#Enough about all that random nonsense of My Trauma! Let's get back to the happy For Funsies stuff

[lemonadehtwooh]

For my AU, Holmes isn't addicted to drugs (for reasons I will elaborate on in the tags if anyone demands an explanation) HOWEVER instead, to make up for this, he's addicted to caffeine

This has lead me to imagining him absolutely slamming a heavy energy drink and turning to Da Vinci to sprout his usual nonsense. Da Vinci isn't even phased (all artists has been in a moment in their lives that they've done the same lmao)

[takaraphoenix]

Ship game!! What about Nico and Will?? It’s pretty popular, but I don’t think I’ve seen you write much of it…

That's an interesting one in that I have vocalized my reasons for disliking it way back when it first became popular but instead of just linking that, it has been years so I think it's time for an updated version.

Firstly: This post is gonna be properly tagged and not crosstagged so if any shipper comes across it and feels the need to bitch about it, just don't; your lack of curating your own tumblr experience is not my problem! ;D

Now, there are three key factors that play into my dislike of this ship: How it was written, what it represents, how the fandom around it acts.

1. It’s rushed and uncomfortable

In BoO, it was incredibly rushed. They had literally five sentences of interactions before they walked into the literal sunset together. Five. It was just entirely born from Riordan's Noah's Ark Complex, where he just can't let people be single. The series was ending and he needed Nico to have an endgame so he rushed into some random romance with zero build-up.

The way their interactions went down was also severely uncomfortable for me. Will was acting so offended by Nico not wanting to go to camp and be friends in an entitled way that he had no right to be, he downright guilt-tripped Nico about how he had wanted to be friends. Nico has been just so severely traumatized at such a young age and his coping mechanism, as unhealthy as it was, was to run away and hide. Will acted like Nico not wanting to form attachments to people who could potentially leave him again was somehow just an Edgy Emo Decision and not a direct reaction to his trauma. His entire approach to Nico was basically all these hippie posts of "Don't have depression!! Just go out into the sun and stop being depressed!", which is already a bad take with non-medical people but he's supposed to be a doctor (and let's not get into the shadiness of him technically being Nico's doctor).

There is also an inherent "I can fix him" angle to this ship and to me, only few ship dynamics are more uncomfortable than that. If you want to fundamentally change a person's behavior and personality, you... don't actually want to be with this person.

Now, here's where my points overlap, because the following parts of their writing that bothers me also stand for what this ship fundamentally represents.

2. Solangelo is a queer ship written by and for straights

I'm a queer woman and as a queer woman, I want queer wish-fulfillment, not what straights want out of queerness. I'm kind of tired of that, I've been sitting through it for enough decades now. That's, of course, not to say that no straight writer can give proper queer representation, but far too often do straight writers - even the most well-meaning ones - project straight desires of queerness into their queer representation.

Let me explain that closer through this ship.

Nico's been in love with Percy for years and I'm going to do my best to not hijack this post with some Percico agenda; that's not what this his about, this isn't some "my ship is better than your ship" ship-war nonsense. It's simply a canonical fact that Nico has had romantic feelings for another character for years.

A character who, in this medium, is heterosexual. And if you're queer, you've been there. In love with your straight best friend. It's a cliche, but it's a cliche for a reason.

We have also all been well-meaningly rejected by said straight friend.

And here's the straight desires for you: The queer person who was in love with a straight person just immediately stops having those feelings and will then as quickly as possible fall in love with the next queer person they meet to be happy and no longer uncomfortably in love with a straight person, because that thought makes the straights uncomfortable.

Queer wish-fulfillment would be for Percy to return those feelings, for the queer character to get his first love, to not be rejected. That thing queer teens always dreamed about for themselves.

Aside from the wish-fulfillment angle, the pacing is another problem. Let me repeat, Nico was in love for years. But a five sentence conversation with Will once causes a crush on Will and we see him physically turn away from Percy and toward Will just immediately to rebound and actually fall out of love with Percy and in love with Will. Anyone who's ever been unlucky in love will attest to just how unrealistic and ridiculous the pacing here is.

It's also straight queerness in another respect; Nico has been the first ever queer character we meet in that world. He loves a straight guy - and to get over that, we introduce the second queer character. Because heaven forbid there are multiple queers to pick from. No, in straight-written queer romances, there is always that one main queer and then they introduce a second one and the two just immediately hit it off and develop a romance like all a queer person needs to form attraction to someone is the confirmation that the other person shares your sexuality.

Also the notable gay guy on gay guy ship here, whereas the more queer-wish-fulfillment option would have also included more nuance to the queer experience, because Percy doesn't have to be heterosexual just because he has only been with girls so far. It's a very old-fashioned - think 90s and early 2000s - kind of straight-written queerness that there are only exactly two homosexuals and that those two homosexuals then pair up.

And, listen, I'm not immune to these outdated straight-written queers entirely, I have many such ships that I grew up with that I am still fond of because they were groundbreaking at that time and they weren't outdated yet back when they happened in said 90s and early 2000s. I am however a grown woman now and just like I have grown, so has queer rep so I am not as easily baited into falling onto my knees in gratitude for canon rep. You have to go with the times. And this ship, by all that is given to us, is just entirely outdated straight-written rep.

Which, I mention earlier that even straight-written rep can be good. If the author tries. Riordan doesn't really try though; he does the bare minimum when he writes any of his rep - and there have been many, many more qualified voices being very vocal about his depiction of people of color and, as a woman, I've been vocal about his depiction of women. I don't want to derail this post with all of that, but I do think that it bears mentioning that Riordan doing rep but only doing a bare minimum and not putting in the necessary work to deepen the representation he wants to give is a repeating pattern that has been pointed out many times by now.

(I’d also like to point out that no, it is not just the ship and not just the listed instances that make it straight-written rep for straights. It’s Nico’s entire queer arc, starting with his forced coming out. A severely traumatizing event that is completely brushed over because the straight author doesn’t understand the impact this has on queer people. Not to mention the framework; Nico’s coming out isn’t Nico’s story, it happens in Jason’s POV, it is given to us through the POV of the straight bystander who gets to be Best Ally by assuring Nico that being gay is okay. This kind of coming out is not a queer wish-fulfillment, it’s a straight wish-fulfillment of getting to be the straight savior, the ally to show the gay the light of acceptance. And, additional to the ridiculous pacing of how fast Nico gets over his love for Percy, Nico also gets over years of internalized homophobia just because of, I don’t know, Jason’s few encouraging words and the fact that Will paid attention to him? For a gay kid who was in the closet all his life, the nonchalant way in which he publicly confessed his crush to Percy at the end made absolutely no sense and was written as basically a joke, finished off with Nico literally high-fiving Percy’s girlfriend despite those two never having seen eye to eye before but this is straight wish-fulfillment so all straights are Super Allies, because that’s the way straights want to see themselves, even though Annabeth has shown before just how jealous she can be and she most definitely wouldn’t go around high-fiving people who confess to her boyfriend. Nothing about Nico’s queer arc in HoO felt natural or queer or satisfying.)

Sure, Solangelo on a surface level is big because it's a canon queer couple in a YA book-series and kudos for that and yay for the kids who get to grow up seeing queers in YA books, but I actually do think that kids growing up with books written in the 2010s shouldn't grow up with 1990s levels of representation, because the 2010s overall are actually at a far more nuanced and better level of representation when it comes to queerness. And I do reserve the right to quit on too straight-written and too outdated queer rep in a landscape where I can get more satisfying representation elsewhere; we don’t live in times anymore where you necessarily have to love every bit of rep because it’s the only one you get.

Now that we've gone through my first two gripes, let's wrap this up with the final point, because it also directly ties into this.

3. The new wave of antis hiding behind this ship

A huge part of the fandom is so busy kissing Riordan's ass solely for giving them queer rep at all they think that both the author and the ship are beyond flawless and that kind of attitude is not good. Just because an author includes rep doesn't make either perfect. Absolutely no one is beyond critique - especially not when said critique comes from the very people the author is representing. And even beyond any "valid" critique on the ship, quite frankly, someone should also be allowed to just not like it, without any reasons given at all.

But there is a certain... protective obsessiveness about this ship that doesn't allow a not liking. Very similar to how PJO bore this mindset around Perc/abeth already. It's okay to have OTPs, even OTPs that you have a blindspot for and just don't want to see any flaws in. It is however not okay to then go around attacking people who don't like the thing and mind their own business.

Solangelo's bred a new generation of antis in this fandom. And, particularly with the fact that this post too receives an "anti" tag, I feel like there needs to be a clarification (because tumblr likes to forget what actually makes an anti). Not liking something doesn't make you an anti, venting in properly tagged posts doesn't either; it's the people who harass others, who seek out the content they dislike to then complain that it even exists and who actively try to make others stop creating for it - those are antis.

And with Solangelo's popularity, there was a high rise in Percico antis, who sought it out, were unnecessarily nasty about it, harrassed creators and tried to enforce some kind of "Solangelo supremacy" that won't allow other ships for the characters.

I've been in fandom long enough to be perfectly aware that not all Solangelo shippers count into this category and that there are completely normal and nice Solangelo shippers, but this is a Venn diagram where the overlap between Solangelo shippers and antis is too large to not widely associate the nasty people with the ship itself. (I've been there myself, shipping the very ship behind which a fandom's antis all hid. The second-hand embarrassment of having these people give the ship a bad name is horrendous and I do feel bad for all the normal Solangelo shippers.)

The more often I encountered these people, who made Percico bad (sometimes in wildly ridiculous manners that bent and deliberately misinterpreted canon) and who in the same breath praised Solangelo high, the more tired I grew of that ship. It's a simple game of association, really. You see that linked to the gross and nasty behavior and you start associating the ship itself with that gross and nasty behavior - and with all the things I said before that already weighed into my dislike of the ship, this just was the final tipping point, really.

And that's it. That sums up why I dislike Solangelo. It was hastily rushed, uncomfortable in its execution, it is outdated rep that very much feels as straight-written as it factually is and it does not feel aimed at me as a queer person but rather at the straight audience and it has gathered a cult following of quite uncomfortable people who on their own would be reason enough to avoid it so you can avoid them.

Send me a ship and I will explain why I do or don't ship it

[master-sass-blast]

Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter Three.

The final installment of my 100th CHC fic!

Summary: The fallout of Artemis's reveal --that she's the daughter of your uncle and Alexandra--is nothing short of an emotional mess.

The wine makes it goes easier, at least.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin, and past Alexandra Rasputin x Original Male Character (mentioned).

Rating: This chapter gets a T because while there’s mentions of emotional and childhood trauma, it doesn’t have the violence of the previous two chapters.

Word Count: 3.7k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter Two.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

Getting Alex off your uncle is no small feat. It takes both Piotr and Mikhail to manhandle her away so she can’t beat your uncle half to death –which, considering the situation, might be warranted—and then it takes a lot of soothing from Nikolai before either of her sons let her go.

Then Alex starts yelling at your uncle again, and he starts yelling back, and both their voices are so loud that they start drawing out other members of the X-Men, who wind up staring at the debacle with confused, alarmed expressions on their faces—

You clap your hands together. “Okay! Who wants to go back to my house for, like, so much wine?”

***

“You fucking piece of lying shit—”

“I didn’t lie—”

“A lie by omission is still a fucking lie!”

You grimace as you watch your uncle and Alex through the sliding doors. Told you so.

The two of them are currently out on the back deck. Alex is snarling at your uncle, who’s slumped into one of the deck chairs and generally looks like he wants the Earth to swallow him whole.

The rest of you are in the kitchen, gathered around the island counter --save for Allison, who’s tucked under a blanket on your living room couch to get some much needed rest.

(You’d offered it up upon seeing how haggard the teen looked, and Artemis had accepted on the girl’s behalf.)

You grimace, then start grabbing wine glasses out of the cabinet. “I think we’ve got some white left, and a bottle of rose tucked away somewhere. Who wants what?”

“You had concussion,” Piotr reminds you as he helps you collect enough glasses. “No alcohol.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ll have grape juice,” you say, poking him in the side. “I just want it in a wine glass.”

Mikhail spins around on a barstool. “Anything heavier?”

“Nyet,” Piotr replies, shooting his brother a mildly annoyed look.

Nikolai shrugs and says, “Either is fine,” when you turn to him.

Illyana passes when you offer a glass to her, which just leaves—

Artemis, who’s standing stiffly at the edge of the counter (having returned from tucking her ward in and making sure she’s okay) and glaring at you so hard you’re surprised you’re not smoking yet.

Well, here goes nothing. You hold up a wine glass and look at her in question –and when she doesn’t answer (or so much as change her expression) you let out an annoyed huff through your nose. You grab the bottle of white, fill the glass halfway, and set it in front of her before looking her directly in the eye and saying, “I’m not here to be your competition.”

Artemis recoils slightly, clearly caught off guard. She sputters, eyes widening. “I –he –he abandoned me—”

“Which I already called him out on, and I’ll do it again when she’s done with him,” you say, jerking your thumb in the direction of the deck. “I’m not here to compete with you –and, what’s more, I’m not interested in you making me your competition.”

“‘Me making you my competition?’” Artemis sputters, face going red with rage. “Out of the two of us, you’re the only one he’s ever shown any interest in! He bent over fucking backwards to try and help you!”

“Yeah, and he was wrong to do that to you,” you say, spreading your arms as if to say ‘I don’t know what else to do here.’ “I’m not sure what else I have to do to get it through your head that I’m on your side.”

Artemis shakes her head, scowling. She picks up her wine glass, downs half of it, then grumbles, “I knew my father had replaced me, and it turns out my mother went and did the same thing. Fucking fantastic.” 

Illyana, Piotr, and Mikhail all recoil—

Nick interjects before a fight can break out. “I do not think that is good way to think of family.”

Artemis ducks her head, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She takes another swig of wine. “You don’t know what it’s like to be forgotten.”

“I do not,” Nick concedes, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “But, I assure you, you were never forgotten.”

“Reality says otherwise,” Artemis mutters through gritted teeth.

Nick watches her for a moment. He takes a sip of wine, then says, “November 15th is your birthday, da?”

Artemis looks up at him slowly. Her eyes narrow. “How would you know that?”

“Because Alexandra remembers,” Nikolai answers with a sad smile. He slowly swirls the wine around in his glass, watching the liquid spin before lifting his eyes to Artemis once more. “She has not forgotten once. You are thirty-nine this year, da?”

Artemis flinches like she’s been struck. She swallows visibly, eyes shining with unshed tears, and nods.

Nick nods, then takes another sip of wine. “She gets you present every year, things that she thought you would like or wished she could have experienced with you. She keeps them in box at our home. Every single one.”

“Why—” Artemis swallows hard, chin trembling. “Why did she never look for me?”

“Because,” Nikolai sighs. “To her knowledge, you were dead. She had no reason to believe you were alive --and, during that time, she did not necessarily have presence of mind to search for you.” His mouth tightens into a grimace, gaze going distant. “It was very bad time for her.”

You lean against Piotr, taking your hand in his.

His trembling fingers curl around yours.

Nick looks up at Artemis, gaze sharpening. “There has not been one day that you have not been in my wife’s heart.”

“And what about your heart?” Artemis fires back. The wine ripples in her glass, belying her shaking hands. “You married my mother, had a family with her, and now I’m back when you thought I was dead. I’m sure this is a big, ugly wrench in your perfect life.”

Mikhail, Piotr, and Illyana all stare at Artemis, then look to their father to gauge his reaction.

Nikolai’s lips tug into a saddened frown. “Is that what you have told yourself all these years?”

Artemis recoils, expression flickering between anguish and rage. “I—”

“Allow me to enlighten you on my ‘perfect life,’” Nikolai interrupts, voice hardening. He sets his glass on the counter, then braces his hands against the stone surface and leans towards Artemis. “I have watched my wife suffer every single day –if not from the aftershocks of being abused by KGB, then from trauma from being foisted over to mafia families as a weapon. We have had to isolate our children” –he puts an arm around Illyana’s shoulders when she steps over to him— “to ensure their status as mutants was not discovered, considering what had happened to Alexandra. Our life has not been perfect, or easy, or anything you have told yourself in making us out as your enemies.”

Artemis narrows her eyes at him –though there’s no missing the tears slowly working their way past her dark, thick lashes. “I appreciate your life has been difficult, sir, but the reality is most men aren’t too happy when random bastard children pop into their lives.”

Nikolai’s expression softens. He shrugs. “You have never been a bastard to me.”

“Your wife had me with another man—”

“Before she and I were together, and she told me about the relationship and what she knew about you,” Nick interjects. “There was no issue of infidelity –and, even if there were, I would not punish you for it.”

“So –what?” Artemis spreads her arms in jerky, agitated movements. “I’m just a part of your family now? No questions asked?”

“If that is what you want, then yes.”

“Why?” Artemis’s voice cracks as she asks the question. She swipes the back of her hand across her eyes, desperately trying to hide the evidence of her frustration. “You don’t know me. You –you don’t have a fucking stake in my life. Why do you even care?”

Nikolai goes quiet for several moments. He stares at his glass of wine –almost meditatively. He picks up the glass and takes another sip of wine, then says, “My mother had two rose bushes on our farm.”

Artemis rolls her eyes, face creasing with irritation—

“They were for her miscarried daughters,” he continues, ignoring Artemis’s annoyed expressions. “She planted roses as memorial, so she would always have her children close at hand.” He pauses when Artemis scoffs, then adds, “When Alexandra revealed she had lost you, we placed a third bush next to my mother’s roses, so that Alex could always have you close, too.”

Artemis’s face sobers, then creases again as she tries to keep from crying.

“Alexandra wanted hydrangeas, though,” Nick adds after a moment, almost as a nonsensical afterthought. “She did not like the look of roses as much.” He watches Artemis as she ducks her head in shame, then says in a soft, gentle voice, “My wife loves you very much. As such, I love you –not in the same way, of course, but it’s love all the same. And while I never suspected you might be alive, I have learned over the years that life can be very… unpredictable. I was always ready for possibility that you would show up one day, no matter how slim chance was; as far as I was concerned, if Alex ever found you and brought you home, you would be my daughter and grow up with my children. No questions asked.”

Artemis draws in a wet, shaky breath—

And then the sliding doors open.

Alex strides in, followed by your uncle (who looks properly mollified). She takes one look at the lot of you gathered around the kitchen island –and then her gaze lands on Artemis. She stares at her daughter for a moment, then spreads her arms in a shrug. “We have shit to talk about.”

Artemis scrubs more tears from her face and nods. “Yeah. We do.”

Alex jerks her thumb towards the deck, then follows Artemis out the back door. 

You wait until the sliding door latches shut –then turn and promptly elbow your uncle in the side.

“Fuck,” he hisses as he clutches at the ribs. “Punk –what the hell!”

“She thinks you picked me as a replacement daughter,” you snap back, glaring at him. “That’s ‘what the hell!’ Not to mention –you knew she was alive all this time!”

Nick’s gaze settles on your uncle, eyes cold and flinty. His mouth curls into a disdainful scowl. “This is true?”

Your uncle sighs, deflating as he plops down onto a barstool. “I fucked this up. I know I did.” He runs his hands through his hair, then spreads his arms in defeat. “Yes, I knew. Can I please have some wine now?”

“I’m tempted to say no,” you snark back while Piotr –ever the more hospitable of the two of you—pours him a glass. “Seriously, though… what the fuck?”

Your uncle sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s complicated.”

“Does not seem complicated,” Nick says, voice going razor sharp while he glares at your uncle. “Not in terms of action.”

Your uncle pales, squirming slightly in his seat. “I… the birth was a shitshow. The U.S. took her in hopes of having a replacement for me, but she was a late presenter and they didn’t have the money for a training program, so they cut her loose into the foster system. I didn’t even know she was alive until she was nearly ten.”

“And then?” you prompt when he doesn’t offer up anything else. “Come on. You already told me. May as well rip off the bandaid and get it over with for everyone else.”

“And then… and then my life wasn’t fit for raising a kid. And then I was always on the run and the government knew her name and whereabouts and I didn’t want to risk them catching me through her or using her against me. And then…” He grimaces, expression shifting to something guiltier, more self-directed. “And then I was worried about my niece, who I knew my former handlers were looking at as a surefire replacement for me.” He knocks back a third of his wine, then says in a hoarse, exhausted voice, “She was out. You weren’t. I… I made my choices.”

Something uneasy settles in your stomach. You can understand your uncle’s motives, and that sometimes the current of life is beyond what one person can sail through on their own, and that sometimes things fall through the cracks because no matter how much you do, you can’t save everything, but…

It shouldn’t have had to be this way.

“Why not tell your daughter this?” Piotr asks, tone more diplomatic than anything you can conjure up right now.

“Being bad at confrontation runs in my bloodline,” your uncle mutters, slumping over the counter as he continues sucking down his wine.

“Bullshit,” you fire back. “I’m great at fighting people.”

“That’s not—”

“She thinks you replaced her with me,” you repeat, crouching down so you can look your uncle in the eye. You smile at him, raising your eyebrows as if to say ‘I’m only being nice right now because I’m too tired and sore to physically kick your ass so get your shit together, dickhead.’ “Take it from someone who knows: feeling like your parents don’t want you hurts. A lot.”

Your uncle flinches, grimacing. “That was below the belt.”

Illyana shrugs. “Seems to land just fine to me.”

Your uncle scowls, but doesn’t comment otherwise.

“All of that aside,” Nikolai interjects, staring your uncle down, “if you hurt Alexandra like that again, you’ll answer to me.”

Your uncle has the grace and good sense to merely gulp and nod in response.

Before anyone can say anything else (and really, how the hell do you follow that), the back door slides open and Alexandra and Artemis walk back into the kitchen. Both women’s eyes and noses are noticeably red and swollen, and Artemis is still wiping tears off her cheeks.

Alex stops short of the counter, holding her arm out to her daughter (who, in turn, tucks herself against Alex’s side like a baby duckling). She sweeps her gaze across her other three children, then says, “I’m sure you all have questions.”

“Otets and… Andrew covered most of it,” Piotr murmurs as he puts an arm around your shoulders (which you know is largely to comfort himself)

Alex looks to her husband, then nods when he nods. “Alright… do you… have any other questions? Comments? Concerns?”

“Are you two still in love?” Mikhail blurts, gesturing between your uncle and his mother –at least, until Illyana punches him in the shoulder. “Ow! Vyrezh'te eto!”

Alex merely smiles and rolls her eyes while Nikolai tuts at their daughter. “If I was, I wouldn’t have married your father.”

Your uncle, on the other hand, slumps down further and keeps draining his wine glass –until he realizes that all three Rasputin children are staring at him. He straightens up, sets down the glass, clears his throat, and says, “I’m very happy for your parents’ marriage, and I’m just as content to be single. Happy now?”

You roll your eyes. Fuck’s sake.

“What happened during birth?” Illyana asks (which makes both your uncle and Nikolai grimace slightly). “How did they manage to take her away?”

It’s a fair question, you suppose. Even with the immense task of childbirth, you still struggle to think of what would hobble Alex enough to keep her away from her baby.

Alex’s expression sours. Her gaze goes distance, right cheek twitching as she sifts through the murky waters of recollection. “...It’s not important,” she decides. Her eyes sharpen again, and she sighs quietly before rolling her shoulders to release tension.

“Then, why did you never tell us?” Illyana presses, expression pinched with confusion and worry.

Nikolai sighs, then kisses the top of his youngest’s blonde head. “Snezhinka…”

“It’s alright,” Alex interjects, assuring her husband. “It’s a fair question.” Her mouth quirks to the side for a moment as she mulls over just how to respond. “...It wasn’t an appropriate story for when you three were younger --and it’s… not a time of my life I like to remember.” She looks up, gazing passing over her other three children. “I am so sorry you had to find out this way. If I’d known, I would’ve told you.”

“It’s okay,” Piotr murmurs. “It’s not your fault.”

Alex’s gaze flicks over to your uncle (who’s doing a very good job of pretending to inspect the glass quality of his wine glass). She scowls, then smooths her expression back out when she looks back at her children. “All the same.”

“Is complicated situation,” Nikolai allows (and you’re starting to see where Piotr gets his diplomatic side from).

You all grunt in agreement; ‘complicated’ seems like a damn understatement at this point.

“What… what does this mean for holidays? Family gatherings?” Piotr asks in a quiet voice.

Alex looks to Nikolai, then at Artemis. “I think that depends on what everyone’s comfortable with.”

“I expressed that she” –Nick nods to Artemis—“will always be welcome in our home.”

“Your home isn’t just yours,” Artemis mutters, pointedly avoiding looking at the three Rasputin children.

Nikolai glances at his sons and daughter. “Chto zh? Chto vy dumayete?”

“I always felt like more of middle child than eldest,” Mikhail comments with a shrug. He knocks back the last of his wine, then looks over at Artemis and asks, “Is real name actually ‘Artemis?’”

“It’s a code name,” she answers, “for my mercenary work. The foster home I was raised in gave me the name ‘Maria.’ The supervisor liked using religious names to help ‘inspire us wayward souls to righteous living.’”

A bout of groans, ranging from unimpressed to irritated, goes up in the kitchen.

“At any rate, I don’t use it,” she adds. “Makes it too easy for US officials to track me down, since that was my registered name as a kid. Artemis is fine. It’s how Allison knows me, so it’s what I’ll be using. Keep things more stable for her that way.”

Mikhail nods contemplatively. “Good name for sister.” He raises his empty glass to Artemis when she looks up at him, startled, then reaches for the nearest wine bottle.

“I think,” Piotr says as he shifts the wine out of his brother’s reach (which gets an indignant grunt out of Mikhail), “that adjusting will take time, but… I am not opposed.” He offers Artemis a gentle smile. “You are family –if you want to be.”

Artemis nods back minutely, then glances nervously at Illyana.

The youngest Rasputin stares at the assassin for a long, silent moment, expression inscrutable. She slowly rounds the counter, until she’s mere inches away from Artemis. She sizes the older woman up for a moment, then says, slowly and clearly, “I have been only girl for nearly twenty years. If you leave me with these two dipshits” –she jerks her thumb back at Piotr and Mikhail, who let out offended squawks—“I will hunt you down and perform blood oath that will soul bind as family well into afterlife. Got it?”

Artemis’s eyes widen, but she manages to nod all the same.

Alex sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fucking Christ.”

“I think that is ‘warm welcome’ to family,” Nikolai chuckles as he shakes his head.

“Is true,” Mikhail says as he fishes an apple out of the fridge. He takes a bite, then adds, “She shows love through death threats and pain.”

“Bozhe, zakroy rot, kogda zhuyesh',” Piotr gripes, dropping his head into his hands.

“Safe to say you’re in,” Alex says, sighing exasperatedly at her three other children before smiling at Artemis. She tugs her eldest in for a hug and gently kisses the top of her head.

For a moment, Artemis looks like she’s going to cry. She hugs Alex back briefly, then steps back and does her best to recover. “I –I need to get Allie home. She needs to recover.”

“Right. Where are you planning on taking her?”

You lean against your husband as the two women and your uncle start talking about safe houses and reconnaissance –then laugh tiredly when Mikhail starts trying to juggle knives while eating his apple, much to Piotr’s annoyance.

Such as it is, you wouldn’t trade your family for any other one on the face of the planet.

***

“Are you okay?”

You’re curled up in bed with your husband, nestled in each other’s comforting embraces.

The sun has long since set, plunging the world into the gentle night. The lamp on Piotr’s bedside table is the only source of light, bathing your bedroom in a warm, dim glow.

In the distance, you can hear cars rumbling by. Crickets chirping in the underbrush. Somewhere, an owl hoots overhead.

Now that you’re home, away from the evidence of the day’s chaos, you can’t process it. It feels like a bad dream. Or a really weird movie.

Piotr sighs. His fingers brush against your skin in slow, even movements up and down your arm. “I am alive. I have you. I think that is enough.”

“It’s a good start,” you murmur before pressing a gentle kiss against his burly shoulder. “How do you feel about Artemis?”

“Weird,” Piotr admits as he tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “But… not bad.”

“That’s alright,” you assure him. “It’s a big change; it’s okay to feel weird about it.”

“Your cousin is my half-sister.”

You let out a tired chuckle. “Yeah, that’s pretty weird.” You kiss his chest –then prop yourself up on one warm. “Can I see them?”

Piotr sighs. “Myshka…”

“I just want to check—”

“I am fine.”

“I want to kiss your ‘boo-boos’ better.” You give him the best begging look you can muster up, and even bat your eyelashes a little. “Please?”

Piotr relents. He strips out of his shirt, wincing, and bares his back to you.

His pale skin is mottled with deep, angry, plum-colored welts from where the gatling gun bullets ricocheted off him.

You barely let your fingers ghost over the web of bruises –you don’t want to risk hurting him since you know he’s sore—then shift up the bed so you can start kissing his injuries one by one. You start at the top of his left shoulder, slowly working down his back as you brush your lips against each bruised spot, murmuring “I love you’s” and other bits of praise as you go.

Piotr sighs into his pillow and slowly relaxes against the bed. 

[fictionalabyss]

Protector : Hope.

Pairing : Dean x Reader, Sam, Brady, Alex (oc), Detective Baker (mentioned)

Word count :   1,764

Warnings : Prison life : Solitary confinement (mentioned), fear, anxiety, hope. Series TW : Domestic Abuse is a constant topic- be it mentioned, or actually happening.

Continuation of this series was commissioned by : @iflostreturntosteverogers

Part 21 of Protector.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

“Here.” Sam places a mug of coffee on the coffee table in front of Brady.

“Thanks.” He smiled up and watched as Sam sits on the arm of the couch next to you, arms crossing over his chest. “I spoke with Dean’s lawyer.”

“And?”

“Dean’s in solitary, again.”

Your face fell at that. You knew, part of you knew, you hadn’t heard from him in almost a week when he normally called at least every other day, but now it was confirmed. He’d done something stupid and got himself locked up even farther away from you. “What did he do?”

“Another fight. Says Dean looks rough, but the other guy had to be hospitalized.”

“Jesus, Dean.” you muttered looking down with a pout.

“But, Dean’s lawyer had got the PO box number from him, we’re looking into who owns it. Might take a bit.” You gave him a small nod, never really looking back up at him. “How are you holding up?”

When you didn’t answer, Sam did. “She’s having nightmares.” Brady looked from Sam to you again.

“Like Alex was having?” Sam nodded. “Maybe you should join him in therapy.”

“I just need Dean home.” you looked up at Brady, pleading with him.

“We’re working on it.” He saw how your eyebrows went up a bit at that. “I offered my services, so I’ll be sticking around a bit. Is it safe to say you didn’t speak to police after the grocery store incident?” You gave him a small nod. “Okay, I’m going to need you to write out a statement of what happened, and how you know this guy to be tied to Baker. I’m going to file it.”

“Okay.”

Brady opened his briefcase and pulled out some papers. Sam sat watching as Brady explained how to fill them out. Once he was done, he handed you a pen before sitting back and sipping at his coffee. Then he looked at Sam. “How’s Alex?”

“Worried.” Sam answered. “Scared to leave the house in case she needs him.” Sam glanced at you and Brady followed his gaze. Both of them watched you as you started writing.

“This asshole shown up since?”

“Not that I know of.” Sam answered. “But every once in a while, there’s a dark grey car parked two doors down across the street. Just sits there for a while before driving off. Don’t know if it’s this asshole or-”

“Baker.” Brady nods, turning to look out the large living room window. “That car over there?”

Sam gets up from where he’s sat, taking a step forward as he leans to look out. “Yeah, actually.” And as if the driver knows he’s being watched, the car takes off.

“Huh..” Brady turns back to his coffee taking another mouthful. “Might need to step up security.”

“Already did. Alex gets an escort now, I barely leave the house, and Dad has a rotation going of people driving past or stopping in. Random times, no patterns.”

“Good.”

“Brady?” When he looks to you, he finds you looking up at him, pen stopped mid sentence. “Do you know when he’ll get out of solitary?”

Brady shrugged. “A few more days, I think. I’m not sure.” Pain and sadness filled your eyes before you looked back down and got back to writing. “He’ll call as soon as he’s out and able, you know he will.”

“I know.”

“More coffee?” Sam asked.

Brady looked down at his half empty mug, the liquid inside quickly going lukewarm. Lifting the mug to his lips once more, he downed the last of it and handed it off to Sam with a nod. “Could I trouble you for a little irish cream, too?” Brady half joked.  “It’s gonna be a long day.”

“I’ll see what we’ve got.” Sam smiled.

Brady was quiet as Sam left, then he looked down at the dog sitting at his side and looking up at him. He raised his eyebrow at the dog, and the dog let out a light whine before putting his head on Brady’s leg. “You better not be a drooler.” Brady threatened as he began to pet the dog on the head. When the dog jerked his head back at the sound of Sam returning, Brady groaned at the wet patch on his pants. “Of course you are.”

It took a few weeks, but Brady got you in front of a judge. You and Alex sat in chairs in front of the desk while Sam stood back, closer to the door. Brady stood next to you while another lawyer  sat in a third chair with a foot between him and Alex.  “What is this about, gentlemen.” the judge asked as he settled down and started going through the papers Brady handed off to him.

“You might remember, your honor, many months ago when you granted a restraining order between my client and Detective Baker.”

“I remember.” the judge answered, glancing up at Alex.

“Since then, your honor, Baker has continued to not only harass my clients, but put them in danger.”

“My client hasn’t been anywhere near this kid.” The other lawyer chimed in, gesturing to Alex.

“Near Alex, maybe not. But he has put the family in danger all the same. The day Dean Winchester was arrested-”

“My client made sure to wait until the kid was out of the garage to honor the restraining order and kept everything by the books.” the lawyer rolled his eyes.

“Was he keeping it by the books when he took ‘Azazel’, a known member of Morningstar MC, aside that day and not only informed him that my client is Dean Winchester’s wife, but pointed her out to him? That same Azazel of Morningstar MC who has not only stalked my clients, taking pictures of their home, parking outside of it, but also harassed my client while she was vulnerable, shopping in a grocery store with her young daughter?”

“Your honor, this is all fabricated nonsense. My client is a respected detective, and the only ties he has to any MC is putting members behind bars, like Mr Winchester.-”

“Respected detective?” Brady all but laughed as he began speaking over the other man. “His ex wife begs to differ, your honor. In fact, she has a restraining order against him as well. He has a history of putting women in danger, I have the damn file but I can give her a call!”

“-there is no mention of an 'Azazel' in the arrest reports,” He raised his voice to be heard over Brady. “and I can assure you, my client-”

“We have him on video.” Sam chimes in from behind and the judge glances back to Sam. “I was there, I saw him with Baker, but we also have surveillance from the cameras outside the garage. He was there, he was with Baker.”

“Who are you?” the judge asked him.

“Sam Winchester.” Sam stood tall and firm. “Dean’s brother.”

“He currently resides with my clients, as they no longer feel safe in their own home due to the harassment and threats they’ve received since Baker’s actions during Dean’s arrest.”

“If they’re so unsafe, why not move?” the other lawyer questioned with a scoff of a laugh, his hands going up into the air before falling again.

“Because I’m pregnant and that’s my home.” you snapped at him, shooting him a glare. “Where the fuck else can I go? He’ll find me. I can’t go to the police because Baker is a detective, who’s going to believe me? I don’t know if you know this, your honor, but I’ve dealt with abusive men before. My hu- my first husband, he-” you swallowed, trying not to cry, but a tear escaped all the same. “He hurt us. Bad. And that trauma, it doesn’t go away. It never goes away. And now I have this man, this man I don’t even know, a man I’ve never seen before the day I saw him with Detective Baker, he’s following me around. I’m scared. Where do I go? Who am I supposed to trust? Who’s going to help keep me safe when it's a man with a badge who put me in danger?” Alex reached over and took hold of your hand. “I’m scared for my kids. I’m scared the stress will make me lose this one.” you looked down, running your hand over your stomach. “I’m scared I’ll die simply for who I fell in love with.”

“Do you have the footage?” the judge asked.

“The original, we entered as evidence in Dean Winchester’s arrest case, but I’ve got an authenticated copy right here.” Brady handed over the small disk case.

Without a word, the judge opened the case and put the disk in his computer. It was quiet for a few minutes, and then you could hear faint noises coming from the speakers. You stared down at your hand in Alex’s as you faintly heard Dean speaking.

“Is this the arrest?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“This is Azazel?” he glanced up and Brady nodded. His eyes were back on the screen as you heard yelling start and all hell broke loose. Alex gave your hand a squeeze knowing this was hard for you to hear. Before long, the sound died down to a quiet buzz again. “Is this your detective?” he turned his screen so everyone could see, just beyond the gate, barely in view of the camera, Baker was talking to the man. Then you saw yourself appear and both men turned to you. Baker looked serious while the other man smiled deviously. “Want to tell me again how your client doesn’t know this man?”

“How’d it go today, baby?”

You smiled so bright and happy hearing his voice. “We don’t pay Brady enough.” you laughed into the phone. “You’re going to hear from your lawyer real soon, Dean, but Baker is done. He’s off the case completely and the judge wants a full investigation. Into everything. Even the way your case was handled.”

“That’s good.”

“I know I shouldn’t be getting my hopes up yet, but..” you smiled. “I really hope this means you can come home soon.”

“We’ll see.” You knew he was trying to be realistic but you could hear the hope in his voice. “I miss you, baby.”

“I miss you too, Dean.”

You heard someone call out his name, and Dean was quiet for a second. “Baby, I got to go. Apparently my lawyer’s here to see me.”

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, baby. I’ll talk to you later, I promise.”

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[firstagent]

Review: Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 43: Clash, The King of Digimon

In this episode, Tailmon’s unreliable memories of the area lead everyone so far off the path they end up in a Scott Pilgrim scene.

You’d have to be a real grouch to complain about this one. It’s one of the silliest things we’ve seen in a long time, and if you can’t appreciate silly you’re probably in the wrong franchise. Everybody’s in peak comedic form here, with two classic bombastic villains unwillingly sharing the spotlight, unusual Digimon behavior that confounds everybody, and a resolution ridiculous enough for a premise like this. Heck, there’s even a tiny bit of plot progression as Tailmon’s memories and the appearance of another alternate evolution hang in the air for potential development. We’re having plenty of fun, but on the heels of such dry action, and the inevitability of more, it sure would be nice to know what we’re supposed to be expecting.

When you see Volcamon and Etemon’s names featured in the same episode, you have a pretty good idea of what to expect. This is going to be loud, showy, and subtle as pantomime. They deliver right from the get-go, Etemon stepping up his musical game with some really nice beats that also propel Volcamon’s exercise routine into top gear. Together they fight for the adoration of a crowd that just seems happy to have two rock stars to cheer for. It’s a high energy moment that’s easy to get lost in, enough to make you kinda wish they didn’t have to roll in the main cast to spoil the party. On a typical week, these two have more personality than all sixteen of them combined.

Still, it’s not like the Chosen Ones aren’t doing anything productive. Tailmon realizes the recent trauma inflicted on the continent has transformed it too much for her to recognize. If there was any indication they thought were going the right way over the last eight episodes, that would have been a neat little situation. It also pulls back the random data card Koshiro found in the trash. When we’re craving any scraps of disagreement between the kids, we’ll take the little exchange between him and Mimi over whether to plug the sucker in. It’s a shame that the data on the card effectively and conveniently cancels out Tailmon’s problem. They were never going to get proper attention in all the surrounding madness, but they were things for a moment.

Since their regular personalities aren’t going keep up with the likes of Etemon and Volcamon, the easy solution becomes the Digimon acting insanely erratic thanks to the sound wave interference. And… everything’s just going to be nuts for a bit. They can’t control their attacks, attitudes change, pelts are lost, and Tailmon’s feline instincts emerge. The kids don’t get much chance to have any reaction other than bewildered, but it is telling who attempts to fight with their malfunctioning Digimon anyway. You expect that sort of thing from Taichi (and thankfully fate doesn’t let that idiocy slide this time), but Sora and Joe just revealed something.

Despite her rash stance on data input, Mimi turns out to be the one with a brain, recognizing the nature of this conflict and how it’s more about Etemon and Volcamon one-upping each other than actual animosity towards the Chosen. We haven’t seen many instances of genuine clever ruses outside of the cunning battle tactics Taichi rode into the ground long ago. Mimi turns the two foes back against each other until Palmon sees an opening and jumps into the fray, feeding off the weird rhythms to evolve into Ponchomon instead. Where previous alternate evolutions were harder to justify either because the conditions didn’t seem that drastic or we didn’t see how the situation demanded it, this is about as ideal as it gets, as Togemon wasn’t about to out-shake these guys and the sound waves were clearly messing everybody up enough to produce a weird one like this. And in an episode as ridiculous as this, the resolution should be equally insane.

Were this a one-off breather in a brief transition between big plot hits, this would be a classic. After six episodes of nonsense, the effect is dulled considerably. After 36 episodes that have felt mostly pointless due to the lack of characterization, we’ve had 7 that have been absolutely pointless due to the lack of story. So fun as it was, even a silly episode that teases us being back on track lacks power as we still have no semblance of a point. Right now, until we somehow dive into that, this whole thing is nonsense, which can’t help but deflate times like this when it’s intentional.

My Grade: B

Loose Data:

Etemon appearing at all is a nice throwback, but making most of his die-hard fans Gazimon and Pagumon is an extra bonus.

They didn’t really use it other than to justify being attacked, but the kids gaining a reputation among the neutral Digimon population is a nice touch. Only Frontier has gone anywhere near this concept. Best part is that the reputation is less as fated heroes but rather a gang going around beating up strong Digimon, which has been far closer to the truth ever since they’ve been on this continent.

You know who’s the real rock star in withstanding all of that noise? Komondomon.

Tailmon chasing one of Gomamon’s fish was adorable, but everything about her pawing the Holy Ring on her tail demands calling out.

Everything Ponchomon does stands on its own, but it’s relieving they didn’t try to actually have her beat Etemon and Volcamon in a fair fight, tricking them to punch each other out first. Gotta watch these sorts of things since that would be a hell of a debut episode supercharge knowing this could easily be her only appearance.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!  

[wondergal2001]

Little Lamb: Part Seven

When Charlie first woke up and calmed down from her initial deja vu, the silence was wonderful. It was serene and healing; everything she needed in her life right now. Her head had been filled with so much shit the last few years, it piled up and up until all that noise was pounding in her head. Slamming against her skull demanding to be released. But the silence in this room was just... so silent. For once the only thing in Charlie's head, was her, just her. The silence was her balm, her blissful saviour.

But now it was choking her.

The soothing, healing silence had escaped the room with the cold, no-nonsense woman in a pantsuit. Erica Sloane, if Charlie remembered correctly. But to be honest she wasn't really paying much attention. She completely blanked out the second she made eye contact with the giant man with the ugly moustache. The one from the warehouse. The one who saved her, but also seemed like he couldn't care less for her life.

Ms. Sloane had strut in here like she owned the place, which Charlie din't know yet but she did, said some blah blah explanation about what happened to her, like Charlie didn't already know how she got into this situation and what those disgusting people were gonna do with her. It was old news to her, she lost interest almost immediately, she almost didn't notice when Waller left the room. What really interested her was why the not so friendly giant, looked more uncomfortable being in this room than she did. As soon as that door closed she was on the case to find out why. And thus the staring contest began.

They had both been staring at each other for some time now, what felt like hours but really was only a handful of minutes. Both pairs of eyes roaming the others figure. Trying to surmise every fact, every small tiny detail about each other without opening their mouths. Charlie could feel this man's inquisitive gave travel over every square inch of her person, inspecting every bruise, every scar, every freckle on her blemished skin. She made sure to put her best poker face on; she wasn't going to show this random man just how unsettled she was being in this room with him with complete lack of noise.

He was just as tall and just as wide as she remembered him being. He looked pretty much the same as the last time she faced him, just maybe a little cleaner. His previous sand, dirt, and blood stained outfit had been replaced with a pair of black trousers and a tight, knit sweater. The dark navy blue of the garment contrasting well with his light eyes. He stood, leaning his shoulder against the wall, about a metre away from the door. His arms were crossed at his chest, making his already big arms even huger.

The silence was suffocating her again. Sucking all the air out of her body, she couldn't breathe. This was past quiet, way more than silence. It felt like all the air and all possible noise had evaporated from the room. All thought disappeared from her frazzled head, all she could do was not blink. She knew what this was. It was a test for dominance, to see who was the top dog, who was gonna be in charge of this conversation, in charge of this relationship. She could do it, she knew she could. Charlie flippin' Granger was her name and stubborn was her game. She could hold the blinks back and show this dangerous specimen who was boss.

Charlie was quite the stubborn person, stubborn as an ox most people would say. She was often stubborn to a fault.  In fact that was probably the second word used to describe her. The first word was always the same one.

Awkward.

"So who talks first? I talk first? You talk first?", she finally broke, managing to keep her voice steady. Still trying to keep all of her emotions close to her chest, but she just couldn't keep her lack of comfort inside any longer.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very piercing stare sir. I mean like seriously, what are you doing? Looking into my soul, trying to see my future? Cause I can tell you now, there is nothing particularly interesting to see here. Nope, nada. Probably just a crazy cat lady with a thousand plants.", god she just kept rambling. The word vomit just kept coming and coming, she couldn't make it stop. She sent a quick prayer to mother Karma that she needed to be stopped, and stopped quickly.

It seemed karma took pity on her. A quiet, smooth chuff of air, left the very, very large chest; sounding suspiciously like amusement. She looked over at him, now sitting in a chair that looked much too small for a man of his stature. When he moved there she couldn't tell you, it must have been when she was stuck in her head. She saw his blank face turn into a delicious smirk. Lips pulling up to the side just enough to show his amusement. That accompanied by the mischief in his eyes from her babbling, making his beautiful face look like a total douchebag. Finally, after their intense stare down he spoke.

"That totally makes sense, you seem like that kind of person.", he said sounding just a tiny bit mocking. Still looking at her with that small smile on his face, as if she was the most hilarious person in the world. But not the type of hilarious where they tell jokes that make you pee your pants, the type of hilarious that's only funny to the people watching. The difference between laughing with and laughing at.

"And what kind of person is that Mr. Steroids?", she retorted with some not so hidden venom in her voice. Kind of insulted that he agreed with her lonely, depressing view of her future.

"You don't have great conversation skills do you?", he spoke through a laugh, his mouth breaking into a huge grin showing off his perfect teeth. Of course he has prefect stinking teeth, Charlie thought bitterly. He seemed to relax more, as he leaned back into the chair, sitting like an actual normal person instead of some perfect posture robot. If Charlie heard that sound a year ago, she would have blushed like crazy. She would be trying, and failing, to flirt back with this handsome stranger. She would have answered yes she does have excellent communication skills, and she always believed people had the best intentions at heart. But she knew better now.

"Well considering the last real conversation I had, I was begging not to be kidnapped I think I'm doing pretty well. Sorry to disappoint.", she said the last bit with all the sarcasm she could muster. Hoping to cover up the real sadness and fear that was bleeding out of her confession.

It seemed her retort had woken him up. He swiftly shifted his weight forwards, leaning his elbows on his spread knees, with his large hands clasped together hanging in between. The previous laughter on his face disappeared, being replaced by a serious face with remorseful eyes that glanced down away from her person towards his fiddling hands. After a few seconds of silence, as her admission sank into both of them, his eyes connected with hers again. The look on his face seeming to plead with her to believe what he would say next.

"You're doing wonderfully. Even though there is no right or wrong way to handle what you've been through, to handle trauma, I can tell you are doing the best you can. And that's great, that's the first step. Always.", he said so seriously she actually believed him. Everything about him right now screamed sincere. Nothing about his face, body language, or tone made her think he was lying to her. That he was giving the classic victim spiel. He looked like a golden retriever right now, he appeared to be so loyal, patient and trusting; someone she could count on to help her through this. As much as his words comforted her, the prolonged eye contact was starting to make her uncomfortable. She quickly cleared her throat, looking away from his piercing gaze.

"Where are we? Who are you? I'm pretty sure we are in some medical facility, and no offence dude but you don't look like my doctor." she questioned, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

So she was deflecting again, sue her. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his words, she did. Charlie wasn't ready to go down that hole yet. And she'd rather deal with her trauma in her home, or at the very least, when an extremely attractive man isn't there to see her burst open. He didn't seem all that surprised at her dismissal, if anything it seemed like he expected it. His face shifted again, this time becoming a the neutral, calm government official he was. He rose from his chair, standing up to his full height, his arms found their natural habitat crossing his chest. He seemed to ponder his response, Charlie watched a million thoughts run in and out of his head before he finally formulated his answer.

"You are in a US government medical facility in Virginia. You've been unconscious for several hours now which is to be expected with your injuries. I am the government agent who rescued you and who now has been assigned to help rehabilitate you and assist you in getting back into society. Long story short, that means where you go, I go. And before you ask, yes I am essentially your babysitter. My name's August.", he said sounding nothing like the man she had first met. He actually sounded...friendly. But it didn't matter how friendly he made himself seem, Charlie was not happy, nope not one bit. But she was too lazy and not mention too tired to argue with him. She knew, no matter what she said she wouldn't be able to change his mind, so she settled for showing her anger in another more healthy way. She pouted and glared.

"Tt, babysitter.", she scoffed, finding his blue eyes again staring straight at her. She returned his gaze with a fiery glare, putting all the anger and discontent she could muster right now behind it. She thought she came off as serious and intimidating, but really she just looked like kid when they are told no they can't have cake for dinner. A fact August didn't hesitate to let her know.

"It's cute, you trying to intimidate me. Adorable but useless, not to mention unnecessary. I don't like this anymore than you do.", August admitted with absolutely no shame and a sarcastic smile. He was secretly glad the light-hearted atmosphere was back, and that she took it so well. No yelling or fighting or major resisting. This he could deal with.

"First things first, now that you have woken up, we are going to move you to a safe house where you can finish your recovery.", he declared, sounding like the bossy man she knew he was just from the moustache alone. He started to move towards her, coming to stand right next to her on the left side of her bed. He reached for her arm to help her out of bed and onto the wheelchair close by. He stopped about a couple inches away from touching her skin. She looked at him questioningly, maybe there is a glitch in the matrix, she thought trying to understand what he was doing.

"Can I touch you?", he asked softly, as if he could shatter her by speaking any louder.

"What?", she asked. Her face scrunched up in confusion, her eye brows furrowed together, mouth slightly open in pause. After inhaling a deep breath he elaborated his previous question.

"Do I have your consent to touch you? To grab your arm to help you out of bed?", finally clarifying what he was after. Charlie's scrunched up face melted away into one of open shock. No one had ever asked her that before, not her previous partners, not random people she met out in public, and most definitely not the people she had encountered in the last year. Finally getting her wits together she answered back honestly.

"That depends.", she said equally as quiet as August, and equally as serious. His eyebrow quirked a little, in an inquisitive manner. The eyebrow was enough to ask her to elaborate without opening his mouth, a talent she was definitely going to ask him to teach her later.

"Were you really gonna do it?", she asked with no emotion in her voice, no emotion on her face either. She made sure to gaze at his face to see what he was feeling, she wanted to be certain.

"Do what?", he asked even more confused than he was before. He tried to imagine what she could have been talking about. They hadn't known each other for more than a day. This was their first conversation together, what could he have done to make her question him like this?

"Were you really going let him kill me?", she finally revealed. Looking him right in the eye to make sure he knew that she was watching and that she wasn't going to settle for anything less than the truth.

Finally after several seconds of silence, and even more intense eye contact he gave her a look. What it meant she didn't understand at the time, but would later learn to understand every word he wasn't saying. It was a simple yes or no question but he didn't answer. All he did was gently grasp her arm in his large, warm hand.

To everyone who is still interested in reading this: I am so sorry it took so long. Writing isn’t my strong suit and I just have to be in the mood for it. I will try my best to write more regularly and often. I will be trying to make a master list (it will be pinned on my blog) and a taglist so let me know if you want to be tagged. 

[andcurioser]

So. Let’s talk about Veronica Mars. *deeeeeeeep sigh*

Ok, friends. It’s been a goddamn whirlwind for me. I actually went to the Veronica Mars panel at Comic Con, which I thought was a highlight at the time. They screened the first episode before the panel, and I was all ready to report back to you all that it was real good and to get excited for the new season, but then Hulu had to go and drop the whole damn series during the CC panel, which was a STUPID thing to do (or, at the very least, an extremely stupid thing to announce to the panel at Comic Con - the exact people who would not be able to watch it until after Comic Con, putting them at risk for some really big fucking spoilers. It’s genuinely surprising to me how little the people who are in charge think about these things. If you want to do a surprise drop (which, why, but whatever), sure, go and do it, but definitely don’t announce it to a room full of people who can’t enjoy it and expect them to be excited??). But regardless. That was just a wtf moment. I was still filled with enthusiasm and excitement and happiness that this show was back and seemed to be in good form. 

Oy. 

Cut to Tuesday morning. I got back from Comic Con on Sunday night, and life goes on, so of course I hadn’t watched 8 hours of TV by Tuesday at 7AM. Which is precisely when my dear friend, whom I adore, but who is apparently an idiot, texted me about how terrible that VM ending was and how upset she was. Now, because I’m a good friend and I know what she likes and we’ve discussed VM at length, it took me all of four seconds to know the gist of what happens in the end. I didn’t know the how or why, but I certainly knew the what. Cue fun spikes of anxiety and random bursts of rage, because what the fuck. Truly, what the fuck. But I placed my certainty at 99% and hopelessly clung to the 1% chance that I was wrong, knowing full well that I wasn’t. This obviously completely stymied any excitement I had for the show, and I dragged my heels for a full month before finally finishing the goddamn show just to get it over with. And now we’re here. 

I’ve had a month to ready myself for what I knew was coming. It was both a blessing and a curse, since while it pretty thoroughly ruined my good time, it also meant that I wasn’t totally blindsided by that ending. And man, I would have been blindsided, because there was Z E R O reason for that. None. And now I’ve read all the articles in which Rob Thomas tries to explain his reasons, and they’re all nonsense. Absolute idiocy. All I see is a guy who always, always resented the fans for loving a character he didn’t want us to, who tried and tried to redirect us to one of his preferred creations without success, and just when I thought he’d finally accepted defeat, he pulls the most nonsensical of fuckery just to finally win the battle. Fuck you, RT, forever and always. I can’t fucking believe that I allowed myself to think you’d finally seen the light. What a ridiculous fool I was for giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

Since I knew what was coming, I could look for the signs all throughout the season. So I searched for foreshadowing, or at least a narrative through-line. And let me tell you: there isn’t one. The season finally, rightfully seems to address Veronica’s deep-set trauma and trust issues but treats them like a problem and not a secret superpower, and it seemed like the show might expect Veronica to grow up along with the viewers who’ve aged 15 years since the first season? I was excited to finally have Veronica be the problem in a relationship, frankly. It was hinted at with Piz, but glossed over because there was only so much time in the movie, but it was realistic for her to have some trouble adjusting to a long-term, committed relationship, and I was excited to see that journey! I thought it was such an interesting path to go down, watching Veronica grapple with what she wants (or maybe just thinks she wants) vs. what she’s always known, or thought she knows. Lots of stuff there! Good stuff! And you get all the way to the end, when she’s finally decided to try. It isn’t fixed, it isn’t perfectly, she’s definitely got a long way to go, but she’s taken a few tentative steps into an uncertain future. And all of a sudden, quite literally, boom. It’s all gone. 

Listen. I was never going to be a fan of getting rid of Logan. However they chose to do it, it would always feel wrong. I have never trusted Rob Thomas to handle Logan well, because he’s always had this undercurrent of anger in every interview I’ve read, this frustration that people love and respond to Logan when he wanted them to love Duncan! Then Piz! Then anyone else! His creations took on a life of their own, and RT hated it. RT was one of the ultimate examples of writers/show runners who were simply watching a completely different show than the rest of us. I could never understand how he wrote such interesting stuff for Logan but didn’t want us to root for him. It never made any sense. But I didn’t think he would sabotage his own show this thoroughly. 

Because here’s the thing: I was never going to like him getting rid of Logan, but I could have understood it. I could have gone along with it if it had been done right. Frankly, the way it was building, it wouldn’t have been a surprise, nor would it even have been a bad choice, to have Logan break up with Veronica at the end of the season. And if RT couldn’t handle Veronica not being the aggressor, fine, make Veronica do it. She decides she isn’t willing to put in the work to change that Logan needs from her, and she ends it. Fine. Could work, at least for a few seasons. Let her deal with the loss, knowing it was something she chose, and see how it affects her priorities as she continues on. Certainly could be interesting! 

You know what isn’t interesting? This. This is the only - the ONLY - plotline that’s a watered down repeat of a previous story. Veronica Mars, traumatized and hardened by the shocking loss of someone close to her? Quite literally, been there, done that. I know RT has been trying to recapture the magic of season one for every season and iteration since, but just repeating the storyline? Really, really missing the mark. There isn’t anything new that can be added to this. We’ve done this. This will only ever be a pale imitation, a tacked-on sequel hitting the same beats with less force. Lilly was a fantastic inciting incident that yielded a tight, well-thought-out season arc. But why would we want to start over 15 years later? What’s to be gained from this? Literally ANY other ending would have yielded multiple storytelling options, branching out with so many possibilities on where the characters could go. This is the only one that simply slams doors shut. 

The few supporters of this ending I’ve seen around the interwebs keep saying things like “this show wouldn’t work if Veronica was happy!” Hell, Rob Thomas is saying the same thing. And to that idiocy, I can only say 1. of course it would, if you write it well, dumbass, and 2. if you think Veronica getting married immediately = happiness, well, what the hell show were you watching? The marriage, much as it could represent a step forward, was still VERY CLEARLY a huge, impulsive jump that was more a reaction than a measured decision. And that was something I was looking forward to seeing. Fresh off of a near-death experience and a renewed assurance of her love for Logan, Veronica marries him thinking that’s the end of their troubles, only to realize that it’s just another complication. Now Veronica has to deal with the new experience of having no quick exit strategy. All the problems they had throughout the season still exist, thinly covered by the veil of newlywed bliss, and she has to reconcile her happiness with her frustration and uncertainty. Logan still disappears at the drop of a hat because of his job. She still puts herself in danger for the case and uses loved ones and acquaintances alike to her full advantage. They hide things from each other. They love fiercely, they trust the other with their own lives but can’t trust each other to take care of themselves. Doesn’t this sound like a complicated, tumultuous relationship full of narrative possibilities? 

Well, forget it, because why break new ground when you could retread old storylines? Yeah, that’s what we all want. Great job, RT. So smart. 

Something that keeps bothering me is that if RT didn’t want Logan around as the happy husband at home but didn’t want to write more relationship drama between them? He already had the perfect excuse to ship Logan off for entire seasons at a time. Look, Logan’s deployed, oh no, he can’t even skype, he’s undercover! Cool, problem solved. No more Logan, but in a way that still maintains possibilities for the future should we want them. Ideal. Again, options. All you want are places for your narrative to go. Multiple roads it could take so it doesn’t become predictable. 

This is predictable. This is boring. This is trite. Our heroes, struck down in their highest moment of happiness. Holy fuck, it’s dull. It doesn’t feel edgy. It feels derivative, a tired rehash of a narrative structure that should have gone out of vogue ten years ago. The whole thing just exhausts me at this point. 

And I’ve read Rob Thomas’s justification for why he did it. They’re all flimsy, but if he wants to go do a Sherlock-style, Ms. Marple mystery series, flitting in and out as he pleases, fine. It won’t be the worst show in the world. Veronica’s still a fun and interesting character, and I’ll always enjoy watching her. But removing her from Neptune, and more importantly, removing her from all of her meaningful relationships, takes away what made this show special. The new version RT is pitching could be fun enough. But it’ll still be just one in a long, long line of mystery shows that don’t have much claim to my emotional investment. I might watch, but I’ll forget about it the second it’s over. It certainly won’t be the kind of show with a fanbase that will still be interested in watching more 15 years from now. Rob Thomas won’t be getting one of those again. 

So yeah, that’s that. I have much more to say, but really I just wanted to get this rant out so I can put it all behind me. I learned long ago that I can’t trust shows and showrunners, and it’s a lesson I learned partly, if significantly, from Rob Thomas. I suppose it’s on me for letting my guard down, but I guess my hope got grandfathered in from an age when I didn’t immediately mistrust the things that were supposed to make me happy. I’ll know better next time. 

[slurpingsoba]

For the requests, Shigadabi when they first realized they liked eachother?

Um this may be less lighthearted than what you wanted, but I was experimenting with my writing style. 

Word Count: 1.7k

--

So this was the point in which the sun settled down into the horizon for the night, its light and warmth disappearing from behind a curtain of darkness that replaced the cerulean sky. The curtain, black and dotted with little stars and a crescent moon, made the world seem a lot less animated. Looking down at the people on the streets below him, Dabi watched as the people slowed and retreated into their homes, the energy within them fading with the sun’s departure. 

‘Lucky them,’ Dabi thought, ‘at least they have homes to return to.’

Dabi’s apartment was a temporary living space; he didn’t like the apartment’s location nor its general atmosphere. Big city lights flooded through his window whenever he tried to sleep, and the ceiling creaked when the tenant above him decided to get drunk and rowdy and bustle around his room. Dabi’s next-door neighbor wasn’t any better with her late-night parties that continued until the sun peeked out from behind its curtain in the morning. But Dabi had no money - he could barely afford this month’s rent anyway - so he couldn’t move into a more desirable place.

He had no deep connection to his apartment, and he hated it as much as he hated dissolute heroes like his father, but he stayed because he needed to. It was the same logic Dabi applied to his involvement in the League. He truly didn’t enjoy interacting with the other members, especially Toga, with her twisted love for the Hero Killer, but he needed the League’s influence to pursue his own goal of carrying on Stain’s will. 

However, Dabi found himself fascinated by the one League member that he initially hated: Shigaraki Tomura.

Dabi’s interest in Shigaraki was akin to a child’s curiosity, innocently discovering things about the world through observation and investigation. For some reason, Dabi’s subconscious saw something in Shigaraki that was beyond his immaturity and madness; something that was perceptive, muted, and solemn, a forgotten boy buried inside a man of great misfortune. It reminded Dabi of himself, and perhaps that’s why he was drawn to him. 

The ghost of Touya Todoroki was trapped within Dabi’s frame.

Dabi knew pain and loss, and he was sure that Shigaraki knew it too. He could see it in his expression when he glanced down at his father’s hand, regarding it as both a prized possession and a cursed object, repulsion threatening to make him sick like the first time he saw the remnants of his family. He could see it in eyes when he fought, brimming with anger and hunger for violence; to hurt others before they hurt him. Dabi could hear it in his voice, a morose, aching drawl that seemed hesitant to share what was unknown, wanting to bond with people but never knowing how to convey his feelings with words. Pain and loss weren’t foreign to Shigaraki; they made up the very essence of his being.

‘Just what kind of person are you, Shigaraki?’ Dabi mused, the cool twilight glow seeping through his window.

He suddenly felt cold, and lonely. Even though fire rushed through his veins due to the nature of his quirk, Dabi couldn’t rid himself of the numbness that resided deep in his core. He didn’t like it. It reminded him of his childhood.

For once, he wished the alcoholic living above him would make a racket like he usually did to distract him.

To keep his mind from recalling the sins that Endeavor committed against him, Dabi thought of Shigaraki and his dull colored hair and scarred lips. His face was a coarse one, marked with blemishes that explained his past better than he ever could. Dabi couldn’t imagine what would’ve created the wrinkles that stretched from the skin around his eyes to his forehead, or the small tear underneath his eye. Dabi sighed and thought back to his scarred lips bitten raw, and wondered what Shigaraki’s lips would feel like on his. 

Dabi’s eyes widened with the realization that he was attracted to Shigaraki, the idea revealing itself unconsciously in his absentminded daydreaming. When did hate turn into lust? Why did he not feel disgusted by the prospect of being in a romantic relationship with Shigaraki? Why could Dabi imagine himself running his fingers through Shigaraki’s matted hair, holding his pale face in his warm hand, inching closer to him excruciatingly slow...

For some reason, Dabi believed that a kiss from Shigaraki wouldn’t feel rough, but soft. 

Prompted by his fantasy, Dabi picked up his phone and dialed Shigaraki’s number. Only Shigaraki could understand what Dabi was going through right now. Pain and loss, hate and love.

He would understand.

---

Putting down his phone, Shigaraki pursed his lips, stood up, and grabbed the black jacket that laid haphazardly on a nearby swivel chair. Dabi had asked him to stop by his apartment, but he never stated why he wanted him there.

But Shgaraki knew why.

He noticed the way that Dabi watched him whenever they occupied the same room. The distance between them felt infinite, yet intimate, like space and time did not apply and all tangible concepts became abstract. Everyone else in the room would vanish, and the two of them would exist in their own little world.

Dabi always looked at him with those intense blue eyes of his that saw what resided beneath Shigaraki’s exterior, into the deeper, secret side of him. He would move closer to Shigaraki, and dropping the air of aloofness he carried with him, touch his arm gently, making goosebumps rise on Shigaraki’s skin. His shy display of physical affection would linger for what felt like lifetimes, dissipating only when Dabi removed his hand to place it somewhere else on Shigaraki’s body. But he would stop himself, realizing that his need for contact was something more than platonic.

Dabi liked him, but he was afraid to show it.

And this notion was endearing to Shigaraki, mainly because it was ironic that a man as insightful as Dabi was out of touch with his own emotions; a stranger to his heart’s desires. 

As Shigaraki stepped out of his own room and into the empty streets, he wished that Dabi wasn’t so disciplined. If he didn’t fear showing affection, he would know that Shigaraki craved his touch as much as Dabi craved his, and he even dreamed about it.

To Shigaraki, Dabi was an enigma, another game or puzzle for him to beat. Shigaraki wanted to investigate every aspect of him, learn about his oddities, and then win his devotion. 

He wanted to care for Dabi in ways that he had never been cared for himself. He wanted to cherish him and protect him from harm - especially from cruel men like Endeavor.

‘Was he the one who left you disfigured?’

Shigaraki pictured Dabi’s scars, the color of raisins, arranged in random patches and encircled by crude staples. He cringed remembering the scent that emitted from Dabi after he used his fire, smoke rising from the gaps between his staples, the smell of burnt skin filling his nostrils. Shigaraki knew - too well - that quirks could cause unbearable amounts of pain, both physically and emotionally, and memories from Shigaraki’s past involuntarily entered his mind.

Nausea overcame Shigaraki, making him feel faint and dizzy. He would’ve fallen over if he didn’t grab onto the lamppost that was beside him for support, gripping it with eight deft fingers.

‘Did your father hurt you like mine did?’

He looked up toward Dabi’s apartment complex, which was nearby, and then toward the stars. Some people wished upon them to solve their problems or even considered them symbols of fate. Shigaraki never had confidence in superstitious nonsense like that, but as he stared at the little bright dots in the sky, and the waxing crescent moon, he wanted to believe that some force bigger than himself was driving him toward Dabi. 

‘I understand why you called.’ Shigaraki reflected, ‘you need me, and I need you.’

Shigaraki gained the strength to stand and he continued on his way to Dabi’s place. 

Soon reaching the elevator of Dabi’s complex, Shigaraki stepped in and pressed the appropriate floor number. 

He pondered the outcomes of a relationship with Dabi. Could they possibly be able to heal each other, and make each other happy? Or would they just remind each other of their own personal trauma? 

As he leaned against the back wall of the elevator, Shigaraki imagined the League, his League, in uproar after finding out about their relationship. Spinner and Mr. Compress would congratulate them graciously, but Twice would take it one step further and hug them both. Twice’s type of happiness was contagious and inescapable, and Shigaraki found himself smiling, hoping that his fictional scenario would become reality one day.

Exiting the elevator, Shigaraki felt lightheaded. Although he prepared at length to deliver his confession, the thought of rejection plagued him. Shigaraki was too afraid to ruin his connection with Dabi, but their current friendship wasn’t enough for him. He needed his attention, his adoration...

His love.

Shigaraki approached his door and knocked, trying not to dwell on his negative emotions. When Dabi appeared before him, Shigaraki couldn’t breathe.

The unspoken truth between them was unveiled.

Dabi gazed at him with intense blue eyes saturated with lust, and Shigaraki felt himself relax. He remembered that Dabi could see straight through him. 

There was nothing to hide.

Shigaraki let his heart do the talking.

“I like you.” He said simply, not waiting for Dabi to speak first. 

Dabi grinned, and the apprehension that clouded his face waned. He didn’t feel so numb anymore. In fact, it was the first time in a while that he felt completely unburdened.

“Somehow…” Dabi began, “you’ve managed to say the phrase that I couldn’t say over the phone so easily.” He opened his door a bit wider, welcoming Shigaraki into his apartment. “But now I have the courage to.”

“I like you, Shigaraki. I like you too.”

[allhallowsreid]

just lots and lots of very long-winded, random thoughts about last night’s finale and the show itself...

so obvs no one has to agree with me on any of this, i just feel like there likely ARE ppl who feel like this and it’s easy to get shut down on tumblr for having different opinions, and i mostly just need to gather my feelings and thoughts in one place.

-ive seen a handful of ppl upset that the last ep centered around reid, but if you were to take 10 fans of this show, it’s a pretty good chance that 8 or 9 of them would say reid is their fave character. that isn’t me trying to insult any of the other characters, that’s just the way it is. whether it’s bc of his looks (and my lord was he gorgeous in this finale ep), or that he’s your typical cute white boi, or more organic reasons like he’s been there since day 1 and we were able to watch him change and grow, and he’s the opposite of the typical male characters we often see, especially on cop shows.. whatever the reason, he is a VERY popular tv character. and if it weren’t for that character, for better or worse, this show would have ended a long time ago.

-the ending itself.. i just feel like i don’t know what ppl were expecting?? this is not a show like supernatural or dexter or a show that has had a fluent overarching story to tell from start to finish. the story continues without us watching it. it’s another day at the office for them. was it a great ending? no, but it was fine. we see where all of them are headed. endings are so difficult, i’m just glad they didn’t kill anyone off or some garbage like that.

-so damn happy they hooked up luke and garcia. i have had such issues with garcia’s character since morgan left, i feel like she became a caricature, where she just overacts and i recently read an article with kirsten where she actually admitted that when shemar left she really didn’t know what to do with her character anymore. honestly? it showed. the obnoxiousness to luke was cute at first bc she obviously had a crush on him, but then it just became mean and out of character. this season i was happy to see her get a little bit more back to herself. all this being said, they were very clearly headed towards getting luke and garcia together this season with the overt flirting and one on one convo’s, i’m so glad they went through with it instead of leaving it open ended. and i will admit that of all the characters, i didn’t think garcia would be the one to leave, but it made sense. garcia is tough as hell, much tougher than she gives herself credit for, but like luke said, she can do this other job without the gore that she cringes over in literally every single episode of the show. also loved jj saying garcia was the glue of the team. so true, so well said. and side note, kirsten does a hell of a job writing these characters that she knows all too well, the other writers should’ve just let her take over in later seasons.

-prentiss... i love my emily so dang much, but man they give her the absolute worst dialogue. she gets stuck with all these long sentences that just.. they just don’t flow?? and it takes me out of the show so often. this has been since s12 when she became unit chief. there has been a handful of times since she became the boss that we have had flashes of old school smartass goth girl emily, and i cherished each moment, but it wasn’t enough. somewhere along the way they forgot how to write into the show that their characters had PERSONALITY. just as an example of the stupid dialogue she gets.. the end of the ep where it’s intended to look like rossi’s retirement party. then, idk who it was, emilys boyfriend maybe(?) says some dumb comment about oh gee i thought this was dave’s retirement! and then emily starts some awkwardly long line that could’ve been summed up in “dave decided not to retire afterall” and it was just soooo... weird?!!? if we are agreeing that A MONTH has gone by.. you are to tell me that it never once came up that dave said he was gonna retire and then changed his mind!??! that night, one month later, is the first that this discussion occurred!!?!?! and all of these dumb lines come out sounding so robotic, and i can’t blame paget, bc the lines are boring as hell. also unless i missed something i can’t rule emily out of being the next director, especially since their profile ended up being correct, lynch and the mom didn’t kill themselves, so i’m sure when that all came out, the next hurdle emily would have to clear is how they just blew up their very expensive jet right after having a budget meeting 2 episodes ago!!

- i’m gonna lump the newer characters together.. and just say that it was all too little, too late. they tried to give matt and luke more this season, and the ep’s centered on them were great, but it all felt forced to me. all this character development should’ve started as soon as they came onto the show. the relationships between the new and original characters also feels forced a lot of times, barring relationships like rossi and his boys, luke and garcia, tara and emily.. i mean that’s kind of all, right? we never saw much off-the-job, personal interactions between them and the rest of the characters, did we? and the way tara was treated on this show is inexcusable. aisha’s talents were so underused on this show it was criminal (pun intended). and actually, the above stuff i said about emily getting nonsense dialogue, you can throw matt in there too. his dialogue was friggin god awful at times on this show. in the words of early seasons reid, maybe try to be more conversational, writers!!

-man oh man was jj a badass and a half in this finale. tbh i always enjoyed liaison jj more than ssa jj, but when badass jj comes out i get all excited. i do feel like she would be the best fit to take over if emily left, she’d stepped into that role before and excelled. but she is another character that at times i think the writers just forgot how to write her personality somewhere along the way. i understand that the reality is that people change over time, but there were times that she was written like a typical high school mean girl, and that was just an insult to the character they created. the whole jeid thing was severely overblown and unnecessary. i don’t hate the idea of them being together, but why wait til s14-15 to deal with this? in the end i thought it was handled okay, i personally didn’t feel like it ruined their friendship or stayed awkward, which i appreciated, it was just a storyline that wasn’t needed and wasted time. also, ppl griping about “oh but she clearly loves will, if she loves spencer then she can’t love will!” i mean, actually, ppl are capable of loving more than one person at a time, hate to burst that bubble for ya.

-this seems like a good moment though to pause and just get this out about will lamon-fuckin-tagne jr... this guy is too good for jj lol, i am sorry but he is such a great guy. and can we review some things about will and his wife’s bestest friend, godfather to his children, spencer reid?? when will and spencer first met, it was during an unbelievably personal case to will, i mean his father died sending him a message about this case that the fbi was called in on. and his first intro with reid?? let’s see, reid spent that ep strung out on drugs, and full on abandoning the case to go hang out with his friend at a club/bar/lounge/whatever. ok, so that’s will’s first impression of jj’s bestie, and will STILL okay’d him being the godfather of his kids. not to mention, can you imagine your wife has been gone in the damn middle east for who even knows how long, then when she finally gets back and you think you’re gonna have her to yourself, but oh no, here comes jj’s friggin bestie again to come cry on the couch every night for several weeks!!!! and he gives zero indication of not liking spencer, in fact he seems rather fond of him. will is the most patient man ever, i swear.

-ok that was an unexpected side track. moving onto rossi. not sure why they were all like oh pfft this guy will never retire. the dude literally retired before the show started lol. if he retired once, when he was fairly young, why is the idea of it happening again so impossible? again, dumb dialogue. i loved the stuff with him and young gideon (i may be biased tho bc i’m just so damn proud of ben savage), i loved that rossi knew more about the jet than the others, however that was an inconsistency bc when rossi came back from retirement, he couldn’t believe the bau had its own jet. unless i just misunderstood what emily meant when she said it all started with rossi and gideon. i felt like lynch was a very underwhelming villain. super forgettable. there was no charisma like foyet or cat adams, there was no creep factor like mr scratch, there was no mystery like the replicator or the fisher king. his whole story just fell flat, and if there were anything interesting about him whatsoever, it’s bc of what rossi brought to the table, not the “chameleon”.

-my boy reid. he has several lifetimes of baggage to unpack, and i think of all the characters on this show, no one hates unpacking their trauma more than reid. i feel like it was so relatable that he could barely speak in this ep without sounding on the verge of tears, like every sentence was painful to even get out bc of how much hurt is stored up inside him. his trauma has defined him for years now, and if they had ended the show without addressing even some of it, the show would’ve been incomplete. i understand that actors schedules just don’t work out sometimes, but idk what the point was of having strauss and foyet be his devil and angel. and foyet’s long explanation of how bc he changed hotch, he changed the team was so convoluted that he may as well have just said “they couldn’t get james van der beek or the dude who played mr scratch, so im here instead”. i liked what they did with reid and maeve, and i actually don’t mind that there was no mention of max. they’re still very early in their relationship, and i feel like him coming out with some “wait i think i love max!” revelation would just be too fast and ooc. we already know that the relationship between them is growing, it doesn’t need to be said. and can i get an amen that maeve and reid didn’t kiss bc god that would’ve been weird as hell.

- i hate that we couldn’t have hotch or morgan or blake or elle or any of the main characters that helped make this show what it was, but i’m still grateful for the crumbs they gave us if the actors just couldn’t be booked for whatever reason. i’ve seen many shows at their end just try to pretend their previous characters never existed, so that we got some flashbacks with them was appreciated.

- RIP bau jet. i wiiiill reMEMber youuuuuuu.

-the song choice of david bowie’s Heroes was perfection. strangely, when i was driving home from work yesterday that song came on my playlist and i blasted it on repeat and performed a car concert for my fellow drivers on the road, and thought to myself that this song would be great for cm to end on. never thought they would actually do it since they had previously used the song in penelope’s ep. but what a great scene of all them dancing and singing and laughing like the bunch of nerdy idiots they are.

-i came late into the game with this show. ppl have been telling me for years to watch it and i only picked up watching in s13, after i read a spn/cm crossover fic and became super curious about who all these awesome characters were. with that said, i’m aware that since i haven’t invested years of my life in this show, that my feelings and thoughts about the ending will be different than those who have been hooked on this show for over a decade. i’m still just so thankful for the family portrayed by this show, and these characters i fell in love with, and episodes i’ll never forget.

[fantom-noise]

Hell is Empty

Part 2: Happy birthday, Jay!! @breathofmine​ @happybirthdaytsundanire​

Pairings: Harry/Blaise, Harry/Draco

Word Count: 2,743

Rated: M (sexy time) (also language)

Warnings/Content: Light bondage, rimming, oral sex, anal sex, porn with feelings, porn without plot

"As sinful as Harry's mouth was, Blaise could defrock the devil with his tongue."

Summary: Draco needs Blaise to get close to Harry to see if his feelings might be reciprocated. But Blaise gets too close and things get complicated.

It started as some good old fashioned espionage. A touch of flair and elegance, of course, as Blaise was never one to half-arse anything, even a tryst. He had to know what all the hype was about. Between the rumors in the papers and the whisper-shrieked conversation he'd overheard in an abandoned Ministry corridor, Blaise had formed quite the impression of the precious savior that had Draco wrapped around his golden finger. All he intended to do was get to know the bloke, to find what made him tick. To see what Draco saw in him. To snuff out the truth of his bedroom shenanigans.

"He could take the whole Wizengamot to bed for all I care," Draco announced in that stubbornly light-hearted way that told Blaise he was in real pain. "So long as he gives me a chance."

"To fuck?" he pressed.

Draco looked away. Ugh, it was pitiful.

They were all on friendly enough terms these days, nine years after the war. Star Auror Potter had quit the Ministry three years ago to fly for Puddlemere United, and he'd just won his first World Cup this summer. Blaise saw an opportunity to invite him over for a modest celebration, saw an opportunity to forget to invite anyone else, saw an opportunity to serve him a single glass of his very finest whisky and pick his brain. That conversation outlasted the fire, outlasted the night and Blaise's morning shift at the Department of Mysteries. But this was a mystery worth his attention.

As a teenager and, later, an Auror, Harry Potter was an arsehole. Short-tempered, perpetually stressed, only able to see in black-and-white terms. He followed his gut, which was twisted and starved by trauma and high stakes. Blaise couldn't be bothered with all that rot. It wasn't his style. But this Harry - the Quidditch star, the young man whose chief complaints were early practices and a strict diet that only allowed one glass of whisky - was a delight. Soft at times, then wickedly sharp at the drop of a hat. Openly enthused or utterly lost in his daydreams...Blaise delighted in learning to read his expressions.

"He gets this look on his face when he's peeved," Draco recalled fondly, the stupid cupid-struck git. "I've never seen anyone else who could turn their brows that sharply!"

Blaise laughed along, knowing he himself could calculate the exact angle of Harry's downturned brows.

A few weeks passed. They went for coffee in Italy (Harry drank water, the cad), shopping in Paris (he was a fashion disaster and Blaise was his only hope), flying with wild phoenixes in Japan (not a word was spoken that day and yet Blaise learned more than ever about his target). It was all going according to plan.

What was not in the plan was this...this reciprocation of interest. Blaise didn't quite know how to play it off when he arrived to work last Tuesday to find his favorite Italian espresso order waiting on his desk, charmed to keep hot.

Lost the match but still worth the trip, -H read the note.

Blaise was stunned when Harry recommended an obscure seminar in Hungary on Ancient Aramaic rituals - when exactly had he let slip that he knew Hungarian? The seminar was incredibly enlightening and Blaise locked himself away at his mother's estate for four days straight to research further. When he finally returned to his circle of friends, he tried to play off Harry's smug smirk with a quip about his hair. Because despite his charming sincerity and devotion to his friends, Harry Potter was still a fashion disaster and Blaise would cling to that desperately.

He would not fall for Harry Potter...except, perhaps, into bed.

They hadn't talked about it properly, but then he hadn't expected to. Gryffindors were brash like that sometimes - they either laid it all out on the table for frank discussion or they just laid themselves out on the table to take it up the arse, no qualms about it. When Harry invited him to Grimmauld Place, he conveniently forgot to invite anyone else. He poured Blaise a glass of his favorite whisky and they kissed chastely over the bar cart.

That didn't last long - their chastity, that is.

Harry didn't just kiss with his mouth, he kissed with his whole being. His body writhed in Blaise's grip, his soul moaned out of his stubbled throat, his fingers sparked with random flares of magic as he tore off their clothes. Blaise would mourn his bespoke robe later, when he didn't have an armful of savior to wield for his pleasure.

With unblinking eye contact, Harry dropped to his knees and didn't so much as glance down until Blaise nodded. Harry flicked his gaze to Blaise's rapidly hardening cock like it was the most exquisite thing he'd ever seen, because of course, it was. Harry pressed a soft kiss to the head, then another just below, and another on the shaft, then another and another and another. Random and without sense, just fond, teasing little kisses, until he pushed his lips against the end of his cock and let the head slip through into a gorgeously warm place of sin.

Blaise heaved a great sigh he didn't even know he had in him while Harry drooled over him happily, as if he'd been born to suck this cock. Slurping obscenely, Harry finally deemed him slick enough and fell into a rhythm. Blaise leaned back against the wall and lifted his own arms, crooking them at the elbow and draping them over his head. He closed his eyes, pushing away the image of that bobbing head of black hair, and allowed himself to simply feel. Harry's hands dug into his bare thighs, moving slightly with his motions, his nails catching and pulling on the hairs there to add just that bit of pain that Blaise needed to heighten the pleasure. And oh, that throat - Harry charged forward, taking him in to the hilt, again and again and -

"We can do better than a blowjob," he gasped, dropping an arm to tilt Harry's chin away from his dripping cock. A line of saliva connected them still, even more spittle dripping onto the floor, and Blaise nearly came at the sight. Harry looked quite pleased with himself, the sloppy fiend. "Got a bed to rest that mouth?"

The loud witch at the Ministry had gone on and on about her time in Harry Potter's bed, and perhaps it had really just been about the bed itself. It was well made, for certain. The heavy oak frame didn't even flinch when he threw Harry on it. Harry grinned up at him with such savagery, it pulled a growl from Blaise. Like a panther, snarling and naked, he pounced.

Blaise knew he was in trouble when Harry bound himself to the headboard with a practiced flick of his wrists. Silk rope held him firmly in place, leaving him open to Blaise's heated gaze...open and eager. No fear in his eyes, no timidity, no bashfulness. Harry glared at him in challenge and Blaise was never one to back down from a challenge.

"I reckon he'd like being tied up," Draco was babbling now and turning pinker with every word. "Aurors are kinky like that. Quidditch players, too, they like the adrenaline."

"Shagged a lot of Aurors and Quidditch players, have you?"

"No," Draco grumbled. "But you have..." His eyes lit up with one of his plans and Blaise's fate was sealed.

Harry's skin was soft in some places, scarred and calloused in others. Blaise ran his hands down either flank, basking in how vulnerable the ribs under his palms were. Harry rolled his hips up, his cock half-hard, and Blaise pressed him back down. He smirked.

"I'm going to wreck you, Potter," he promised.

True to his damned reputation, Harry gave as good as he got, and it was all the more impressive and infuriating when he was tied up. When Blaise yanked him down, Harry wrapped his legs around him. When he ravished a nipple, Harry arched into it and used his bastard elbows to hold Blaise against him. Every push was met with a pull and every pull was answered by a smart lip. This was absurd. Blaise gripped his hips and lifted him up into an inverted, vertical trap. That filthy mouth was pressed shut against his chest, his shoulders took his weight on the mattress, and his arse faced the heavens from which it came.

Blaise ghosted a breath across his exposed arsehole and thought he heard a tinge of unease in Harry's surprised squawk. Blaise froze.

"Alright down there?" he asked.

"Kiss my arse," Harry laughed, awkward and strained with his chin on his chest.

He did. As sinful as Harry's mouth was, Blaise could defrock the devil with his tongue. (And in fact, he was working on just that - his latest research project would summon an ancient sex demon if all went to plan.) There was no easing into it; he set his standards high and kept them there. His tongue plunged into Harry's arse without mercy, soon joined by a lubed finger, and then another. He reached around and under Harry's free-hanging legs to stroke him erratically, adding to the torture. Every lick, every stroke, every prod was without rhythm, leaving Harry squirming and unable to build towards an orgasm until he was a twitching, quivering mess of a man.

"Fuck - fuck me!" Harry cried.

Blaise obliged. He dropped Harry from his inverted position and he finally lay flat on his back, legs splayed open without an ounce of fight left. Just pure, carnal desperation for Blaise's cock between them. Slathering on some lube, he lined up and pushed in, and watched Harry's brows reach new heights with every inch.

"Gyah…!" Harry gasped nonsensically as Blaise buried himself completely. He pulled out to slick more lube over his cock and it was just enough time for Harry to regain some of his fire. Blaise snorted inelegantly as Harry coyly hooked a leg around him, pulling him back in.

"Devil," he accused with a hard little thrust. Harry grunted blissfully, closing his eyes and losing himself as Blaise set a punishing pace.

"I wonder what his face looks like when he comes," Draco mused. Blaise thought it would look like the face he'd made when his diet allowed a rare slice of treacle tart.

He mimicked it for Draco, pulling gales of laughter from his long-time friend. Even in childhood, Draco had always been one to laugh with him, not at him.

Harry tensed tellingly and Blaise closed his eyes. Harry came and Blaise missed the expression on his face, choosing to focus instead on chasing his own orgasm. He sped up, throwing himself to the sensations, and then felt his climax tumble out of him in hot, pulsing bursts.

He pulled out and collapsed beside Harry. Reaching blindly overhead, he undid the restraints, though he was certain Harry could undo them himself. Harry draped a hand over his back, cradling him against his side.

"Are you..." Draco broke off, looking slightly ill.

"We're friends, Draco," he assured him.

Blaise hated himself for what he had to do, but he'd hate himself more if he didn't do it.

"Not my style, Harry," he sighed dramatically, trying in vain to mask how out of breath he was.

Harry jerked, tilting his chin down to look at him with a bewildered smile. "What?"

"Bit earnest for my tastes," he went on. He focused on meticulously cleaning his come-covered hand on the bedsheet. "Far too much eye contact."

Harry huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes, and Blaise went in for the kill. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He'd have to traipse down to the ground level in the buff - their clothes were still in the parlor - but first:

"You're too earnest," he said again, turning to face Harry again. He sat up on the bed, staring at him with uncertainty and even a bit of fear - at least more fear than he'd shown when he was tied up. "Nothing wrong with it, per se, but it's not my style. All that moaning and gasping, I can't stomach it."

"But that's...that's sex." Harry's brows turned at the slight angle that meant he was confused, not angry. Blaise hoped he wouldn't hate him after this, but he was on a mission.

"I should've kept you on the blowjob," he said. Harry's face fell into an all new expression, one he hadn't seen before, and Blaise felt his heart sink. He was the lowest of the low here, but it was all for a greater cause. Harry blathered on about Draco just as much as Draco pined for him, and Blaise didn't share...not with Draco, anyway.

"Why didn't you." It wasn't a question, the way he said it. More of a recrimination.

"Too much mess," he answered simply. Harry frowned - a small, analytical frown that he thought Harry may have picked up from him - and wiped his chin self-consciously. "You may not have a gag reflex, but I do." He pulled a face and Harry glared at him, brows turning down at that dreaded angle.

"You could've said something!" he shot back. "I'm not a mind-reader, I don't - "

"I wouldn't have you change who you are just to shag me," Blaise said. "It's just a shag, Harry." He kept his voice gentle, praying that's all this was. For both of them.

Harry looked unconvinced, but more confused than peeved. "The last two months, then, that's all just been for a shag?"

"Six weeks."

"What?"

Blaise sighed, furious with himself. Of course he'd kept careful track of time for this of all things, when he couldn't even keep track of how long he'd hidden away in his mother's estate researching demon sex rituals.

"We've been...crossing paths, as it were, for six weeks now. Not two months."

"Crossing paths."

"Yes."

"Not dating."

“Don't shag him,” Draco told him firmly after laying out the plan. “Don't - don't muck about with his mind or anything.”

“Not sure he could afford it,” Blaise agreed. This was Potter they were talking about. What was Draco worried about?

“Just get to know him,” were his orders. “See if you can't get him to give me a chance. But don't - ”

“Circe’s tits, Draco, I've got it! Your precious savior's safe with me, don't worry.”

Blaise blinked politely. "Did I give you any indication we were dating, Harry?"

Harry flushed bright red, snatching the small pot of lube Blaise had left on the mattress and aiming for his head. Blaise ducked just in time, raising his arms to protect his beautiful face.

"I'm sorry!" he offered before Harry could find his wand and do some real damage. "That was shit of me, I'm sorry, I - yes, I led you on!" He lowered his arms cautiously. Harry was standing now, clutching a pillow like a weapon.

"I thought we were..." Harry trailed off, seeming unsure what to say. "I mean, I know we never discussed it and we weren't exclusive or anything, but I thought we were something." He stared hard at Blaise. "More than just a bad shag."

Blaise straightened up, feeling ridiculous as he stood there in the nude, discussing their feelings and pretending he wasn't lying.

"So we have no sexual chemistry," he said with a shrug. "It's hardly the tragedy of the century, you know." Harry laughed without humor in that dark way he had sometimes that piqued Blaise's interest. "I still like Italian coffee. And I suppose I could still like you in an Italian coffee house," he sighed, sounding highly put-upon. "Given enough time to recover from this experience, of course."

"Get the fuck out of my house, Zabini," Harry snorted, tossing the pillow half-heartedly at him. He caught it and offered a small smile back.

"You know who likes loud, messy, earnest sex?" He only just managed to keep mind-blowing off the list.

Harry raised his brows indifferently.

"Draco." Blaise grinned like a cheshire cat while his heart screamed at him to take everything back and keep Harry for himself.

Harry tilted his head and squinted, considering… Blaise held his breath.

"Right then - I've got a mission for you, Blaise," he said, his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "Some good old fashioned espionage."

All credit for the Blaise (and Blaise/Harry) headcanons that are in this go to the birthday girl! I just put it into writing since she’s busy creating other amazing content. <3

[honeygrip]

Untitled...

I haven’t written anything in a LONG time.

As cathartic as writing has always been for me, I grew fatigued by writing about bleak subject matter.

I staved off writing for as long as I could.

Today however, I felt this immense craving, it was time for me to say something.

I’ve been grappling with how to admit this, finding the right words to convey to the right “audience” of people who would be compassionate and nonjudgmental enough to understand, trying to come to terms with how in depth I wanted to go here with this subject matter altogether, because it is so personal to me. Because it is something, I’ve worked so hard to not have to acknowledge, and because I find most people really don’t “understand”.

Depression is not for everyone.

The Depression discussion isn’t for your casual acquaintances. Its not for your Facebook statuses. It’s not a conversation you want to have with your co-workers or your boss or your family or even your “closest” friends. It’s not an ice breaker. And It’s not how you reveal yourself charmingly in the early phases of a budding new relationship.

It’s not a dialogue you want to start when you’re unsure of how others are going to react. It’s not an exchange you want to engage in when you are anxiously terrified about what is happening to you but still polite enough to not want to worry anyone else around you.

I didn’t want to be babied. I didn’t want to be hospitalized. I didn’t want people to be afraid of me or worse- abandon me completely. There were times when I was scared for my life because I felt so hopeless. But in the next second, I would know, that I didn’t want to acknowledge that idea in any real way because once I did, I would be labeled and stigmatized.

ESPECIALLY WITHIN THE BLACK COMMUNITY.

And So, I isolated myself. It was time for me to put together a plan of action to save my own life. I reached out to my FB community very vaguely asking for help with finding a good (and affordable) therapist.

That was the easiest part of the last few months of my life. The QUEST that began to find a quality, licensed therapist inside of my network of shitty insurance who was taking new patients and wasn’t demanding all sorts of other large exorbitant payments from me on top of my copay was exhausting.

You’d think with all these health and mental wellness experts abound, that it would be easier-but it wasn’t. I am fortunate enough to have a decent paying job, and since I don’t directly benefit from any magical government subsidies, it seemed like it was harder to find adequate resources.

I was... NO, I am mentally ill. But since I haven’t had a complete mental breakdown, or done something so drastically dangerous to myself or someone else, I was... and am NOT considered- a high priority case.

I am a perfectly functioning adult, dying inside, right here in plain sight.

Truth is, I couldn’t afford a “mental breakdown” even if I tried. Although, a full on “mental breakdown” does sound glorious...

A few days locked up in a hospital, resting, highly medicated and regularly monitored actually sounds fucking delightful!

But I had life here, my beautiful 10 year old daughter, my bills and my commitment to my daily obligations to consider. If I stopped working, EVERYTHING in my life would stop working. That desperate realization alone was enough to keep going.

My pride and my misanthropic attitude made it difficult for me to find people “close” enough to talk to. It’s hard for me (personally) to ask for help. I understand everyone is busy, EVERYONE IS COPING. I’m an empath, so I already know this about other people and understand it well. I never want to be a burden to anyone. When you’re in the depths of a depression, like I was (I’m slowly coming out of it now) I wasn’t sure if I was really hitting bottom enough that I needed help. I just knew I was exhausted all the time, that my heart is completely broken and that I felt so stagnant that I just couldn’t figure out a good reason to go on.

I was so desperate. Something had to change, something had to stop, and it needed to happen quickly.

I couldn’t be fake about it anymore.

Couldn’t be preoccupied by a social life because I wasn’t living. I didn’t (still don’t) want to go out. I don’t want to be seen or social. And I didn’t want to let anyone in.

People say they are “always there” if you need them but they’re not. Especially when “there” is a dank, dark place that’s not particularly positive a majority of the time. So naturally, “Friendships” imploded.

Relationshits (not a typo) never existed to begin with.

I would get text messages occasionally that I couldn’t answer. I literally just could not (be bothered to) answer.

Some check-ins weren’t personal enough to tell them the truth.

Some were too personal to go into depth with.

If I tell you, I’m not doing too well and you press further (as a good friend would) how could I dance my way around delving deeper without offending you?

What about when I tell you and your response is as vague and generally unsupportive as some that I received...

I was at a complete standstill.

I didn’t and still don’t want prayers or positive mantras, suggestions on books to read, meditations to try. And Thank you!

But NO.

I needed definitive plans of action and new strategies to attack this and NO ONE could give me that but me.

Isolation is NOT good but I needed to be truly alone with myself. Not distracting myself with nonsense or nonsense people and not self medicating.

I thank God that I wasn’t truly suicidal, although some days, I wasn’t sure. For as hopeless as I felt, I was able to keep my wits about me for the most part, I was resilient enough to focus on getting into some sort of therapy and committing myself whole soul and heartedly to getting well.

My first few sessions with my therapist felt a bit pointless. I’d just sit here and talk and talk and talk. She’d say something wise, I’d cry like a blubbering lunatic and then she’d send me on my way.

My therapist was also adamant about me going to a psychiatrist and getting on medication. I was resisting because I didn’t want to admit that I needed antidepressants to be well and I also didn’t want to have to go back out on another QUEST to find another doctor in my network of shitty insurance who was taking on new patients and wasn’t going to charge me violent rates of $250-$350 an hour for a consultation.

Finding a psychiatrist in my network of shitty insurance took me another month and a half, which had me going to therapy wondering if it was ever going to work because I needed the 2 for 1 service to begin to feel relief.

I was suffering through insomnia every night. That tremendous pressure on my chest of wanting to cry but not being able to. Of wanting to breathe but not being able to, of wanting to STOP crying but not being able to.

Because I wasn’t sleeping, I’d be a zombie most of the day. So, I sleep whenever I can, and sometimes sleep comes when I should be the most present.

I’m checked out emotionally, mentally, physically and I hate everyone. Exhausted by frustration. When I tell my therapist I’m so tired, she always chastises me.

“You’re not “tired”- YOU’RE DEPRESSED.”

She tells me, I have to own it, not hide it.

And therefore, I am...

Although, I’m still not ready to “talk” about it. It’s become evident to me that I have to honor myself and my gift of writing by actually WRITING about it.

Writing and journaling is actually a part of my prescribed homework, even though I had sworn off writing about anything until I had found something happy or positive to talk about. Here I am—writing.

Writing from the deep beyond, the depths of heartbreak, in the midst of a self imposed Cold War. Little to no communication with the outside world. Rarely engaging with ANYONE, and releasing any guilt or shame I felt about not being social.

I hardly go on social media anymore, because it’s wildly triggering for me. I’ve blocked any relatively toxic person who could contact me. I live in an innocuous bubble of my personal daily routine.

What’s most peculiar is the randomness of the people who do reach out to me. Folks I don’t actually know, who DM’d me- “to check on me”. Those who still check in, no matter how sporadically I respond. Those truly understanding few who have left me alone completely and those who don’t AT ALL.

The longing in my heart for those I wish cared, the amount of time it’s taking me to sync the intellectual realities with my emotional fantasies or is it my intellectual fantasies with my emotional realities- at any rate- it fucking hurts knowing I’ve chosen- against my best self interest to care for people who do not care about me. And every so often, I get mad at myself for still even thinking about that fact.

There are things about myself and how I love and how I cope- that I am learning for the first time. There are new ways that I am learning how to love myself and understand myself for the first time as well. I’ve been on the precipice of all this before- but each time I discover how childhood traumas relate to present day wounds- and how they show up in my behaviors and I’m astounded in a new way.

I am reluctantly sharing all this because our people don’t talk about depression in the present tense. Most talk about it as if it’s something they’ve miraculously conquered but never as something they miraculously endure.

Depression may come to some in phases but it isn’t just a phase, and it’s okay to be depressed as long as you don’t give up completely. As long as you are seeking to find a way to conquer it, and not pretending your Cold War is over.

♥️

[thedepthsremember]

20 Questions: Choices fanfic writers edition 

Tagged in this by @breaumonts! Thanks :D 

1. When/what age did you start writing?   In elementary school, I wrote and drew my own picture books, which at that age I definitely thought was the best thing to do forever. In middle/high school, there was some self-insert Spider-Man and Harry Potter fanfic that I hope stays buried forever. I picked it back up more regularly during an awful period in college where I lost my love of drawing (unfortunate, considering my major) but still needed to express somehow. 2. What inspired you to start? Similar to my art it's been a way to express myself, to tell my side of how I'm seeing things. A lot of the time it's like solving a puzzle, what was that character thinking? And then I just keep chasing that thought. 

It weirds me out that writing feels more like..... excavating. Like it was there and I’m just uncovering it. Drawing doesn’t feel like that at all.  3. Where and when does inspiration usually strike you? I do a lot of driving, so usually then, or if I'm doing something repetitive at work and I can let my mind wander. While I'm getting a massage is a random one but I'm relaxed and my mind can just play without getting in its own way.

4. Where and when do you usually to write? Morning? Late at night? On the bus? In bed? Lately it's been my favorite way to procrastinate sleeping because it's like I'm being productive! Hahaaa

I'll write entire scenes in my head before I write anything down. Sometimes I'll dash down little parts on paper or in my phone to make sure I don't forget. 

5. Do you listen to music while writing? If so what genre/playlist? A lot of chill video game instrumentals are a good default, unless I have a playlist or an artist I know will set the right mood. I'm pop trash so usually that'll fall to the background enough that I can focus. 6. Which category do you like best? Angst? Fluff? NSFW? Other? I would love to wrote more fluff, but it seems to tend towards a lot of angsting and anxiety with some humor thrown in, I guess because that's how I deal with my own thoughts. I do get to give them happy endings, so that's nice! 7. Which category do you find most challenging to write?  Smut is really difficult and awkward for me, partly bc part of the appeal of the actual acts irl are they help me turn my brain chatter off, so it's hard to put that back into descriptions. Plus I'm just self conscious about how personal that is. 

Also anything with an actual plot. I can give you moments and that's about it. 8. If you had to pick your favourite Choices book, which one would it be and why? TRR is the one that sucked me in and stole my soul for whatever reason, BUT I can also admit a lot of that is for what it could be. It's a good thought playground. Like Harry Potter. 

Perfect Match is shaping up to be my jam, I live for sci fi and found families and all that "what is the nature of humanity" nonsense. It's like Dollhouse without being built on a base of creepiness. 

I also really love the ILITW cast, enough that it balances out how much of a wimp i am when it comes to scary things.  9. If your Choices LIs were real, which one (and only one!) would you personally want to be with? I've said before that Damien from Perfect Match is the closest to my irl type, but right now I'm kind of exhausted of that "I'm too cool to like things" sort of dude. Idk let's give older Lucas (ilitw) a shot. He's motivated but has a playful side, we might balance each other out. Especially after he figures himself out more in college. 10. Do you share any physical characteristics with your Choices MCs? Pics/selfies optional :) Riley is small and ready to brawl and I've basically given her an idealized version of my body type when I draw her. Uhhh like half of the others end up being long haired blondes because even though that's not my hair anymore it was like that for most of my life. 11. Which MC do you share the most personality traits with?   Perfect Match MC feels the closest, a lotta the other MCs are leader types, PM MC is like Alright yeah let's kick ass so we can go home and eat ice cream. Feels very purple Hawke. 

TRR MC in her more absurd moments also feels very familiar. I have a story about the fancy hats.  12. Which Choices character do you feel you have the best grasp of in terms of personality? I get Drake bc that fucker is every guy I've befriended who then caught feelings because he's not used to being treated nicely. :| He also has a “the people I care about deserve the things I want more than I do" thing that I am only now realizing feels.... awfully familiar....... :| …...let’s move on. 

13. What’s your favorite Choices pairing to write for? Obviously Maxwell x MC. I love pairs that have a good push and pull, where they can be silly but care about each other.

Sidedish of MC+Drake friendship because my wish fulfillment fantasy is those previously mentioned guys stop ruining a potentially good friendship with their moping and actually be a pal, dammit.  14. What is a pairing/s you hope to start writing for? Like anything else, lmao. More friendship stuff? Hana's only been in one of my fics which bums me out. 

Pretty sure some Damien x MC and Hayden x MC will be coming now that PM2 is happening. Something with more ladies. Eleanor x MC from THOBM! Ghost gf fitting into the modern world has plenty of potential. 15. What do you hope to improve in your writing? Current struggle is I keep trying to write smut and then distracting myself with what happens before/after. Gah. 

More actions / feelings. I feel like too much of my writing comes from dialogue with actions peppered in to meter the rhythm. 

16. Any pet peeves related to writing? So. Words have always been a finicky thing for me. Things will make sense in my head, and then I say them out loud and realize people aren’t seeing things from the same spot. So sharing my writing is A VERY SELF-CONSCIOUS TIME. 

In terms of the actual process: When I just wanna write something self-indulgent and I start actually trying, and then we're like 5 miles off track from the fun part. I also get pretty self-conscious that the OOC police or something is going to come for me. 17. Are you inspired by any IRL experiences when you write? Care to share? A lot of flaws or traumas I'll saddle my characters with are my own but tweaked, because I like the idea that someone can have them and still succeed. 18. Is there any particular piece of work you consider to be your ultimate writing goal? uhhhhh i. don't. know? If I could make someone laugh and cry in the same fic that's golden. 19. Did/do you write for any other fandoms? If so which ones? I have a bunch of drabbles for Dragon Age. I also just checked my ancient FF.net account to make sure the really old stuff is gone and found some Teen Titans and ATLA stuff I completely forgot about. 20. In your spare time (when you’re not writing) what other hobbies do you pursue?   Art mainly, I'm back into digital for the first time since graduation (I majored in animation/illustration) so that's kind of exciting right now. VIDEO GAMES. I like to bake but my housemates have way more self control than I do, meaning I always end up eating most of whatever it is, so that's dangerous. I do like to work out. Share and tag fandom writers! @riseandshinelittleblossom and anyone else who wants to! 

[smuttyfairy]

Squares [2.]

if you've never been alone how you know yourself? If you ain't up on the water how you grow yourself? You should love you so much that you go Marylin Manson and blow yourself It's some things that you gotta learn that only you can show yourself - Mick Jenkins (feat. Noname & Xavier Omar) “Angles” [1.] Genre: Angst (Smut later) Summary: You’ve ran away and tried to start over, but the demons you run from keep you up at night. The only thing to comfort you is cancer sticks and mind tricks. But this guy isn’t a mind trick, he’s a wake up call. (Yoongi x Reader) [2: They say you should love yourself, but why should you? ] Warnings: Smoking, Trauma, Possible Triggers. Word Count: 2,576 Written by: Smutty Jaefairy A/N: Don’t smoke kids, third chapter sometime soon.

Disappointment, regret. They go hand in hand. You expect the most from people, that if you put in enough time that they will do the same. It's hard, because life is unfair. You have to do everything you can, but that doesn't mean that others will. You're expected to go to classes to help your emotions, therapy, a psychiatrist, a social worker, and keep you caseworker in the know. Oh, don't forget your job. Those 20 hours a week to satisfy people who don't care about your well being. They just want to buy their items and get out. You have to be on top of everything, even if everyone else isn't. You've done a great job, you keep on the ball with everything. Mostly. But something has to give sometimes.

Sometimes your therapist lies. She tells you she'll see you every two weeks, but it's always just once a month. So you use your coping skills. You distract yourself, you change your train of thought, you surround yourself around people who care. It's not as if she's doing it on purpose, you know this. It still hurts. Whenever someone changes an appointment, or something gets canceled, it hurts. Nodding and giving approval that it's okay is the only thing you can do. Why tell anyone why you feel the way you do?

Because it's irrational. People have lives and you can't expect everything from them. It's selfish. Just shut up and smile, don't fuck this up.

When your caseworker calls you friend, some days it makes you feel better, sometimes it feels like a stab in the chest. Why would anyone want to be your friend? Is she lying?

Everyone lies, because you know inside you're not good enough.

You're disappointed in yourself, you regret living.

But you keep on going, you have to.

Don't. fuck. this. up.

---

Jimin sat across from you in the small cafe shop down the street from where you were staying. He was sensitive to your situation, so he would always call it "The Program."

"How is the program going, Y/n? I haven't seen you in forever. You should let me take you to lunch sometimes." He sipped his iced americano, his dirty blonde hair sticking up in some places. This was always comforting. Jimin would come to see you some days as soon as he woke up. He never left the house unless he looked presentable, but for you he'd show his relaxed side. Grey sweatpants snugged to his waist, you both wearing generic black hoodies. He hadn't washed his face yet, little crusty eye sand sticking to the duct in his eye. He glanced out the window, watching the morning traffic as he sipped the coffee lazily.

"It's going okay, I'm doing well. " You said, sipping your iced chai tea. You both were quirky, opting for something cold in the mornings and something warm in the evenings. " I'm allowed to do overnight passes now."

Jimin looked at you, a lazy smile gracing his lips as he took the straw out of his mouth. "We should do something fun then. "

"No drugs, no drinking." You warned. He nodded, understanding you couldn't indulge in those types of things anymore. Not like you wanted to anyway. It was easy to slip into your dark place with the wrongs things in your system. It was also a reminder that you weren't likeable. When you were high and/or drunk, you were completely different. Y/n is so much fun when she's drunk.

Disappointing you couldn't be as much fun sober. Oh, well.

"Not even cigarettes and wine?" Jimin sipped again, raising an eyebrow. He knew you weaknesses too well.

"Well..just those two." Something has to give, once in a while could be alright.

"Hehe, okay." He broke his chocolate doughnut in two, giving you one half. The coffee shop was dim lit, rundown couches and love seats decorated the place. It was a little mellow, the place didn't take itself seriously. The barista was a chill dude with muscles and eyes that seemed to twinkle everytime he laughed. He was big on the gym and fitness, but never shoved it down anyone throat. This place was what you needed sometimes. To get away from the chaos of everything and to just breathe. As you bit into your half of the doughnut, you wiped your mouth, the taste of cinnamon and chocolate filling your mouth.

"Chim chim, when would you want to hang out?" You asked, swallowing the sugary pastry.

"Well, friday I'm hanging out with some college friends. Namjoon would be there, tho."

Oh, dear. Your kind of, sort of ex. Kim Namjoon. You both were very much alike. Intellectuals with a habit of breaking things on accident. When you both expressed mutual feelings you were on cloud nine. It was really nice. Really, really nice. But you both were busy, and after the first time having sex, the usual routine set in. Things got stale, you ended up making the move more than once. He was depressed, you were depressed. He said he wasn't ready for a relationship. The person you felt so comfortable with became a stranger. That was life, it was just another scar that needed to heal.

"That's fine, I'm not mad at him or anything like that. I can be civil. " You took another sip, pushing every feeling down. It would grow, but you'd worry about that later. You'd be fine for now. Your fingers fished your pockets, you felt your pack of cigarettes. It was light, meaning that you probably had three or four left.

"Well, alright. I think you two should clear up everything anyways. You guys were good friends." Jimin sucked on the remains of his coffee ice through his straw, the annoying sound distracting your thoughts.

"Jimin, walk with me to the gas station? I need some more cigarettes."  You asked, finishing your half. He nodded, pushing back his chair as he threw away his cup. You followed, waving bye to the barista. He gave you both a smile as you left, the warm city air hitting you slowly.

As the two of you strolled towards the gas station, you both chatted about nonsense. Jimin was telling you about his boyfriend and how he was really into painting right now.

"Man, it's such a pain to get the paint out of the carpet, but it makes him happy so I put up with it. " He gave a carefree giggle, sighing.

Absentmindedly, you lit a cigarette. Namjoon was still in the back of your mind, neighboring other unwanted thoughts. "You could always put a plastic tablecloth down or some newspaper. Save you both some time. "

"That's a good idea, Y/n! You're always giving good advice." He patted your back, a bright smile on his face. You felt your lips grow into a shy smile, nudging away from him.

"Shut up, Jimin. " You murmured, sucking into your cigarette.

"You really gotta give yourself more credit. Did you start the five good things about yourself every week thing?"

Oh yeah, your therapist wanted you to do that. Well, your first therapist. Then she quit for a better job. Ever since she left, you forget half of what she told you. What did it matter? You were meeting a new therapist next week anyways. You gave jimin a shrug, exhaling as you two crossed the road. He frowned, poking you in the head.

"It's not for her, Y/n. It's for you."

You looked at him, a serious look on his face.

"You keep thinking you're not good for anyone, but once you can get out of that you can see otherwise. No one can want it for you. You gotta want it yourself."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who wants it."

"Hm." That's all Jimin said, holding the door open for you.

As you picked up some random snacks, Jimin asked the cashier for some black and milds. Which meant Jimin started smoking weed again. You weren't against it, but you knew your best friend well. He only smoked when he was under alot of pressure. You never were one to prod, but so was he. You both had an unspoken rule; Let me come to you about my baggage when I'm ready. Just be ready to unpack it and help me put it back. You both were good at keeping it. So you observed, and kept to yourself. You bought some extra juices and chips. As you finished, Jimin noticed your bag was a little heavier than usual.

"Are you having a party?" He asked as you handed him some chips. Shaking your head, you handed him a pepsi.

"Nah, just stocking up." You bought it for Suga, but you hadn't mentioned him to Jimin yet.

You started seeing each other normally. Usually two or three times a week. It took a few weeks to warm up to him, but you both were somewhat friendly now. As friendly as two morbid and quiet people could be. Before you stepped out, you forgot the reason why you came.

"Fuck, gimme a second Jimin. I need to go back and get cigarettes." Handing him your bag, you walked back in. Behind the register, in an organized fashion, stood different colored boxes. Different brands and different types. Bold, Menthol, light. No matter the packaging, at the end of the day you were killing yourself. Whatever you got just fancied you. If you like a minty aftertaste with your suicide, get menthol. If you're watching your health, get light. You don't give a fuck? Get non-menthol. You're riding the one way train to hell with broken brakes? Get bold.

"Pack of Newport 100's. Red please."

As the Cashier handed you the pack and you handed him the money you glanced at them longingly. What fancied you about these, were these were the pack you first smoked. The first time you ever smoked, you were in his car. Half naked with the windows halfway down and his drunken eyes staring into yours. It was a reminder of what you were, It was a trigger. You knew you should have given them up, but it was the one thing you could control. It kept the dark place from growing, but it was also a catalyst.

It was a vicious cycle, just like he was.

You took your change and walked out the store, you eye catching the gaze Jimin gave you. He glanced at the pack, then at you. You knew in your heart that he knew, and that he was disappointed everytime you bought them.

Well, that just made two of you.

---

The smoke danced in the air, floating to the moon and fading into the darkness. Tonight the moon filled the sky on it's own, no stars. You smoked while Suga sat across from you. Next to him was his pack and the lukewarm Pepsi you brought him.

"You're really quiet tonight." His head was laying on the table, his arms folding into a cushion for his head. He already smoked his cigarette and was indulging in your secondhand smoke.

"Something my best friend said is on my mind." You let the filter hang from your lips, the ash falling onto your cupped hands.

"Is that why you couldn't sleep tonight?" Suga raised his head, resting his face in his hand. His eyes watched you inhaling and exhaling.

"Sort of."

"So what did they say?" He asked, his tongue prodding the side of his cheek. He did that a lot.

"He says that I need to see that I'm good enough for others. But they always disappoint me, I'm starting to think it's me."

"What if it isn't?" He took another cigarette out, lighting up and joining you.

"What if it is?"

"Do you love yourself, Y/n?"

You took out your cigarette and thought about the question. You couldn't remember the last time you could say you did. Man, If you had a chance to die right now, you probably would take it. He didn't need to know that.

"I don't know." You settled on that answer and stubbed out what was left of your cigarette.

"Why not? You should love yourself." You snorted at his comment, and he raised an eyebrow. "How do you expect anyone else to care if you don't?"

"I don't know." There were moments where you both would have these kind of conversations. Suga wasn't surprised at your answer, you loved to shut down when he gave advice. Maybe because you knew he was running from something also. You wished he was good at reading you, that he wouldn't try to prod. It made you uncomfortable, but you weren't anxious around him.

"You could try. It's a struggle, though." Tilting your head to his statement, he licked his lips and continued. "You could hate yourself, but then it just makes you hate everything. You suck, so life sucks. Get it?"

It made sense. Maybe if you felt a little better about yourself you wouldn't feel like your life was shit. There had to be a silver lining. Something had to give.

"Do you love yourself, Suga?" He laughed dryly, the last of his cigarette falling to the table, losing it's glow.

"I love parts of me. I hate parts of me. I'm working on it. Life is great sometimes, Life is shitty sometimes. " You smiled at him and nodded, you could feel that. Part of you felt somewhat at ease, reason taking over. There were people that cared, even if they were busy. You sat in silent, watching the moon's glow for a few moments. After a while you got up, dusting off your pants.

"I think I'm gonna go. I'll see you later, Suga."  As you walked off, your heard his shoes crunch on the ground.  

"Hey Y/n. If you want to see a change in your atmosphere, you should start with yourself." You looked back at him, open to anything he said at this moment. "We should start with ourselves."

"Ourselves?" It felt as if he was going to make you do some emotional exercise. You groaned and he scoffed, walking towards you.

"Yeah, start with this." He stepped closer. You noticed how thin his black hair was, also how you both could see each other eye to eye. His breath smelled like cinnamon candies and cigarettes. "Look at yourself in the mirror. Look at the way your eyes shine. The way your nose crinkles when you laugh. The way your teeth stick out a little, but not too much. They're cute. Look at yourself in the mirror and just have a conversation. See what you like. Talk to yourself. "

"You say it as if you've done it before."

"I do it everyday, I don't have anyone else to talk to." He stepped back and walked off, giving you a half wave. Suga disappeared into the night and left you feeling a weird pain in your chest.

That following morning you looked at yourself in the mirror. You gazed at the rings under your eyes, the way your hair looked when it was dry. You found yourself wanting to take care of the girl in the mirror, that she should look her best. Without thinking, words spilled from your lips.

"Man, you deserve better than this. Let's fix you up."

[eternaleve]

You know how I said that the last two episodes made 1532 seemed like eighteen months long? Well, this episode just… you’ll see, it’s rather special in it’s own way.

Checkmate

Henry destroys all ties with authority and the past. After many failed attempts to have his marriage to Catherine annulled by the Catholic Church, Henry runs out of patience and marries a pregnant Anne Boleyn in secret. He appoints the young Lutheran Thomas Cranmer to succeed the deceased William Warham as Archbishop of Canterbury and strips Queen Catherine of her title and status, along with Princess Mary; they are hence to be known as the Princess Dowager of Wales and the Lady Mary, respectively. The Act of Restrain of Appeals is presented to Parliament by Cromwell and passes. As Sir Thomas More has resigned as Chancellor, Henry hands the position to the pro-Lutheran Thomas Cromwell. Anne Boleyn is crowned Queen of England to a small and uneager crowd and escapes an assassination attempt. Pope Paul III threatens to excommunicate the king and the church of England from the Roman Catholic Church if Henry does not return to Catherine, but Henry tears the papal edict in half. Henry is also disappointed when Anne Boleyn gives birth to a daughter, Elizabeth, instead of his desired son, and soon resumes his philandering with ladies of the court despite assuring Anne they will still have a son.

A Secret Marriage, A Secret Pregnancy, A Coronation – Oh My!

After one instance of the sex, Anne is instantly pregnant. And not just even a little pregnant, because she’s already suffering immense intense pregnancy cravings for apples. This is based on a real life anecdote, but I have to question the timeline here.

Anne and Henry went to France in September 1532 (another reason why they couldn’t have conceived Elizabeth there, unless Anne managed to be pregnant for twelve months. I screwed up the times last week, so my bad there. It’s been a while since I last looked it all up). They would not be married for the first time until November 14 1532. I know some women start to have cravings at two to three weeks, but for Anne to be ‘Yup, definitely pregnant, I’m so full of baby right now’, she has to be at least past a month or two. And there just isn’t the time to fit into what happened and when.

And yes, it’s still 1532! The year that never, ever ends!

Realising Anne’s condition (even though pregnancies were usually recognised from when the baby ‘quickened’ i.e. starting to move around three months and there’s no way Anne can be three months pregnant) Henry orders Cranmer to look into his marriage…

… but gets married in secret anyway.

There’s no need to rush Henry! This baby won’t be born for another ten months.

Anyway, after a second official marriage in January, and a little political wrangling, Anne can now be crowned queen. She’s the only queen consort in British history to receive a coronation separate from her royal spouse, and the only one to be crowned with St. Edward’s Crown. There’s some BS nonsense at her parade, but we’ll go into that later.

It’s also really off because of the warped timeline the show has decided to follow. It’s now June, 1533, and because Anne fell pregnant in September, she should be giving birth. Like, literally on that carriage, she should be deep in labour. But she’s managing to keep it in for another three months.

Henry places a crown on Anne’s head, and she’s anointed and invested as queen. I say ‘a crown’ because that tiny little pathetic coronet is not St Edward’s Crown.

It was remade in the seventeenth century, but the royal monogram is based on St Edward’s Crown.

This is Henry’s, so this is probably what the crown looked at during Henry’s time. It is not a single pathetic coronet that barely shows up. How do you ruin making an impressive and royal crown?

Henry gets aggressive and nasty with Anne at the coronation feast, because foreshadowing.

This aggressive side of Henry continues into the longest pregnancy ever experienced by any woman ever. When sleeping at night – and FYI, they shouldn’t share a bed. Royal couples had separate apartments in palaces, and completely separate bedrooms. Henry and his wives would not share a bed like a couple might do now – Anne is too tired and stressed out by the longest pregnancy in the world to have sex with Henry. He’s disgusted and angered by her rejection.

Because it’s only the most sexy and romantic of men who try to force their wives into having sex with them! (Even though Henry wouldn’t try anything like that for fear of damaging the child or causing a miscarriage)

Anne finally goes into labour, and luckily for her, it’s incredibly easy. She pushes exactly once and the baby just flies out. Unfortunately, it’s not a son. It’s a girl, and Henry is taken aback. But sons will surely follow, for they are both young and fertile.

Lol no, Henry is now sleeping with anyone else because how dare his wife have a child and it’s not what he wanted.

Do you play… chess?

Wait, where are you going to put that chess piece? Cause she doesn’t look very happy about it…

… oh. Oh. Hope you don’t plan on playing with it again.

The London Knoll

The Imperial assassin is revealed to be none other than William Brereton. Which makes pretty much no sense.

Not only was he almost fifty by this point, but he’s a longstanding member of Henry’s inner circle, serving as a groom of the privy chamber. He was a wealthy and respected member of court, and definitely not a twenty something devoted Catholic who wanted to kill Anne Boleyn. This assassination nonsense is exactly that – nonsense. Events are dramatic enough as it is without having an assassin running about.

After attempting to kill Anne, Brereton travels to Rome to beg forgiveness from the Pope. Instead, the Pope enlists him as a Jesuit and sends him back to kill Anne again.

The Jesuits aren’t formed until 1540. Even if you needed to add to this ridiculous mess, you didn’t need to add in Jesuits. And then the producers decide to recreate the assassination of JFK for no apparent reason.

Don’t tell me that’s not based on the death of JFK, because it looks so much like it. I find that a little cheap and distasteful, to co-opt a real life trauma to improve the shabbiness of your own writing. And I don’t think sixteenth century guns were accurate enough to carry out this sort of operation. Luckily, some random mook dies instead and is shoved under a choir stand to die alone and unnoticed.

He’s almost caught out by the fact he didn’t think to wipe off all the incredibly obvious and super noticeable gunpowder from his hands, but William Brereton escapes to assassinate another day!

Brandon VS The Boleyns

The tension between Charles Brandon and Thomas Boleyn gets worse because their servants get into a stupid fight and kill each other. After all, Charles Brandon needed an actual, legitimate reason to hate the Boleyns other than ‘the writers needed something for him to do this season’.

What Are You Up To, Thomas Cranmer?

Besides all this, there’s the question of the English Church and Henry’s first marriage. To force his second marriage through, he decides to make Thomas Cranmer his Archbishop of Canterbury, the most senior religious position in England.

He transported his wife from Germany in a box. It is sort-of a true story. Cranmer was said to have hidden his wife from the King in a box, not taken her across half a continent, but it’s only a ‘it is said’ kind of truth. There’s no evidence that it actually happened.

The supporters of Katherine are not happy with this because Cranmer is a ‘Lutheran’. That’s simply not true. Cranmer was more Calvinist than Lutheran, because Lutheran is not a catch all for ‘not being a Catholic’.

Meanwhile, Cromwell has pushed through parliament The Act in the Restraint of Appeals which basically means that it’s illegal to apply to foreign courts of justice and to appeal outside of England as it’s an empire. Cromwell, it would seem, is completely in charge of government and Henry doesn’t have any say over anything as he’s a big doofus with no ideas of his own.

Cranmer, with little to no fuss, announces that Henry and Katherine’s marriage is not valid and that Anne and Henry’s marriage is good and legal. The Pope declares Henry excommunicated.

What About Katherine and Mary?

Katherine is told of this change. She will now be the Dowager Princess of Wales, and Henry will support her no longer. She proclaims herself to always be Queen of England.

And then there’s the Princess Mary. She’s now all grown up, but no longer a Princess. She is to be the Lady Mary, and royal heir no longer. She was told this in real life by the Duke of Norfolk, but he’s mysteriously vanished from the show.

Our New Gay Subplot

Mark Smeaton, in a public place, very loudly comes onto George Boleyn. I guess he��s going to be executed for sodomy in the next episode because it’s very illegal at this point. I highly doubt queer people were loudly shouting about their sexuality in a public arena because, you know, death is bad.

Come on, Vogue, Let Your Body Move to the Music

Those clothes are straight up pure Elizabethan. There is nothing of the 1530s about them. And take that purple off, Smeaton. You’re a common servant, and purple is for the royal family alone.

You ready for your villain song, Henry? Because that collar is straight from Maleficent. That collar is far too high for a man like Henry to wear.

Mary, that hood is not right. That is a very central Germanic hood and would never be found at the English court (at least, until Anna of Cleeves arrives).

This is another from the Katherine Willoughy ‘Lamps of Tudor England’ series, and it’s just as hideous as the first one.

Nice pregnancy sack. Anne, you’d be wearing exactly the same dress as you’d always wear, but with the ties and stomacher loosened to allow room for the bump. Tudor England didn’t have maternity sacks for women.

That is Jacobean hat right there. Take it off and burn it.

And that’s it for this week. Come back next time for more of 1532 (probably), bad dresses, and terrible writing decisions.

  Unpicking the Tudors; S2 EP3 You know how I said that the last two episodes made 1532 seemed like eighteen months long?

[beatconductor-blog]

[04>: you up?]

[> Hng. Bad time. Not like it will ever be a good time again, right? 😎>04: am i ever]

[04: we may never know. what do you have in stock for cat toys and adjacent?]

[😎>04: aw shit i sorry i spaced out for 😎: two hours 😎: uh havent been in my warehouse in a hot minute 😎: got a bunch there like mostly hello kitten stuff bc people like a good bit of illegal brands 😎: also a lot of other random stuff tho most of it is reserved for nepeta]

[04: i'm not gonna lie i'm just looking for gifts for nep.]

[😎: well fuck me cant have you gift her anything better than i do 😎: but turns out taking some unannouced offtime kinda made a dent into my sales soo i guess i can have you look around 😎: not like im desperate or anything]

[04: sweetheart you know i can have your back if your wallet's low, right?] [04: i'll be outside in a bit.]

😎[: like you dont already do > Well fuck you. Gdi.]

Clover 01/15/2019

> Your narrator's too tired to do this all fancy. You are There.

Dave 01/16/2019

> Sure alright, you're there too, totally not a day later. Where's the meeting? At the office or before your house? > Anyway, shit. You've already been nervous before, but actually seeing the green lil guy now fills you with so much anxiety and pain.

"Sup."

Clover 01/16/2019

> House ig?? "'Ey shadesy. You ready to show me 'round?"

Dave 01/16/2019

> Oh look, time to be even more nervous. You excused yourself from your bros because, you know, you actually got a business to run. Hope none of them are seeing you with Clover. "Sure. Hop on. I'd say if I had a car. You up for a walk?" > God please say he brought a car.(edited)

Clover 01/16/2019

"I can call a tax if you're out of shape," your tone is playful, if only because you're shoving your distress over literally everything deep deep down.

Dave 01/17/2019

"Yeah lets go with that, sure, that works." Meanwhile you'd absolutely love to repress all that feels bad you kinda stopped doing that when you got a moirail w*ho's dead now and can't really help you with all these terrible feelings and trauma and it's all because of these green fucks and-- You're incredibly uncomfortable and not nearly as good of an actor as pretty much everyone else in this city.

Clover 01/17/2019

Your mouth parts a bit as if you're going to say something, but you cut yourself off, breathing in and rubbing your face as you let out a sigh. As usual, a cab happens to drive by as soon as you need one, and you flag it down.

Dave 01/17/2019

Of course he immediately manages to get a cab. Actually a bit of a relief because you wouldn't wanna stand around here with him for another couple minutes. "So hey uh, real nice of you to get some stuff to treat Nep" you say as you get into the car, because you'd rather ramble down some nonsense than to suffer in awkward silence. "Been wanting to get her some stuff too but I'd been a bit hard to find some fitting free days to get together." First there was the paralysis thing, now this.. You know she's been kinda affected by this too, but you've honestly not been in the right headspace to worry about that too.

Clover 01/17/2019

Step one: don't overshare with the already distressed dealer. Just be chill. "Yeah," you say, leaning on the car door when you get settled inside, "she ain't been doin' too great, and she's th' last person to deserve that, bein' what an angel she is. None of us really have, but....think she's been hit deepest. Gotta do what I can to help, you know?" Instructions unclear, got dick caught in he brought it up first it's not your fault.

Dave 01/17/2019

You're quiet for longer than is usual for you. I mean you're pretty quiet these days either way, but considering you've just been rambling off, the pause is very notable. It's just. A lot to process. You love Nepeta a lot and god she's the last one you want to also be affected by this, but. 'Hit the deepest'. Yeah. Right. Hn. "'s cool. You.. got anything specific in mind? Like, there's a whole ton of plush and brand and off-brand jewelry and weird ass figurines, or are you just gonna be flooding her whole room in this stuff."

Clover 01/21/2019

"Basically just give me everything I can get, probably?"

Dave 01/21/2019

"Yyyeah alright I can work with that I guess." This is a business deal, no more and no less. Focus on that, Dave.

Clover 01/21/2019

"...You're rather lucky, you know." > You lean on the car door, and the rest is muttered under your breath, easily dismissed. "To be unaffiliated. We talked about the pain that it brings to be with both, what it feels like, how deep in hell you can get- but. When this kind of thing happens, you still pretty much answer to nobody and everybody. You still have a choice who you talk to, who you trust, who you work with. I wish I had that."

Dave 01/21/2019

You, likewise, lean against the door and look out the window. God, what wouldn't you give to just space out for a bit just now, but no, you're listening attentively, and give a dry and voiceless laugh in response. "Right, so lucky I am. Watching whatever friends I got left hurt and kill each other while I gotta play good ol Switzerland or else I'd be like, choosing sides, and stuff. But at least I can do deals with either side, get that good cash for all this junk. And hey, if I play nice enough, no one's out to hurt me, probably, minus a bit of extortion here or there yeah alright. Least I can chose not to trust anyone. Just the same old shit everyday."

Clover 01/23/2019

"Mmmm yeah 's fair enough, isn't it. Grass and greenness and all that noise, aye."

Dave 01/23/2019

You hold your breath for a moment, so many thoughts running wild in your head, but none that are good enough as an answer. You eventually let out a long drawn sigh. "Yeahh. It's like everywhere sucks." Almost as if a few assholes in this city fuck it over for everyone. Fortunately it shouldn't be too far to your office anymore.

Clover 01/23/2019

"Everywhere does suck, that's basically just Midnight City summarized." A soft huff through your nose. "It's all we can do to try to find gems in the dirt, I guess."

Dave 01/23/2019

"Ain't that the truth." You find yourself clutching your lower arm, the spot with the tattoos. Despite all... there's still some people you care about and that make you happy. They're making it worth it all.

Clover 01/23/2019

You hop out of the taxi and pull Dave's side open, humming to yourself as you offer to help him out.

Dave 01/23/2019

Not like you need help, but hey uh, if he insists. The hum reminds you to take a moment before getting out to put yourself back into a better mindset. "Alright, hope you got a van ready cause there's a lot of shit to pick up. Also bags are 10 cents each."

Clover 01/23/2019

"Can get one. I can also have 'em bring my own bags."

January 24, 2019

Dave 01/24/2019

"Eco-minded, I like that. Don't need to have plastic bags pollute the river any more."

Clover 01/24/2019

"That river gets anymore polluted and it's gonna start producing backstories for comic mutants."

Dave 01/24/2019

"Some might think it already does. Would make a good enough cover story at least."

Clover 01/24/2019

"Maybe I'll use that sometime."

January 25, 2019

Dave 01/25/2019

"I'm expecting royalties for the idea."

Clover 01/25/2019

"Your royalties are me coming to you as often as I do."

Dave 01/25/2019

"That's fair." > Well, as you talk, you're on your way inside into your stre, skipping the office room and heading right up and down some stairs into a room designated as the storage for all kinds of cutesy and mostly harmless merchandise, filled to the brim with plushies, toys, accessories of all brand and no-name variety. "Knock yourself out I guess."

Clover 01/26/2019

> Ehh you mostly just pick out a bunch of stuff and get someone to get it back to the manor with you. Not really much of note left to be had here.

Dave 01/26/2019

> Cool cool. Hella good and awkward business transaction.

[adorninscenarios-blog]

Lost In a Fantasy

Genre - Fluff, Angst

Word Count - 2050

Length - One shot most probably

Ten is stuck in his own made up world 

I swear it is better then the summary.

Rosy pink tinted his cheeks as he laughed, head tilting back, his hair bouncing as he nods to every word that come out of her plump lips. He stared at the way rays of light shone through the windows illuminating her face, how her doe eyes stare right back into his, as she tells him how her day went, Ten felt like he had heard the story a thousand times but he brushed it off as her voice continue to fill his ears. She sounds like Ten’s favourite song no matter how much it’s placed on repeat he would never feel like it is overplayed.

Brown locks fall covering her face like curtains as she flails around with a stupid grin etched on her face. She laughed and giggled as she tells Ten about her day, hand gestures accompanying her story. Ten mentally noted about how cute she looks as she scrunches up her nose when she talks about something she disliked, how her eyes shimmer and the corner of her eyes crinkle when she starts talking about her dance class so zealously. Every minute that has passed felt like eternity as Ten try to engulf the sight of the beauty in front of him.

In the middle of the conversation she looked at her wrist and a look of shock painted her face as she hurriedly stood and engulf Ten into a quick hug telling her goodbyes as she has elsewhere to be, not specifying where she is going, she has never specify where she heads to leaving a bewildered Ten alone at his apartment, he never wants to pry. If she doesn’t tell Ten where she go, then that would mean that there is no need for Ten to know, he believe in the trust that they have established over the years is enough and she’s going to tell Ten one day.

The empty space left on the beige couch however is now taken up by a giraffe who is staring blankly at the petite boy waving his long limbs around as he try to wake Ten up from the intense staring contest he is having with the white walls across the room. The taller male stop his weird antics as he see Ten come back to his senses, a cheeky grin displayed on his face as he shoves 2 brown paper bags into Ten’s face. The smell of grease soon spread around the room as Johnny went to the kitchen and took the fast food out and plated them. Greeted by a whiny Ten that insist he must maintain his weight for the upcoming dance competition he has, however in contrast to his words he grabbed the oily mess that we call chicken wing and look a large bite out of it.

The smaller cling onto Johnny as an abrupt slam of the door alerted the pair, come in a man that seems so familiar yet Ten could not place his fingers on who he was, the man is well dressed and bringing in a briefcase he sat at the couch across from Ten as the taller has filled all of the space on the couch for his “legs”, Ten thought silently that Johnny should share some of that genes so he can grow a bit more. Chuckling at the thought he momentarily forgot about the random suspicious man sat across of him, that got into his apartment with ease meaning he knows the passcode to Ten’s apartment door.

The man had a stern face but Ten would say that this man is scary indeed, Ten grasp tighter at Johnny’s clothes bundling it up around his small hands. The man’s presence was intimidating to say the least, however as the man’s stone face slowly turn into a small smile, Ten starts to ease up, maybe he is isn’t that bad after all Ten thought, he was always been the type to easily trust to someone.

Shock is not a big enough word to explain how Ten is feeling right now, he felt like his whole world was crumbling down before him like an overcooked crust of an apple pie, the crumbs left on the floor. He refuses to take the words of this random man into consideration, this man is nothing all Ten could know this man could be a serial killer feeding Ten lies to try and kill him fro his enjoyment. That must be it Ten thought, even the idea of a serial killer seated in front of him is better then thinking about the slightest chance of both his best friend no longer walking on the face of the earth as he knows it. Shaking his head in refusal he pushed the unwelcomed man out of his apartment, but with his frame the man won’t even move an inch out of his seat, the man started to speak in a soothing tone Ten feel like he knows too well, he first asked Ten to sit back down onto the seat he sat before. Shaking in fury Ten exclaimed a loud no saying that the nonsense this random man is spurting out are just lies and the Johnny this man had described about is there right in front of his eyes sitting on the couch-, that’s when Ten turned his head back to look and that Johnny is nowhere to be found, even the couch Johnny was seated on is now replaced by dark blue chair fit only for one.

Soon Ten’s whole vision of sight blurred up, as the whole room seem to have changed in color, decoration and even size. The beige walls was gone now replaced by grim looking white walls and the table that had his chicken wing is now replaced by a metallic tray with food that looks like stale mush, the room was white from top to bottom, with mostly all the decorations in white except the blue chair that is in the middle of the room that he must’ve sat on, and the man across from it calmly sitting on his high chair writing down notes on his notepad. The man looked up at Ten and said “I’m guessing you are now back into the reality Mr.Lee? This would always happen every time I come back. You have not been showing any progress at all, how could I help you if you yourself can’t even get out of that imaginary reality you try to live in it always seem like you are getting better however every time we are at the brink of your recovery you always set yourself back to your original state.”

Tear start to flow down Ten’s face as sobs muffled sobs came out from his pale lips as he hiccups, slowly losing his composure, dropping fast onto the hard ground as the idea of losing both y/n and Johnny come across his mind. 

“Chittaphon I am trying my best to help you get out of this trauma you have but first you need to let the fact set in that y/n and Johnny is no longer here, they are long gone and I assume that they would hate seeing you like this, trapped in a made up bubble made by your imagination cause you can’t let them go I know that they play a big part in you life but Chittaphon I beg you, you need to try and let them go you wouldn’t want to lose another important person in your life right?”

The memories soon flew into his mind as the image of y/n pale face project itself, there she laid on a hospital bed in the mint gown that every patient wore however she still looked pretty as ever even to her last breath, however no matter how much time and preparation Ten had, the moment her hand grew cold and lifeless in his all the mental preparation he had went out the window and he fell into a deep depression, secluding himself from any activity only staying in his dark apartment, with barely any light able to seep in, he was a mess and he knows it.

Ten couldn’t cope with the pain of his best friend, his crush, the love if his life leaving him, regretting not spending enough time with her, it killed him to think that the person who made him smile was gone, and he couldn’t even make y/n feel the same way she does when he’s around her. He had been such a coward even to her last breath he still could not stir up his courage to fess up his undying love for her. Ten didn’t want to feel this pain he feels and slowly he had trapped himself in a figment of unrealistic imagination to deal with the pain it all first started with the thought of what if y/n was still alive, how Ten would get out of his way to make the biggest confession he can muster and slowly he has fallen deep into the delusions he has set up for himself.

Johnny is his closest friend, he probably knows Ten more then Ten knows about himself, and Johnny knows how hard this must be for Ten, distancing himself from Ten for a couple of days to give space and time for Ten to grieve, after a few days however Johnny was too impatient and would also like to comfort his friend Johnny had found himself at the doorstep of the younger’s home. The sight displayed in front of Johnny was a look of utter shock however when he was greeted by a cheerful looking Ten and not a forced-smile look however a full out this-is-the-happiest-day-of-my-life smile, Johnny was shocked to say the least when Ten was back to his happy-go-lucky self, Johnny felt a mix of emotion wash over him, happy that his friend is not in a all time low, yet freaked out as the younger is way to happy to be someone that have lost someone so precious to him. Johnny soon found out that Ten have deluded himself in a made up fantasy world where y/n was still alive when Ten started to have one of his rants about how y/n said yes to his confession, when Johnny said y/n was no longer here ten just laughed it off saying it’s not a funny joke and pointed at the black couch saying that y/n is right there. Johnny had a blank expression all through the ride where he brought Ten to the psychiatric wart, unable to believe that his friend is not in the right state if mind, he knows that this could take a toll on Ten but never this much. The moment Ten was taken away was an heartbreaking moment Johnny couldn’t let his Ten go, Ten is almost like a brother to him but Ten needed help and Johnny knows this would make him better. Johnny visits Ten once every 2 days and would always find something new to bring for Ten to try and help Ten be not as bored at the place, cause even spending a few hours there Johnny can feel boredom etch in his bones he can’t imagine Ten needing to go through that everyday, but this would help Ten, Johnny is wiling to try anything.

However nothing seems to want to go Ten’s way when one day Johnny has not come to visit him, Ten was just getting better and was almost at full recovery. The news that greeted him the next day was not so pleasant to hear though, as he has come to find out that the person that have stayed by his side to get him to recover had died in a car crash, Ten have spent the next  few hours cursing at the drunk driver of which he doesn’t even know the name of, and Ten has slowly but surely come back to his delusions, Ten has relapse.

This has happened continuously for several times over the course of a few years now every time Ten has been seeming like he is about to reach full recovery he has relapse back and clouded his mind with these delusions, Engulfing himself and living in his memories, and wanting to have something that now no longer exist

~Cia

|| Author’s note - This is my first ever written story that i have published i hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoy writing it. The plot line is that Ten is stuck in his made up delusions that his best friend which is y/n is still alive, Johnny tried his hardest to snap him out of this made up world. The rest was up to me and Ren to decide, so this is how I interpreted the story and Ren interpreted it in a more cheerful tone. I hope you would support both my and Ren’s work. Thats all for this pretty long authors note, thanks for reading ^^