, regardless of what happened to him.

For the next three entire films we see the frankly epic level of value Steve places on Bucky's devoted companionship. How desperately Steve valued Bucky's goodness and innocence (even above his own life, reputation, and safety).

Bucky doesn't have to cross out names he feels guilty about as if atoning for his own sins - and while the thought behind this narrative choice may have been to depict some semblance of retribution, this notion would have been much better expressed in another way. Such as: members of the public or others who were vicitmized in some horrible manner (domestic abuse, sexual abuse, scapegoats, other victims of Hydra etc) coming to Bucky instead to comfort him, welcoming him into a group designed to alieviate this solitary mental burden, or at least comiserate in some manner. Showing him he was not alone and who, exactly, he could be fighting for should he ever choose to fight again. The voiceless and disregarded, who only have Bucky who understands.

Also (though it seems to have engendered some faction of fandom vitriol), the removal of Bucky's arm during battle deserves consideration. This visual act was obviously narratively intended to show the unmatched prowess of the Dora Milaje and the justifiable premeditated cautiousness of Wakanda re: the generous rehabilitation of a dangerous mass weapon.

Though, it has the double-edged effect of showing how Bucky is still not an agent of his own bodily autonomy. His mental and physical freedom, his very ability to do his job and make his own choices therein, is still under the jurisdiction of someone else. His disability is his opposition's advantage (whether well-intentioned or not). Essentially, he is mistrusted. And it doesn't matter how much therapy he goes to, how much he atones for his "sins", his mind is still considered not to be fully and truly his. This is one of the most injurious of all things Bucky suffers - even those who rehabilitate him doubt the complete success of his healing. Therefore, his entire arc in the series is at best questionable simply with that alone.

His entire arc should clearly have been reframed to display his victimhood, and how the fact that he is mistrusted is also another burden and misfortune that he can work through and call others out for, instead of absorbing the guilt for that too.

Falcon does a poor job of showing how this "Bucky can't be trusted" mindset is highly injurious to his status as a victim, while mostly asserting it is a byproduct of his (alleged) villainy. It does not separate "alleged villainy" and "propensity for villainous actions as result of the abuse his suffered for 70 years". Instead of clarification on this for the viewers and Bucky himself we are, among other things, posed with the question - is the Winter Soldier still in Bucky?

Right there, you know the show was not intended to show much closure for the character, but rather wring-out, refresh, and even retroactively assert his alleged villainy over his victimhood in anticipation of perhaps his own solo series (where the Soldat is reactivated). Yet, we are also oddly simutaneously expected to accept that Bucky is "healing" somehow, although we never witness anything truly happen him, internally, to suggest this.

Bucky plays an almost angry motherly role to Sam at the start of the series, initially chastising him for not accepting responsibility. Bucky sees himself as the protector of Steve's legacy, and is disappointed in Sam's (later he learns, complicated) reluctance to wield the shield.

In the end, Bucky is approving of Sam and proud of his rise to the Cpt America mantle in that same manner - bookended with approval from a distance where he almost, again, stands off to the side as a proud mother. He seems to see himself as a mentor in Sam's journey towards self-actualization. Why is he so happy Sam has become the hero he always was inside?

His newfound friendship and respect for Sam as his own hero, of course. However, it is also his love of Steve which is the next obvious answer, his deep pride in who Steve was and what he accomplished, but this is inferred and never said - thus taking away again, from an oppotunity for Bucky's emotional growth and healing. The writers didn't even know where Steve was (or if Bucky knows his whereabouts) but they could have indicated something to that effect.

Once Sam has embraced Cap, the series ends. However, despite the jubilant setting of the finale, Bucky is still narrartively unmoored. We are left with the image of him lighthearted and hopeful, but without much substance towards its sustainability and so there is not much satisfaction in it despite the sweetness of its visual impact. But its depth? We are unsure. This is because Sam's ultimate advice to him, that he "serve" others rather than enact vengeance, strips away another truth about Bucky's situation.

That Bucky's desire for retribution and vengeance against those that abused and tormented him is valid and a real victim response. Bucky's perspective is seen as "wrong" instead of a well-documented step stone on the path to solid mental survivorship. Bucky could eventually want to serve -- but serve who?

Again, obviously the answer is: other victims like himself. But the show won't call him a victim at all, and thus Sam's advice feels hollow (serve... the vague and faceless Greater Good?) and Bucky's emotional security at the end of the show feels as if it lacks substance and permanance for the audience.

The payoff for Bucky's healing is almost nonexistent because no one will ever say why he was hurt in the first place (a victim).

Could go on and on about how this is because of Disney's terror of Bucky's perceived compromised masculinity (victimhood, captured, mentally damaged in WWII and present day), visual femininity (hair, slapped by men for insubordination, physically touched and moved against his will, soft spokeness, powerlessness in the narrarive), queer subtext (Steve, his origin as Arnold Roth Steve's gay jewish best friend, perceived jealousy of Peggy, intense affection for Steve), his juxtaposition to Steve and role in Steve's narrative, and their desire to wipe his slate clean with a new Masc Bucky.

Hint: it doesn't work.