#I can´t articulate my thoughts well on this

[maroisedot]

This quote hits so hard. It might be my favourite Audrey quote in the entire game

[good-beanswrites]

Just wanted to plant an idea if you wanted a bit of fuel: Mahiru asking Yuno to come to her cell before everything goes down.

Edit: I forgot the ask didn't say it but this is part of Kyanako's incredible Order Of Attack AU!

Didn't mean for this to become a mini Mappi study but here we are ✨ Thank you for the request! I fully intended to write them hanging out, but it's more right before they hang out lol. Went a bit on-the-nose with foreshadowing, but isn't that the fun part? It has become Emotional Over Mahiru Hour...

I kept things vague, but TW for mentioning her boyfriend's state of potential self-harm

Mahiru tried not to act superstitious, she really did. As much as she loved the idea of little luck charms, or avoided easy signs of misfortune, it was easier to keep quiet about such ridiculous things.

Maybe catching a bride’s bouquet meant no guarantees; maybe there was no real harm in stepping underneath ladders, maybe a coin tossed into a fountain had no real magic to its wish. However, the one thing she knew for sure held power was a lucky presence. Being in the right place at the right time could alter everything. And today was the right time for something. There was this waiting in the air. The prison had been holding its breath. Mahiru knew it was time to release it all.

“You must be so lonely, why don’t you let big sis Mahiru keep you company?” She beamed at Amane.

She often recalled the good fortune that she and a certain young man had crossed paths on the university terrace. She used to laugh with him about the wonderful coincidence of bumping into each other outside of the bakery, then the convenience store. 

Though she’d never spoken about it to him, she was also grateful for many occasions where she walked in on him at the precise moment to talk him out of something reckless. She always told him that they’d do everything together. He didn’t need to be alone anymore. 

“I wish to be alone. I need peace of mind to think.” Amane turned away from the cell door.

It was a good thing, too. Mahiru’s smile wasn’t as convincing as she said, “o-oh. Of course.”

She made her way around the panopticon, hearing Fuuta pace his cell in anticipation. He must have felt it too, this holding of breath. 

Or perhaps not. He turned down her offer for a bit of company, including a few more colorful words than Amane had. Mahiru just apologized for bothering him and headed back to her cell. She wasn’t sure where Mikoto was at this hour, but she didn’t feel like smiling through a third rejection.

She shook her head back and forth. She wished the motion could rattle the voices inside, she wished she could shake them all away. With her arms secured in place she could no longer cover her ears. She used to hum to keep them at bay, but lately they’d been too loud to stifle. They just kept on talking.

Their words told her the two were right. Nobody needed her company. No – nobody wanted it. Being together hadn’t helped her boyfriend. In fact, being together had been the very thing that got him killed. No wonder Amane and Fuuta wanted to avoid her. 

So then, this was for the best. She would rather deal with the brief sting of refusal than stumble in one day to find them hurt… or worse. As much as she tried to avoid the superstition of it all, the voices reminded her that her very presence could mean life or death. 

“Mappi, are you alright?” Mahiru hadn’t realized a tear had slipped down her cheek until she hurried to swipe it away in front of Yuno. 

“Hah, I’m fine! Just fine.” It was impossible to fool her, Mahiru had learned, but that never stopped her from trying. 

At least she always spoke tactfully. “Rough morning?”

Mahiru shifted her arms in her uniform, making a small sound of agreement.

“Can I do anything to help? What if I stay with you for a bit? I can do your hair, and…”

The voices were right. Amane and Fuuta knew it, too. Presences did hold power, and Mahiru’s was cursed.

But she would sound foolish admitting such a fear to Yuno. She'd heard plenty from the voices about how stupid and airheaded she was, there was no use in getting the same lecture from someone as grounded as her.

Mahiru managed a weak protest, unable to explain her real reasoning. Yuno was insistent. She didn’t give much of a choice. Could she feel the strangeness of the prison, as well? 

At last, Mahiru allowed her shoulders to sag. Yuno was lucky. And kind. Having her nearby would do her good. Amane and Fuuta would be alright. Mahiru had tried spending more time with them after verdicts were announced. Now, she made a mental note to pull back. If her love couldn’t save anyone, at least she could spare them from her curse. They would be safe. 

“Yes. Please stay. The truth is... I don't want to be alone.”

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑭𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑨𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕

It was the duty of an assistant to assist in all matters their employer may need — paperwork, errands, fetching things from near and far, but this mischievous feline took the role and ran with it, and you had no choice but to rewrite the definition of demanding when she had her way with the busy doctor.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Zayne x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 2.5k 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── T 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Tooth Rotting Domestic Fluff, humour, flirting, established relationship, Zayne is the best cat dad, Zayne’s sweet-tooth can never be defeated 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── I couldn't get this scene out of my head for weeks and I finally articulated it just how I wanted it, I am free!

───  𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕  ───

The bottom of your shoes crunched over the fallen leaves scattered by the wind on the front steps of Zayne’s home, a soothing sound that caught the attention of your companion who watched with bright, wide eyes. “Pretty, isn’t it?” you asked, shifting your grip over the small body. 

A small purr was your only answer, given the trail of a burnt amber leaf falling from the sky was far more interesting. 

“Ah, there she is,” a voice called, muffled behind the wooden door. The handle clicked and swung inwards to reveal the source — Zayne. And to your surprise, he was dressed in his classic slacks and dark dress shirt, with his signature glasses perched on his nose. “Just when I thought you wouldn’t come back home.”

You scrunched your nose and furrowed your brow, indignant at the accusation. “It was only a small walk!” The bundle of fur in your arms: a fluffy, white kitten, agreed with you loudly — the mewl at the sight of her second favourite human made Zayne smile softly. “We missed you.”

“Is that so? I wouldn’t have imagined Jasmine could miss her second favourite.”  

“Of course she did,” you replied, walking forward and taking the steps one by one. When you reached his tall figure in the doorway, you leaned in towards him and he gently kissed you on the lips before closing the door behind you. 

The space that made up Zayne’s living room and adjacent kitchen was spotless as usual. A few pillows were misplaced on the couch — the touch of home your doing — and you raised a brow at the sight of a couple of small cat toys in a basket: a small mouse, a bell, and a stuffed toy that looked suspiciously like a macaroon. “You’ve been busy…”

Soft footfalls came up behind you, and the feel of his hands encircling your waist sent a shiver up your spine. “I only picked them up the other day. I thought she’d like them,” Zayne chuckled, his voice quiet in your ear. 

The pad of his index finger traced up from your waist to your arm, and towards the kitten in your hands where it scratched the fur between Jasmine’s ears. A loud purr made the furry kitten’s whole body vibrate with the intensity. “Hello, you.”

Wordlessly, you maneuvered Jasmine and held her against Zayne’s chest, who stumbled back a step with a grunt of surprise. “Hmph–”

“C’mon, you said you had work or reports or something to do today and we’re here to keep you company.” The sound of your footsteps echoed in the large space, and you headed towards the kitchen for a warm drink. “She’s your assistant—she’ll be perfect to help you with them and whatever else you need to do.” 

“...Very well.” Zayne followed behind you, his voice barely above a whisper while he cooed at the kitten. 

You glanced over your shoulder to find Jasmine rubbing against the side of his face and up towards his ear. The contrast from the snowy-white fur of her coat and his raven hair only made you smile, and when Zayne caught your gaze, you witnessed how his hazel eyes held such adoration for the creature. 

A smile tugged at your lips, and you gestured towards his office down the hall. “Well, chop chop! Get to it, that’s what she’s saying.”

“Assistants shouldn’t be so demanding,” he huffed, turning away from you to start walking towards his work. 

“Just you wait.” The clink of your favourite mug and his far duller one against the countertop made you giddy with excitement — given the doctor’s sweet-tooth, he was always guaranteed to have acquired the best hot chocolate, and you busied yourself with preparing the two treats with a flourish. 

With both mugs in hand a few moments later, you started to make your way towards his office, only you stopped short at the melodic sound of his voice. 

“And here,” Zayne said quietly, “is where we put— No, stop it, you tyrant.” The sound of plastic scooting over the wooden surface of his desk was followed by a deep, regretful sigh. “You are so much like your mother. She’s a bad influence on you.”

You bit your lip to stifle your snort of laughter, and you leaned closer to the door, both mugs in hand and a book you snuck from his bookshelf held snug to your side by the crook of your elbow. 

“Come here, little one,” he teased, and you heard the tap of a finger against something that rustled softly. “You can play with these instead, I need that pen.” The soft patter of paws followed his compromise, and an almost silent trill. “There you go.”

The temptation to peek was far too much to bear. 

Slowly, you peered around the doorway and towards the window, where a large desk was placed. Shelves of files and books lined either wall, as well as small props and figurines were scattered about, livening the space with touches of personality. 

On the desk, you could spy a photo frame by the monitor screen — one of the many photos you had insisted upon taking at the ski resort. It was one of your most favourite moments: seeing Zayne’s hair covered in snow while you held his face between your hands truly had been memorable. 

A slight shuffle of footsteps brought your attention back to the matter at hand, and you struggled to keep quiet at the sight of Jasmine batting at Zayne’s wrist and shiny watch while he typed. Her small behind sat on the permitted stack of papers, while her even smaller, fluffier tail curled with her playful intent in time with the clicks of the keyboard. 

You could see the minute movements of her head while she watched his fingers move, and before you could warn him of a potential attack, she pounced. 

Zayne let out a noise of shock and froze — from his knuckles to his forearm was covered in the whole of Jasmine’s body, the white fur of her coat sticking to the black sleeve of his shirt like a second skin. 

You couldn’t hold back the laughter any longer. “Oh no, she’s at it again.”  

“Will you–?” he asked, his voice strained against the urge to laugh with you. “She’s a handful, just like someone else I know.”

“You poor thing.” The mugs fit perfectly on the coasters at his desk, and you leaned against the large desk drawers with your hip to take in the scene. “Asking me to take care of an unruly intern? Has the serious, frowning chief grown soft and sweet after so much sugar?”

The side-eye glare Zayne shot you made you almost buckle over in mirth — the glow of his eyes seemed to brighten with the taunt, and you dramatically wiped your cheek from pretend tears. “I can’t believe my eyes,” you breathed in awe — his admission truly astonishing.

“Just take her, please. And I will have this,” he said, deft fingers wrapping around the handle of his mug, “as my compensation. You should prepare more, for if I have to sue for damages…”

Your hand flew to your chest in mock offence. “How dare you! I run a tight ship with my assistants, it is not my fault that you can’t bear to tell her no.”

“Troublemaker.” 

You sneered and poked his shoulder. “Grouch.”

From that moment on, the office was filled with the occasional chatter and whispers of taunts to the playful feline; bets of how many treats she would receive for distracting the other. The mugs had long been emptied and refilled several times, and you couldn’t help but feel content at being cosied up on the lounge chair Zayne placed in his working space just for you. 

It truly felt as if the simple, unassuming piece of furniture had been in place for longer than it truly had been, but when he had surprised you with the gesture, you could recall just how you felt: the flutter of your heart in league with the butterflies in your stomach, as well as the love you held for him and the fact he noticed your need to be closer. 

Over time, the couch had been broken in with many late nights reading books or binge watching a show with headphones, if the busy doctor couldn’t be disturbed. 

Not to mention, the longer you stayed nestled into the cushions, the more suspiciously new blankets and pillows appeared. Your favourite was currently draped over your lap, the side of your hand that held your book resting on top of the crisp white plush fabric, whiter than snow. Light blue polka-dots were scattered in a carefree, artistic way, and you couldn’t help but pet over the soft areas with your palm absentmindedly. 

Zayne swore he bought it purely for the reason of: “It matched what you described as my colours, darling.” 

You rebuffed with the fact: “It looks like the snowman plushie on your desk.” The truth of that argument was discovered when a subtle tinge of pink moved from the tips of Zayne’s ears to his high cheekbones. 

Sighing, you turned the page of your book, humming with content at the origin of your comfortable couch, when it happened. 

“Jasmine.” Zayne’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp, and you looked up from the words of the page you were currently invested in. 

The kitten, ever meddlesome, had wormed her way beneath the monitor and started to bat at the smaller cords that led from the screen and down the back of the desk. She didn’t listen, too engrossed in her mischief making. 

Zayne rolled his eyes behind his glasses and reached out to wrap his hand around her middle. You couldn’t help the slight chuckle at the loud whine of protest that came from the kitten. “She’s just trying to help,” you insisted, though you failed to hide the amusement in your tone. 

“She’s only causing trouble,” he grumbled, and he placed Jasmine on his chest, her paws pushing against the muscle there hard enough to wrinkle his once pristine shirt. His large hand pet down her back and held her bottom half so she wouldn’t fall. “Hm? Your only intention is to distract me and cause chaos.”

Jasmine’s pink nose bumped against the tip of Zayne’s. 

“I know, you are cute, yes, little one,” he murmured, his free hand now moving the mouse of his computer. “But I have to get this done—afterwards we can play.”

The sight warmed your heart more than any hot chocolate could, and just when you thought it could not get any cuter, Zayne kissed the top of Jasmine’s head gently and placed her down on his desk closer to you. “Why don’t you bother your mother so I can get this done faster?”

You scoffed, but placed your book down, nonetheless. “Yeah, sure, use me as a scapegoat.” Jasmine tottered towards you, her ears perked forward at the sound of your voice, and you smiled at the little kitten. “C’mere, sweet girl.”

A comfortable silence stretched once more after Jasmine settled in your lap, her ears and nose twitching slightly as she investigated your book. Every now and then, you read a sentence aloud and watched with amusement as she looked up at you, curious as to the events of the story, no doubt. 

“How can you be so sweet?” you asked her quietly, scratching her chin after she yawned. 

“What a coincidence. I ask myself that every day about you. When you have the answer, do share,” Zayne mused aloud, his gaze homed in on the screen, though a slight smirk pulled at the visible corner of his lips. 

The sudden heat of the room made you gaze at your lap shyly, but you couldn’t deny the swoop of your stomach at the sweetness of his words. “I eat too much sugar, that’s why,” you replied quietly, and he chuckled, shaking his head. 

Time still seemed to slip by as you sat comfortably settled on the couch, Jasmine in your lap and the story evolving to be mysterious and full of turns. Though, the kitten had grown restless again, the absence of any ability to cause trouble while in your lap had gotten to her, and her patience began to wear thin. 

You glanced from your book to Zayne, who was busy typing away on reports, his hazel eyes reading through line for line what care he provided to the patient, when it came to you — as an assistant, Jasmine was to be delegated important tasks to better the workload on her charge, which just happened to include the necessity for rest, and the dire need for laughter. 

He always said your laughter could be the cure for all of his ailments…

The book closed quietly, and you moved to hold Jasmine with one hand, the kitten unusually still and cooperative as you maneuvered you both off of the couch. 

“What are you up to?” Zayne asked suddenly, but his gaze did not shift from the screen. 

You startled. “Uh– Nothing, I was just thinking of getting a snack…?” It was a flimsy excuse. 

He only said a quiet, “Hm,” in reply before his typing resumed at the fast pace he was exceptional at. Only when you felt his focus was wholly back upon his reports, did you dare to move again. Your feet were silent over the floor as you padded towards his chair, your accomplice in hand — silent and ready to strike. 

“I know you’re behind me, love.” The click of keys continued, nonplussed nor slowed in their rhythm. 

It was time. 

Jasmine let out a victorious mewl as you placed her upon her target, and you giggled as she wagged her tail. 

Zayne made a choked sound of shock and indignation, ducking down at the sudden weight on the crown of his head — soft paws held fast, however, and she followed where he moved with a purr louder than ever before. 

To say the sight was comical was understated. In the reflection of the monitor and the windows behind it, you saw Zayne’s expression turn from dumbfounded into playful annoyance, the curve of his grimace resembling more of a grin. The kitten was bright eyed once more and kneaded her paws into the black hair, tousling it from its normal neatness. 

“Is this my assistant’s demand that it’s time for a break?” he asked, arching a brow while one of Jasmine’s paws slid from his mussed hair to his forehead, knocking his glasses askew and forcing his eye to close. The open one stared at you from the reflection of the monitor.

“It sure is, Doctor Zayne—we say it’s time for sweets.” 

“Oh? It’s ‘we’ now?”

“I meant she says–” You backpedalled. 

Zayne took off the crooked glasses and stood from his chair, turning around while one hand steadied the kitten on top of his head. “A good doctor always listens to the orders of his superior.” He kissed you on the lips and pulled away, laughing at the way Jasmine batted at your forehead. “Come on, before little miss becomes too unruly for being left out of any treats.”

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Tolkien Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Play Fighting • B2 ── MASTERLIST ── Eclipsing Bingo (@eclipsingbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Playing With Someone's Hair • G3 ── MASTERLIST

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Loving Arms (6)

Summary: The children of Viserys I from his wife Alicent Hightower had always been lacking in affection from their parents. They simply didn't realize how much until their widowed aunt was brought into their lives. (AU where Alicent has an older sister and her kids get the love that they deserve, takes place some time after the Driftmark event)

Part VI: A Ring of Green

|| Loving Arms Masterlist ||

A/N: I sometimes struggle giving multiple characters dialogue, so I thought why not give each of the kids their own focused chapters or moments. Hope you all enjoy this part and leave a comment! I love to hear from all of you.

"Muña, would this not be easier if we did all of this by dragon instead of horseback?" Aegon whined.

"I will not have you and your siblings become layabout nobles," she replied. "This hunt is meant to put in practice your skills with the bow, equestrianship, and to learn how to skin and prepare the game that you catch. We will not be the kind of people that forget the work that is put into having a meal on our table, is that understood?"

Aegon whined a bit more with a pout.

"I don't understand whines, I need an articulate response."

The boy huffed once more, "Yes, muña. But why is it only the two of us? Why are Aemond and Halaena allowed to wait for us at the camp?"

"They will join us tomorrow but I thought this would give us time on our own to talk about whatever you like, my sweet love."

"Whatever I like? No judgement or scolding?"

"Now I question if I should scold you if that is the response," she laughs.

He frowned, "It's just... I am sure that in your time away from King's Landing that you must have heard a thing or two about all of us and I can not help but imagine of all that you must think of us. Me in particular."

"I will admit, I have heard a thing or two while in Dorne but that does not mean that I have a fully colored image of who you are" she sighed. "And if we are being sincere, I felt many things about all that I heard regarding you."

Aegon looked away in shame, "I see. And what was it exactly?"

"Pity," she shrugged. "A bit of anger, but not at you, anger at your Mother and Grandsire. Mostly I felt that I wanted to protect you but I was uncertain how to go about it. There was some helplessness as well since my husband had fallen ill and could not come to visit sooner."

"Did you not feel shame for having a lily - liver'd and slow nephew? I'm not the Realms Delight or even worthy of being considered heir" he said bluntly.

"Is that truly what you think of yourself?"

"How else am I to think of myself, muña? Mother and Grandsire are always so quick to point out my flaws and my tutors never said it, but I could sense that they thought of me as a hapless fool."

His aunt pulled at the reigns of her horse to slow the beast down to trot alongside Aegon's own horse. "Let me ask you something, and when I ask it, I need you to be completely honest with me."

"What?"

"You said that you aren't the Realm's Delight, who was given this monicker?"

Aegon looked confused, "Rhaenyra? Who else?"

"When was she given this title? And by who?"

The boy thought for a moment, uncertain as he said "My Father? It is something I have always heard said of Rhaenyra. But why is that relevant?"

"Aegon, I need you to listen closely" she said. "She was given this monicker when she was a child of eight years, simply because courtiers thought her to be sweet and beautiful." She pointed at him with a short laugh, "You are a handsome young man, quick - witted when you choose to be, and amongst a variety of courtiers and diplomats. If you gave a smile and a few well placed laughs to certain nobles, it wouldn't be long until the perception of you has changed."

"Do you want me to behave like a clay - brained, sodden - witted fool? A smile and a few laughs aren't enough to change anything" he scowled. "It would be better to run off to Essos and live a life of comfort than have to grovel for even a modicum of respect from the likes of the court vultures."

She clench her jaw in mild frustration, "I am not asking you to do anything that is more than you are capable of Aegon. I am saying that the tides can be changed with a few things, because do you think that Rhaenyra can hold onto her title for much longer?"

"Muña, you are treading a dangerous line."

"If we ever wish to see change in our lives, sweet love, then the line must be trod whenever we see the opportunity given."

The young prince was mildly frustrated and hoped to change the subject entirely, and to his good fortune in the distance Aegon spotted a buck of a substantial size.

"I think we can drop the topic, muña because I intend on catching that buck!" and with a snap of his reigns, Aegon sped forward.

His aunt sighed with a wry smile and chased after the boy and buck, "He can try all he likes but we'll finish this talk whether he likes it or not!"

The aunt and nephew duo had managed to catch up swiftly to the buck, an arrow from Aegon was able to slow it down but it was a swift arrow behind the elbow of the buck's lead leg from (Y/N) that brought the great beast down. She had the young man strap the buck on his own so that they could quickly return to camp and skin it and prepare it for consumption later.

Rather than have Aemond and Halaena take part in the preparation of the meat, their aunt was quick to have them set off with their guards to prepare the fire and find herbs that could be used. Allowing for Aegon and herself to have more time to continue their discussion.

"Have at it" she said handing Aegon her sharpened knife. "Slice along the beasts belly and let us finish our talk."

"What is there -" he struggled to cut through the flesh "To talk about. We said all that need - needed to be said."

She pointed at the spot he finished cutting, "Stick your hands in and pull out the intestines. Aegon, don't make that face."

He scowled in disgust, "I don't want to take out the intestines that is disgusting."

"What's more disgusting is this attitude" she said. "Now take out the intestines before they swell and implode, it would contaminate the rest of the venison. And don't think because we caught this stupid thing, it means I will drop our subject from earlier."

Begrudgingly, he did as he was told and plopped the bloody organs into a bucket beside the table in which they were preparing the meat. She took the dagger from him and carefully began to remove the fur from the meat while rolling it up.

"You think to - " she cut further and handed him back the knife "to little of yourself Aegon. Keep skinning."

Shakily he did so.

"I know that you have heard things and taken them to heart because no one has said this otherwise, but I truly think that you could accomplish great things. If and only if we work together to find the things that you could put your time into, not simply because it is expected of you."

"You will be sorely disappointed muña, because I have had tutors that gave up long ago."

Gently she pushed the boy aside and took another dagger to help him skin faster, "Your previous tutors lacked creativity to trod the line and failed to consider that you learn better with other methods. Not everyone can read a text and execute the knowledge, some of us do better by example and practice." She pointed her blade toward the half finished deer carcass, "Or do you mean to tell me that you knew how to skin this beast until now?"

He flushed in embarrassment, "I suppose I hadn't thought about it. The letters of texts have always jumped and I was always forced to sit for hours until I finished what was given."

"It might surprise you Aegon, but your uncle Gwayne has the same condition" she chuckled. "He was never much for sitting still at a desk and couldn't get through a page without the letters mixing around. Thankfully our Uncle noticed and found other ways that Gwayne excelled, making my brother quite the formidable swordsman and knight."

Aegon chewed at his bottom lip in thought, "Is it possible then? For me to truly be accomplished? Even if it isn't in the areas that my Mother and Grandsire want?"

"It is why I argued with your Father" she said. "I knew that there were expectations but I know that together we can create reasonable goals that can lay the way towards a future you want to reach." Setting aside the blade in her hand, (Y/N) washed her hands free of the blood from skinning the deer and dried them quickly.

"If you really think that I can muña, then I would like to try, please?"

Gently and lovingly she cupped his face in her hands, "All I want is for you to try. Don't give up because others say that you cannot or because they have set the limits for you."

"It's difficult when all your life it feels that everyone is waiting for you to make the next mistake," he teared up and pressed into her embrace. "I already think that about myself every day that I awake."

"Sweet love, can you look at me?"

Nervously his eyes met her own.

Slowly she reached into the pocket of her skirt and procured a ring to show it at his eye level. Its stone was a yellow green peridot, the prongs were a bronze while the rest of the ring was a faded silver.

"I know that perhaps I pushed quite a bit at some of your boundaries today," she began. "But the main reason I had your brother and sister do other things today was because of this." Carefully she took one of his hands and placed the ring onto his palm, "Aegon? Would you be my heir?"

His eyes widened and he looked at her in shock, "You want me to be your heir?"

"In the grand scheme of things, I don't have quite as much to my name but I am asking you, my sweet Aegon if you would be my heir? I am giving you a choice, become the boy that they wish for you to be or the man that I know you can become with the right guidance."

He sniffled softly, "My Father wanted a son but has never wanted me. The realm has their flawless heir and despite all this, somehow you want me? Flaws and all to be your heir?"

"The choice is yours."

With a teary laugh, Aegon put the ring of green onto his pointer finger in admiration. "I hope you know that you are never getting this back, muña."

"And I would never ask, sweet love. It absolutely suits you."

There was no fanfare from trumpets, cheers from adoring peasants or nobles, and certainly no flowers tossed in the air. But in that moment; the muggy tent, sticky entrails, and slightly too big ring were enough for the young prince.

Someone he loved had chosen him.

And for him, that was enough.

[justabeewithapen]

i bet Chiquitita grew up not being able to do any general roughhousing because of his condition </3 but now the kids are helping him get caught up with important childhood milestones such as: climbing and falling out of trees, hitting each other with sticks, running with sharp objects, mudball fights, and other common child deathgames! poor Mr Shrimp is having a rough time adjusting

(And some close ups)

I have so many thoughts on this ask, I am so sorry XD

Firstly, Mr. Shrimp is 1000% having a rough time adjusting, and for very good reason. While we don't know what Chiquitita has (and I tried to do some research to get a rough idea of this sort of thing in humans) we for sure know he has to be anemic to some degree--or whatever their species's version of that would be. Before they had a consistent source of blood transfusions I am sure that Chiquitita was practically bed ridden at times, frequent blood loss makes it hard to do anything without getting woozy and sick. Now that they have that source he can do a lot more, but he still has limits that are way under where a kid his age actually should be. If it wasn't for his work ethic and Chiquitita's insistence he was okay, Mr. Shrimp would be walking Chiki to school almost every day. The idea that his son can just, do things now, hasn't really clicked. Chiki (who is roughly 6-7-ish seeing as he is a first grader) is actually fairly aware of his own limits, but, with the encouragement of both other kids (<- link to a bonus chapter) and his babysitters, he has been trying to push them. We know from one of extras staring Chiquitita (<- read this bonus chapter first) that he probably doesn't have much interest in play fighting, but I feel like he would be very into athletics. Still, no matter how well he thinks he knows his limits he has 100% had to be picked up from school or brought home after getting faint. Those are the moments where Mr. Shrimp probably gets a bit too smothery, he is the biggest cry baby but I can't even blame him. This is where I dive headfirst into total headcanon territory, but I know this man has some intense insecurities about his ability to raise his son and finding the balance there is so hard. He has the space and time to think about this sorts of things instead of trying to survive day-by-day and I know it is eating him alive. He very openly blames himself for the death of his wife when he explains his backstory. He calls himself an alien word that very clearly is meant to be something like "Weakling" or "pathetic" and you can just feel the hate oozing off the page. He has issues. How long was he fighting every day just to see the next and make sure his family could too, like, this is the stuff I am talking about when I say he has PTSD. He was 100% willing to beat a teenager unconscious for the sake of a paycheck. (I know his singing is def just because he is kind of a silly guy, but imagine if he was doing it to distract himself from his horrible job. Singing about his son to remind him why he was there, do you see the vision????) I am constantly thinking about how his and Acrosilkie's stories are so similar, only, he came out of it with a good ending. Even when his life was safe and his son was safe he felt so indebted to the gang that he was willing to die in the Space Globalist Arc for a battle that wasn't even any of his business!! His life is the only thing he feels he can offer that is of any value man.... Anyway!! Do we think that Mr. Shrimp and Chiki bleed red when they are in their human disguises, or white still? I am leaning towards white but idk how I want to handle their shapeshifting fully. Also, hopefully I articulated my thoughts here okay T-T My brain is too full of them. (ASKS STILL VERY MUCH OPEN!!)

[quitealotofsodapop]

God damn. Like, I can’t even imagine how much that must hurt/sting.

Even though it was, at the time, somewhat incidental on Wukong’s part. Imagine just baring your soul, your true self, your entire being to your significant other, only for them to go: “Ew, gross.” And then run away.

Like, holy shit! No wonder he has trust issues. If that happened to me I’d probably never want to show my face in public again. Let alone try to make friends with others.

I highly doubt Macaque truly understands just how much he hurt Wukong that day. And I honestly don’t know if Wukong could find the words to articulate his feelings even if he wanted to.

But imagine a scenario where Wukong is forced to use his kaiju form for whatever reason. And as he’s wrecking shop, he notices Macaque on the sidelines just scaring at him and his form mesmerized. That would be like a punch in the face and/or gut. Because the first time he entered this form Macaque was terrified and ran away, and now he’s suddenly enamored with it?! Is he serious?!

Prev.

And it wasn't that Macaque had been disgusted or truly horrified by Wukong's Kaiju - but in the moment he had fled with fear like many of their people. Like if you just saw someone burst into flames. Survival instinct activated before his brain did.

But the damage was done.

And despite how much these two love poetry, they're pretty bad at articulating how they feel to one another.

I feel that Wukong would *only* activate his Kaiju again if there was a threat so big that they needed that intimaidation factor.

Wukong goes full three-headed, six-armed, being made of sunlight on the threat. Looks down and there's Macaque with a look in his eyes... one that Wukong knows well.

Why now!? When his like this!?!

Afterwards some soft words are exchanged.

Macaque: "I had been afraid back then Wukong. I had no idea what had happened when you first transformed. I just... ran." Wukong: "I know. When I saw you and all of the monkeys flee from me I..." (*hides face in knees and arms*) Macaque: "It... in the aftermath of it all, when I realised it was truly you all I could think "By the Gods he's sublime". You turned yourself into a moving sun to fend for your people. And I had... I had run from it. Ran from the deepest manifestation of You. I don't think I could ever apologise for that." Wukong, raises tear-stricken face: "Why didn't you ever tell me?" Macaque, stumbling: "I... I felt like I had no words for it. Even though I threw the worst kind at you under the mountain, I lacked the thought to express how I truly felt afterwards. I guess I forget that not everyone can hear everything. And that even though I could Hear , I hadn't thought to Listen." Wukong: "If... if we were both to transform, right now, would you stay?" Macaque: "I will. On the Enlightened One's name I will stay. I won't run." Wukong: (*silently, his body begins to unfurl into it's Kaiju form. Filling up nearly most of Water Curtain Cave. Each set of red-gold eyes look at Macaque with worry*) Macaque, amazed smile spreading across his face: "Beautiful." Macaque: (*transforms fully into his own smokey kaiju, barely a third the size of Wukong*) (*Both monkeys nuzzle against one another as they would when they were regular sized. Shadow and Light mixing into one another*) Kaiju!Macaque, voice many octaves deeper: "B e a u t i f u l..."

All three of Wukong's Kaiju-form faces blush.

Their sappy rekindling is only interrupted when MK walks in and excitedly declares "MONKEY KING KAIJU!!!!" before transforming into his own - the scruffy, three-tailed, yellow starlight jumping into the middle of the pair like a child demanding a cuddle.

Kaiju Cuddle Pile ensues.

[burningcoffeetiger]

I've been trying to figure out how I could articulate my thoughts with this. So let me start by saying that Nicola Coughlan is an inspiration. As someone who will be turning 30 in just t-minus 9 days I've been looking back at my life and my life as a woman. I was never one who was confident in her power or womanhood. I've had dreams that I was just too scared and shy to try, and make come into fruition. I was and am I guess you could say a wallflower. Due to many reasons, it just was what it was. And as I have gotten older, I have been finding that I want more for myself. Watching and reading Nicola's interviews I can't help but start getting inspired. Seeing this beautiful and STUNNING successful women killing it and rocking her womanhood with such confidence and grace? well I have no choice but to do the same. Nicole has shown me what it is to get back to loving yourself and that it is never too late, and you are NEVER too old because let's face it men's age compares to women's age isn't nearly the same to start living the life that YOU want to. And as Nicola said, "can we just let women live?" go off and be the queens that you were born to be !

[shizunitis]

Luo Binghe & Tianlang-Jun: Origins. And a Bit of Projection.

Disclaimer: This is basically just a collection of quotes from The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Volume 3, accompanied by (adjective) thoughts, and then even more relevant quotes listed at the end. If I could, I’d paste the entirety of Chapter 18.

“As expected, I can’t bring myself to hate humans.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 21: Always Together

I will always be conflicted on the topic of Tianlang-jun, and it annoys me. There is so much I could say about him, and so little I can successfully articulate. He is, to me, more confounding, complex and tragic than Shen Jiu.

He’s pitiful and awe-inspiring, wicked and affable, cunning and wide-eyed in his curiousity. He is a compelling, heartbreaking character. He alternates between emotionless wisdom and mournful apathy. I admire how his knees don’t buckle under the weight of his grief, but how he crumbles at the barest hint of hope. How rage claws at him and, still, he can’t figure out how to make it stick.

I empathise with him. I understand him.

But then, in the distance, Luo Binghe's indifferent voice disturbs the silence, causing me to drop my drink onto the floor and this post onto your screen:

“He’s not my father.”

It’s an interesting exercise, exploring their relationship in reconciliation fics. To see them interact (semi-)honestly, watch them take turns filling up the chasm between them. It’s wonderful. Every fic I’ve read centred around them was a delightful read that I still think about.

However. I cannot see Tianlang-Jun, as I understand him, as Luo Binghe’s father. And not just because of the 3rd Novel’s events.

But because Binghe had hoped for something; he did have that wide-eyed wonder. He did hold one last window open, for the sake of an improbability he couldn’t quite, just yet, dismiss.

It’s what (most) orphaned and/or adopted childred do.

Though Luo Binghe had never said a word about it before, Shen Qingqiu knew that he harbored some fantasies about his birth parents. […] In fact, he’d always secretly fantasized about whether his parents might still be alive, and how well they’d treat him, and how they’d never let him suffer the mildest slight. — Vol. 3, Chapter 17: Tianlang

It is the most human thing; to want to be helped, accepted, invited by those given to you. A family is given to you. Whether you believe it an act of the divine, of nature, of coincidence, it isn’t something you fight for. It’s the first and, arguably, only thing you don’t have to fight for in life.

Depending on a multitude of factors, that can be a blessing or a curse; but where there is room for interpretation, questions left unanswered, most childred—Binghe included—will turn to their imagination, and try to make sense of it. Usually, to comfort themselves, to reassure themselves that surely, if their family could, they would have.

And, yeah. Most likely, if the Palace Master had gotten punted into the Sun like he fucking deserved, they would have. But does it matter?

In the face of a bleak reality, what comfort is a could-have-been?

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. […] Luo Binghe was in fact…someone who was unloved by even his own parents. — Vol. 3, Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

What use are good intentions to an abandoned child? What consolation is it, to say, They gave birth to you, when that child has seen no evidence of their care? Does it dry their tears, that their mother can’t be here, but she surely would have wished to be? That their father would protect them, if only he knew of them?

(And don’t make me tell you about the visceral horror I felt reading the Origins chapter. I’ve yet to make my peace with it. MXTX, Airplane, whoever: you’ve ruined me.)

The washerwoman was and continues to be, to Binghe, his only mother. And I would argue, that’s healthy. Even independent of his other traumas (Abyss, Shizun’s betrayal, Xin Mo’s influence, living on the streets, etc, holy shit Binghe) Luo Binghe will not accept anyone else as his mother.

“Who is this Su Xiyan?” Luo Binghe asked coldly. “My mother was a mere washerwoman.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 18: Origins.

It may seem callous. It probably even is! But it is a healthy line he’d drawn by his own initiative. It’s what helps him, what he feels he needs to do in order to do right by his mother, and his own heart.

And! Tianlang-Jun doesn’t seem to give much of a shit, either!

Won’t, probably, even in the future, once the dust will have settled. He is exhausted, weary with carrying the corpse of his love, the loss of his nephew. Whatever goodwill he shows, it’s a perfunctory sort, because he can’t afford more.

So. Uhh.

Tianlang-Jun is not a character I can love, nor one I can hate. Usually, I can’t help but be inclined to love complex characters. Like them, too—though that’s more of an action-based thing rather than just said character’s personality.

But with Tianlang-Jun, I’m stuck whichever way I turn. If I want to love/like him, I’m drawn back by Binghe’s pain and disappointment. If I try to hate/dislike him, I’m drawn back by his own history and grief.

In conclusion:

I don't know! I'm not really trying to, like, prove anything. I still love the aforementioned TLJ & LBH fics, I still love their dynamic. I started walking and ended up exactly in the same space. This, perhaps, could be considered a Heavenly Demon Family Mobius Strip!

I'm not really trying to say anything. It just… makes me feel conflicted, and angry, and whenever I allow myself to think about it a bit more, sad.

But.

However!

Alas.

Nonetheless, even.

As a reader and—on my better days—a writer, all I can say is:

As promised/threatened: some selected passages, for your reading pleasure:

So, it looked like neither the father nor the cousin had any intention of acknowledging Luo Binghe. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

Tianlang-Jun lifted his hand, took a look at Luo Binghe’s snow-pale face, and commented indifferently, “He looks like his mother.” “His eyes look like yours,” came a chill voice from the side. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

The faint hopes and dreams Luo Binghe had held in his heart for many years had been mercilessly pulverized into so much dust. […] [Tianlang-Jun] refused to speak a single word of their relationship and had been utterly ruthless back in the Holy Mausoleum. […] To his parents, Luo Binghe was an unwanted child. — Chapter 18: Origins

“If he was my father, why didn’t he bring it up earlier? Why not tell me?” The most Tianlang-Jun had said was that single line he offered while beating up Luo Binghe, devoid of either praise or criticism: “He looks like his mother.” He looks like his mother. What of it? But that was all. There was nothing more. — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe was indifferent. “He’s not my father.” […] Luo Binghe shook his head. It was unclear what he was stubbornly clinging to, but he repeated, “He’s not my father.” — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe raised his smiling face, his eyes shining brightly. “Mother was the kindest person in all the world to me.” — Chapter 19: Shen Jiu

[sunsetsover]

i know i'm late to the party and most of these points have probably been touched on already, but i said i would make a post about why kant safewording in episode 8 was so impactful and i am nothing if not a man of my word so here we are

(under the cut bc this got completely out of hand)

tbh i feel like i could write 10,000 words and i still wouldn't be able to fully articulate the way it completely turned me inside out when i first watched the ep, but i still wanted to pull this scene apart anyway bc as i said at the time, there were (and perhaps still are) people who think kant safewording in that moment was silly or out of place or whatever, and so for my own sanity i need to list all the reasons it was not only not stupid, but actually incredibly powerful for both kant and bison's characters and their relationship overall

bc think about the context. think about how shy bison had been when he had introduced the idea of a bdsm dynamic to kant, how he had admitted it's something he had wanted for a long time but never had the opportunity to actually have that with anyone. think about how reluctant he had been to actually hurt kant, and how enthusiastic and happy he was when kant told him he was into it too. how careful he was with kant, how thorough he was about consent (excluding the scene in his bedroom obv, considering he was drugged and couldn't consent nor dom properly). how insistent he was that they have a safeword despite kant's dismissiveness bc he knows how important it is that they're safe, and that they trust each other completely. to have it and to use it.

and then think about how gutting it must have been thinking about all of that in the context of a lie. a complete farce. this thing that bison wanted so badly, a thing he was so happy to finally have w someone, to trust someone with that part of him after a lifetime of keeping it inside. think about how vulnerable and exposed bison must have felt in the wake of that realisation, esp considering he doesn't have really any experience actually domming someone fr. how used he must have felt, knowing that this really deep and personal desire had been used as nothing more than a tool to manipulate you by someone you thought you were developing a genuine bond with. kant betraying bison is one thing - imo, it was the sheer depths that kant had seemingly gone to just to use him that was what really hurt bison (which in turn made him angry). like think abt it from bison's pov: why would kant make a point to project the northern lights all over the walls for him, sit and make all these plans together so that bison's dream come true? and why the hell would he go so far as to let bison dom him when bison had tried so hard to basically talk him out of it? that's not just betrayal. it's sadistic and it's cruel. it's like kant didn't just want bison arrested, but also to break him from within.

so that's the context. keep all of that in mind. and then think about kant, tied down, completely at bison's mercy. following bison's every instruction. taking all his abuse. and then think about him safewording. he could have said anything, could have done anything. but he chose to safeword. why? why that word? why right then?

well. the use of a safeword is obvious right? it's someone's way of telling their partner 'that's enough, i don't like this anymore'. and that is the very surface level of what kant was saying by safewording. but obv the context is very, very different here. and i think it goes back to the conversation that they had when they agreed on the safeword in ep 3: kant doesn't understand then the importance of what a safeword is and what it represents. he thinks he can just tell bison to stop and that he will, and bison is obviously like 'well no, that's not how it works'. he basically says to him 'how am i supposed to know you're not still enjoying it? how will i know you actually want me to stop? what if i get confused and hurt you more?' and kant says he gets it, and to a degree he obviously does, but i don't think he got the depth of what a safeword represented until it was tumbling out of his mouth on that beach.

bc as i said, a safeword is about trust. it's about two people (or more! but we're just talking abt these 2 rn) trusting the other that if this word is said, then everything stops. no ifs ands or buts. the sub obviously has to trust that the dom will stop if they safeword, but it's just as important that the dom trusts that the sub will safeword if they're unhappy with whatever's going on. the dom has to trust that the sub trusts them.

and so kant safewords. and yes he's saying 'i don't like this anymore, i want to stop'. but he's also saying 'i paid attention, i listened, i remembered. i know you meant it and i meant it too. what you told me was important to me. i value what is important to you. i didn't just dismiss it, i didn't just dismiss you. this was never just a tool. it was never fake to me. i never used this against you. i really am telling you the truth and here's the proof.' (which, for the record, is also what he was saying before the safeword when he was like 'i know you've never trusted anyone before, i still haven't forgotten our plans, i still want to go to iceland together' - it's all reassurance that he hasn't forgotten and that it wasn't fake, that he meant all of it and it's all important to him too). and he's also - maybe even more importantly - saying 'i trust you. i trust you to stop because i'm telling you stop. if you will listen to nothing else i say, i trust you to listen to this. i'm trusting you because this is important to you, and it's important to me. i trust you to keep me safe. i trust that that if i say this word, you won't hurt me anymore.'

which is exactly why one of the first things bison says to kant afterwards on the beach is 'you think i can't kill you, don't you?' because he knows. he knows exactly what kant using that word meant, what he was saying. it's why he froze, why he was so thoroughly devastated, why he briefly lost his shit then completely fell apart afterwards - because even though it was just one word, he heard everything behind that word, and what was underpinning all of it, which was basically kant saying this isn't over for me yet. i'm still in this relationship with you. i'm still yours and you're still mine. i still trust you. and though you might not trust me right now, i know you'll trust this.

(and that's also why he repeats it so many times imo. by saying it over and over, he's proving that it isn't just a desperate or panicked plea to get himself out of that situation - he says it again and again, making a point to look bison right in the eye each time, bc that's acknowledgement that he's well aware of what he's doing and saying by using their safeword, and he wants bison to know that too: this isn't an accident, this isn't a mistake, this isn't a last ditch effort to live. i'm saying this on purpose, because i know what it means for you and me both.)

which yeah, is kind of a kick in the guts if you're bison. he knew he couldn't hurt kant. he knew he wasn't angry the way he was pretending to be angry, because the hurt was just too visceral (which i'll expound on in a second). and here was kant basically sticking his fingers in a fresh wound. here was this man he shouldn't trust at all, telling bison that despite who bison was and after all things bison had done to him (deserved or not is irrelevant here), he still loves him - not just with words but proving it in a very tangible way. a way that was theirs and theirs alone.

that was what gutted me on my initial watch. i obviously didn't think about all of it consciously in that moment, but i still knew it was there. i still felt it, the same way bison did. kant safewording in that moment was never just about him saying 'stop, i don't like this, please stop hurting me' and bison knew it, which is why he reacted so strongly to it (and why i did too lmfao)

so that was my initial thoughts, but liz @ropebunnykant brought up a really interesting point that i hadn't considered at first which is that kant was also safewording for bison's sake. which, while it hadn't been my first thought, definitely wasn't the first time i've heard of something like that happening either - a sub safewording, not bc they necessarily need to, but bc they've noticed that their dom isn't enjoying it/isn't in the right headspace to continue etc. and when i went back i could see it so clearly, esp as kant started to repeat it.

bc what happens immediately before the safeword use? kant pushes, and bison says shut up. kant continues pushing, and bison keeps telling him to shut up. the back and forth of bison and kant's safeword discussion is once again so important to the context here - kant asking if he can just say bison's name to stop him, and bison telling him no, that they need a way to differentiate when 'stop' is just a word and when it's genuinely meant.

bison telling kant to shut up was his stop. and kant pushed, because he didn't realise it straight away, because he had so much to say and for the first time bison was listening, because sometimes stop doesn't mean stop. but at some point kant realised that this stop did. and what did bison teach him to do when he really needs to stop?

and so kant safewords.

i do think kant could have kept playing that game for as long as he needed to. as long as bison was angry, kant would have stayed chained up like a dog. he didn't have to - he proved he could easily get out of his restraints in their very next scene. he could have asked the caretaker to help him get away. but he didn't. he chose to stay. maybe he wasn't on the boat, but at that point kant was a willing participant in what was happening, he was consenting. why? bc kant deserved punishment. bc bison deserves to punish him. bc to him staying there is it's own kind of proof. bc if bison's angry then he's still talking, and if he's talking there's hope. apathy is what was going to kill kant and he knew it - if bison's angry, that means he still cares.

but then we get that shot of kant's pov, of bison staring down w the gun pointed at him, barrel shaking, tears in his eyes. and it's not fun anymore. neither of them are gaining anything from this. bison's anger has finally given way to hurt, to heartbreak - kant knows in that moment that bison isn't getting any kind of satisfaction out of making kant squirm, and likely never was. which literally goes back to the core of a dom/sub relationship, doesn't it? you engage in that kind of dynamic bc both parties are getting something out of it. kant was getting the flagellation he thought he deserved after what he'd done to bison, the punishment he wanted (and to a degree needed) as payment for his wrongdoing and the sense of absolution that provided him. bison got the satisfaction of providing that punishment, of letting out that anger, of making kant hurt for what he did - or so kant thought. bc the reality is that bison wasn't getting any satisfaction out of punishing kant. no matter what he said or did, no matter how he hurt or degraded him, none of it made him feel better. and kant hadn't noticed that until that moment (which i think he can be forgiven for, given everything that he was going through). but then he does notice.

bison wasn't getting anything out of the hurt he was inflicting, and was inflicting pain upon himself in the process. and if one of them is not getting anything out of it - if one of them is actively hurting themselves in a way that doesn't feel good - then they need to stop. someone needs to safeword. kant knows this. and so he safewords - not so bison doesn't kill him, as some people have said, but to stop bison from hurting himself any further.

and so kant safewords immediately. retracts the consent that perhaps bison hadn't even realise he'd given willingly. he ends the game. he uses his safeword just like bison taught him to, bc it matters and he trusts him and he loves him. that hasn't changed, not even like this. and he repeats it so many times for that very reason.

and believe it or not, i feel like there is still so much more to it i could pick apart even beyond this. bc god there are just so many layers!!!! like there's fear in it too, bc as much as kant is unconcerned abt the gun and is sure that bison won't hurt him, he's still human. some degree of fear is normal. i also think kant sensed an opening in bison's defenses that he wanted to get at just so that bison would just listen to him - bison wasn't really in the headspace to listen to anything before then, which is exactly why kant hadn't really tried to explain himself properly. it would've been pointless. and as much as he loves bison, kant is still kant - he still knows how to work people. i also think kant was tired and hungry and emotionally exhausted and while i do think he would've played along for as long as he had to, i think he also needed bison's anger and attention to fuel him. faced w nothing but his sadness, he lost all steam. kant's own sadness and overall feeling shitty probably hit him full force in that moment too, and he didn't have the strength not to fold under it. and so he safeworded.

however, if i start picking apart all of that i really will end up writing 10,000 words and no one really wants that, least of all me. but the point that i really want to make is that kant safewording in that moment was never really abt him not wanting to die. it was about care and it was about trust. it was about acknowledgement. most of all it was about love. and we'd all be doing the story and these characters a disservice to simply go 'hehe he safeworded out of murder' while not also addressing what it really was! which was kant acknowledging their bond, showing bison care in the only way he could while telling him he loves and trusts him all at once!! it was him claiming ownership of the ownership bison has of him!! he said penguin bc there was literally nothing else he could have possibly said in that moment that would have had the depth and significance than that one little word did!!! he said more with that one word than he could have said with a thousand other ones!!! and it drives me crazy whenever i think about it for more than 5 seconds at a time!!! thank u for coming to my ted talk!!

[cod-thoughts]

I can feel the heat on my face

Word count: 1.6k

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik

Tags: Price wears a crop top, Nik loves it, fade-to-black, suggestive themes, fluff

So this was written based off of this post from @on-a-lucky-tide and the subsequent beautiful art by @nekrosmos, your brains collectively made me write this and then i left it for like a month rip but i finished it!! its short and i may or may not have a smutty second part that im debating sharing too, we'll see how brave i get 0_0

Nik bought Price some new gym outfits as a bit of a joke, little did he know that seeing his Captain in a cropped hoodie and shirt would alter his brain chemistry the way it did Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The early morning sunlight filtered through the edges of the curtains, casting faint, golden lines onto the bedroom floor. The flat was quiet save for the muffled hum of the city beyond the windows, distant and unobtrusive. Price stirred under the duvet, one arm stretching lazily across the bed, his hand brushing against the cool, empty space where Nik had slept. He cracked an eye open and frowned. Of course Nik was already up.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he shifted, rubbing a hand over his face to chase away the lingering fog of sleep. His beard scratched against his palm, grounding him in its familiar texture. He blinked blearily at the room, catching sight of the small pile of neatly folded clothes resting on the chair near the bed. Nik’s doing, no question.

It was routine—whenever they planned to hit the gym together, Nik would leave Price’s kit ready to go. A silent nudge, Price supposed, to stop him from lazing about and rolling back into bed. It was thoughtful, in its way, though it always carried a hint of Nik’s stubborn insistence.

With a resigned grunt, Price swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool wood floor shocking against his bare feet. He stretched, his muscles stiff from sleep, before padding over to the chair. His eyes were still half-closed as he grabbed the shirt first. The fabric was soft and lightweight, practical enough for a workout. He tugged it on, his movements sluggish, only for his hand to freeze midway.

The shirt wouldn’t go any lower. Price frowned, blinking himself into full awareness as he glanced down. His brow furrowed deeper as he tugged again, to no avail. The hem of the shirt barely reached his navel, leaving his stomach—firm and solid, marked with faint scars and the unmistakable trail of dark hair—completely exposed.

“Bloody hell…” he muttered, scratching idly at his side as he reached for the sweater Nik had left with it. Surely that would sort things out. But no—the sweater, though soft and comfortable, was equally cropped, and it left just as much skin on show. Price stared down at himself, incredulous. He didn’t have chiselled abs, but he was built—a broad chest, strong arms, and a stomach that spoke of years of proper meals and hard-earned strength. The outfit, however, seemed determined to make him look like some kind of showpiece.

He tugged experimentally at the sweater, as though sheer force of will might make it longer. When that failed, he turned to the mirror. And that’s when he noticed the shorts.

The shorts. Price blinked at his reflection, dumbfounded. The shorts were snug, hugging his thighs—thick, hairy, and as solid as the rest of him—while cutting so high they left nothing to the imagination. He looked… different. Not bad, necessarily, but certainly not what he’d expected to see when he got dressed.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his lips twitching as a sarcastic comment began to form. But before he could properly articulate his thoughts, the soft creak of the floorboards outside the bedroom broke his train of thought.

The door opened, and Nik stepped inside, already dressed in joggers and a well-fitted T-shirt. His hair was slightly mussed, his expression relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his ever-present alertness. His gaze landed on Price almost instantly.

Nik froze.

“Well,” he started, his voice full of easy humour, “what a sight to wake up to.” He smirked, stepping further into the room, his tone warm but laced with his usual teasing edge. “Did not know you would be modelling for me this morning, Captain.”

Price didn’t look over his shoulder, still too busy fiddling with the sweater. “Nik,” he said flatly, his voice heavy with exasperation. “Care to explain why I’m dressed like this?” He gestured vaguely to himself, the motion half-shielding his stomach. “And don’t tell me this is gym kit, because I know bloody well it isn’t.”

“It is gym clothes,” Nik countered, his smirk widening. “Just… minimalist.”

“Minimalist?” Price echoed, finally turning to glare at him through the mirror. “Minimalist, my arse. I feel like you bought this more for yourself than for me.”

Nik chuckled, stepping closer, his eyes sweeping over Price. “Maybe,” he said, dragging the word out with mock consideration. “But can you blame me? Look at you.”

Price huffed, muttering something about needing a proper kit as he dropped his arms with a resigned shake of his head. The movement was casual, almost careless, but it left his midsection entirely exposed. Solid muscle, tan skin, and the faintest curve of softness—all framed perfectly by the absurdly short sweater and shorts.

That was when it hit Nik.

The teasing comment on his tongue faltered, replaced by silence as his gaze lingered, drawn to every detail. The scars scattered across Price’s skin, the way his shoulders filled out the snug fabric, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of those shorts. It wasn’t funny anymore—not even a little. Price, with his perpetually gruff exterior and quiet strength, looked… stunning.

Nik blinked, his lips parting as though to say something, but no words came.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Price asked, finally turning to face him fully. His tone was dry, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips, betraying his usual stern demeanour.

Nik blinked, as though snapping out of his trance. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, the teasing remark he'd prepared slipping away as he caught another full look at Price in the morning light. The cropped sweater framed him in a way that wasn’t just flattering—it was outright distracting. Nik’s eyes lingered on the faint trail of hair that dipped below the waistband of those shorts, and then further down, where Price’s solid, muscular thighs stretched against the fabric.

He swallowed, trying to regain his composure. “I—” His voice faltered for a beat before he cleared his throat. “I knew it would not look bad,” he managed, though his voice was quieter now, laced with a growing tension. “But… I did not expect it to look this good.”

Price cocked an eyebrow, his smirk growing slightly. “Didn’t know you had such a thing for crop tops, Nik.”

Nik didn’t reply immediately, his gaze flickering up to meet Price’s eyes. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at him now, a rare moment of Nik’s usually cool exterior faltering. The teasing grin he so often wore softened, replaced by something more vulnerable, almost reverent.

“Not the top,” Nik said, words clipped and stepping closer, his hands finding Price’s sides almost instinctively. His fingers brushed over the exposed skin there, the faint calluses catching against the warmth of Price’s skin. “But you.”

Price blinked, thrown off guard by the sincerity in Nik’s tone. His smirk wavered, and for a moment, he wasn’t the seasoned captain, wasn’t the gruff, no-nonsense man who could command a room with a single glance. He was just John, standing barefoot in their bedroom, feeling inexplicably flustered under Nik’s gaze.

Nik’s hands lingered at his sides, his thumbs brushing against the edge of the sweater as though testing how much further he could push. “You are fucking breath-taking, you know that?” he said softly, his accent thickening in a way that always made Price’s stomach twist.

Price scoffed lightly, shaking his head as if to dismiss the comment, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “That right?” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

Nik grinned, though there was something softer behind it this time. “Mhm” he replied, his hands sliding lower, fingers curling lightly around Price’s hips. “We might have to change the plan, Captain.”

“Yeah?” Price asked, his voice edged with humour, though there was a faint hitch in his breath as Nik’s hands tightened slightly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Nik murmured, his grin turning wicked as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against Price’s ear as he added, “We could skip the gym. Do some… private training instead,” he paused thinking, “Cardio! yes, cardio, plenty of it, too.”

Price barely had time to process the words before Nik bent slightly, his arms wrapping securely around Price’s thighs. The motion was smooth, effortless, and before Price could protest, Nik straightened, lifting him clean off the ground.

“Nik!” Price barked, his voice sharp with alarm, though his hands instinctively gripped Nik’s shoulders for balance. His face burned now, the rare flush spreading from his neck to his ears. “Put me down, you daft—”

“No chance, lyubov moya,” Nik interrupted, his laughter rich and unrestrained. “You are far too dangerous to let out of our flat dressed like that.”

Price huffed, trying—and failing—to school his expression back to something stern. “Dangerous? Bloody ridiculous, more like.”

Nik carried him across the room as though he weighed nothing, his grin only growing. “Ridiculous? Maybe,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “But you are still mine.”

He reached the bed and, with a practiced ease, dropped Price onto the mattress. The captain let out a startled noise as he bounced slightly, propping himself up on his elbows to glare up at Nik. But whatever sarcastic retort Price had been about to deliver died the moment Nik leaned over him, bracing one arm on the bed beside him.

Nik’s free hand trailed down Price’s side, his touch slow and deliberate, as though savouring every inch. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “You are not going anywhere, John.”

Price’s breath caught, his heart thudding in his chest as Nik dipped lower, his lips brushing against the edge of the sweater. The teasing grin on Nik’s face softened, replaced by something deeper, hungrier, as his hands trailed further down.

Their morning gym plans were forgotten entirely.

[ineffable-endearments]

Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

Wow. There is...there is so much here.

First, a caution about the book itself: there is significant sexually violent narration, and lots of torture as well. This post is going to discuss these topics only in general terms - I don't think I need to go into detail to discuss what they mean for the story - but take care of yourself when you're deciding whether to read it. If you have any questions, always feel free to send an ask or message.

I am going to need to make multiple posts about this book. For this first one, I'll focus on summarizing the book and its main themes, especially the ones that I think relate to Good Omens. As always, I can't summarize it in a way that will give you a better understanding than simply reading the book, but summarizing it will help me put my own thoughts together and hopefully help you follow along as I try to articulate them.

Because it's impossible to miss, I think it is best to confront this issue at the outset: there is a lot of especially blatant misogyny on Winston's part in Nineteen Eighty-Four. This is not meant to be a good or sympathetic thing. It is a demonstration of how messed up he is, and how messed up everyone in that society is.

The Society

The plot of Nineteen Eighty-Four is tied up very much in the story's world. The characters are at the mercy of their society in this story, much more than in most. It will make sense to describe the world first. Indeed, a massive portion of the book is just information about Oceania itself.

In the world of Nineteen Eighty-Four, the entire planet is supposedly ruled by three perpetually warring authoritarian states: Oceania, Eurasia, and Eastasia, conglomerations of Earth's former independent nations. Through the novel, it is revealed that all three states have governments that are structured in largely the same way with approximately the same quality of life for their people, and the perpetual war is itself a way of controlling each population.

Technically, we don't know for sure that the war is really happening. In fact, we don't know that anything is true, because almost all the information the characters have comes from the Party, the government of Oceania, and the Party's operations revolve around reality control. The Party's "leader" is an enigmatic figure referred to only as Big Brother, who, of course, is watching.

Our protagonist, Winston, lives in Oceania. There are Inner Party members, who are the highest-ranking, with the highest responsibility and the highest quality of life. There are Outer Party members, who work for the Party, are heavily surveilled, and whose daily needs are all provided for with low-quality supplies; they have a highly regimented daily schedule. Inner and Outer Party members have telescreens, which broadcast Party propaganda but also have cameras to monitor all Party members. It is incredibly difficult to get away from telescreens, since there's at least one in every home and they're everywhere in public. Altogether, the telescreens form a panopticon that is hard to evade.

Then there are the proles, a shortened term for proletarians, who are the lower classes of Oceania and make up the majority of the population. The proles live in poor conditions and are constantly manipulated by State-generated propaganda. However, they have more freedom than Party members, in the sense that they are also largely ignored by the Party because they have no real power and are assumed to be incapable of engaging in revolutionary behavior. For this reason, proles get to have human relationships and enjoy pleasures, wherever they can find pleasures, in ways that Party members are not allowed. In reality, the Party's perpetual war is a way of grinding through resources in order to keep people, especially the proles, buried under work without improving their quality of life. This is because when people have free time, they can use it to learn and organize, and they might become a threat to the Party.

Winston is one of the Outer Party members. He works in the government department that rewrites history. See, every time a fact or anecdote in the media is inconvenient for the Party, the Party goes back and destroys all old copies of newspapers and books, all old video content, all paperwork, any scrap of evidence that anything was different. Newspapers are routinely reprinted with "updated" (falsified) information. For example, Oceania is always either at war with Eurasia and allied with Eastasia, or at war with Eastasia and allied with Eurasia, and as far as the Party is concerned, this has never changed. Every single time Oceania's alliance changes, the newspapers are updated so that the current alignment has always been true. Every time someone becomes a disgrace to the Party, their previous deeds are rewritten.

On the surface, this sounds difficult to implement, but over the story, one realizes the vast majority of the Party's operations revolve purely around the constant reshaping of history, control of people's memories, and control of people's emotions for the purpose of maintaining power eternally. Art produced by human beings is actively discouraged; instead, the Party mass-produces art, including novels, using machines, to control what kinds of ideas people are consuming.

The Party is essentially a machine that controls reality, or at least, what the people inside it consider to be reality. There are people who specialize in managing the thoughts of the public: the Thought Police. While they may technically not be able to literally see inside one's mind, they watch everyone carefully and are excellent at noticing everything: every facial expression, every eyebrow twitch, and every breath.

The Party rules through a series of four "ministries." These are the Ministry of Truth (like an educational ministry, responsible for producing propaganda), the Ministry of Peace (like a military, responsible for warfare), the Ministry of Love (like the correctional system, responsible for jailing and torturing dissidents), and the Ministry of Plenty (like the treasury, responsible for rationing).

When it suits the Party, anyone can be "vaporized." This means they are secretly murdered and all evidence of them - any existing record whatsoever, any news story, any list or database entry - is erased.

The Party has a new language they're developing as a method of thought control called Newspeak. The purpose of Newspeak is to make it impossible to articulate certain kinds of thoughts. The following is a character named Syme describing Newspeak:

"Don't you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no words in which to express it. ... In fact there will be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking - not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness."

It's worth noting that Syme is later vaporized, presumably just for being too insightful out loud about Newspeak. In Newspeak, people who have been vaporized, if they must ever be referred to at all, are called "unpersons." In this way, no one has ever been killed by the Party, because those people have never existed in the first place.

There's a key Newspeak word that appears over and over: doublethink. It's the ability to believe two contradictory things simultaneously, and unlike the way we usually experience cognitive dissonance, there is no urge or attempt to reconcile what is really true. With doublethink, the existence of two contradictory ideas at once is itself exploited to help Party members serve the Party.

The Party (and its equivalents in Eurasia and Eastasia) uses perpetual war to control the population by squandering the resources produced by human labor and keep people in a perpetual combination of patriotic fervor and fear. The war is infinite and can never be won; the whole purpose of the war is to be at war.

Socially, the Party has destroyed family life. Winston was married years ago. He and his wife are so estranged that he is no longer sure if she is alive. They did not have a good relationship. The Party does not want close emotional relationships between its members, so while they are strict about who is allowed to marry (not for love, strictly for procreation), they don't care if people continue to live together. However, the Party does not want people forming new relationships, so divorce and extramarital sex are also illegal. The Party has also turned children against their parents by encouraging children to report their parents' potential thoughtcrimes. All in all, family members are generally afraid of each other.

We see, over and over again, how the Party does its best to frame human beings as both inherently untrustworthy and as objects to be used. Pitting people from individual family members to entire classes, sexes, and races against each other is one of the Party's many techniques for controlling people, and it has seeped into Winston's everyday thought processes. Only actual experiences with other human beings even begin to break these ideas down.

Eventually, it becomes apparent that the Party's motivation is immortality through the denial of the individual. Human beings are denied their own personal thoughts, feelings, and bodies. Only their ability to be assimilated into the Party is permitted. Even thoughts and feelings about the greater good are unacceptable because these lead to regime changes and interfere with the raw totalitarian power of the Party. Every Party member in Oceania is meant to strive exclusively for the continued power of the Party. Dissidents are denied even the ability to be martyrs, because the Party does not kill people while they carry hatred for Big Brother; they simply change their thoughts until they are good Party members again, and then kill them later, when they are no longer dissidents and have no legacy of resistance to leave behind.

Winston's Plot

Winston has a secret desire to be free of the Party. He does get swept up in the Party's fervor when he's in the middle of it, but he also longs for the extremely basic pleasures and freedoms that have become taboo. For example, Winston secretly buys an old pen and journal to write in - a completely forbidden act that he has to conceal from the telescreen in his own apartment. He finds himself almost unconsciously writing things like "DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER" in that journal.

There is an Inner Party member named O'Brien who Winston admires greatly from a distance despite knowing only his appearance: "intelligent" with a "prizefighter's physique." Winston perceives that he and O'Brien "understand" each other somehow, and even believes O'Brien has spoken to him in a dream, saying they "shall meet where there is no darkness." Eventually, Winston imagines he is addressing his journal to the mysterious O'Brien, believing him to be an ally.

Winston has an acquaintance at work named Syme. Syme is very passionate about revising the Newspeak dictionary. However, he is a little too openly insightful about the true purpose of Newspeak for his own good. Even though Syme does not seem to have any intention of betraying the Party and in fact is extremely taken with Newspeak, Winston is convinced he will be vaporized, and sure enough, he is.

There is a woman Winston thinks he hates because she looks like the perfect Party member who would turn him in to the Thought Police. Actually, the narration outright states that he doesn't like women entirely, because he thinks they're too committed to the Party and enjoy betraying men. However, it turns out that this woman observes Winston by the shop where he bought his illegal notebook. By simply observing Winston in that shop, the Party would suspect he's committing thoughtcrimes, and Winston panics. However, the woman later bumps into Winston at work and passes him a note that says, "I love you." Winston then instantly decides he wants to be with her; the idea of not being with her never even occurs to him.

The woman's name is Julia. It turns out Julia is putting on an incredibly convincing act, but she hates the Party, too. Winston is technically married, so he can't legally marry Julia, and any kind of non-procreative sex is illegal anyway, so their relationship is entirely forbidden.

Winston and Julia meet up and have sex in secret. It's worth noting that during their first meeting, they enjoy listening to a thrush singing. During this first meeting, they go out to the countryside, where there are fewer telescreens and microphones; Winston comments that it's like the "Golden Country," his symbolic dream-place where people are free.

A man named Mr. Charrington owns the shop where Winston had bought his notebook, and he also owns a room for rent above the shop. It's an old-fashioned prole room without telescreens and with a great number of old-fashioned fixtures. Winston and Julia rent it to get away from Party life for a few hours every now and then. When they first start staying in the room, Julia observes a rat and throws her shoe at it. Winston is utterly terrified, showing that he has a serious phobia of rats; it is vaguely implied that he had a traumatic moment related to them as a child. Julia takes the rat in stride; they are everywhere. She promises to block up the hole so the rat does not return.

Julia and Winston spend time in their prole room knowing for sure that it will eventually lead to their capture, torture, and death, but they decide it will be worth it. Winston voices some interest in trying to work against the Party; Julia does not believe this is possible whatsoever, and is not interested in trying. She believes people are better off putting on a convincing act and getting away with as much as they can for as long as they can.

Meanwhile, during the workday, O'Brien speaks to Winston. He mentions Syme without using his name, which is incredibly unusual, since people who are vaporized are never ever acknowledged again; all their work is erased from history. But O'Brien mentions Syme's work on the Newspeak dictionary and gives Winston his home address so that Winston can borrow the dictionary. Party members also don't often give each other their addresses. Because of these unusual cues, Winston infers that O'Brien is inviting him over to conspire against the Party.

While Winston and Julia meet up and have sex, they also indulge in other pleasures of the world, like real coffee and chocolate, and proles singing outside their window, and art that hasn't been generated by the Party. Observing the proles and their richer emotional lives, Winston and Julia decide they are going to worry only about their feelings. The Party can coerce them to do anything, including to confess, but as long as the Party can't make them stop loving each other, they agree, they will never have betrayed each other. Julia says that for all the things the Party can do, they can't get inside their heads.

So seized are Winston and Julia by their conviction that they decide to go visit O'Brien together and confess to wanting to destroy the Party. O'Brien tells them they may join the Brotherhood, a mysterious group of dissidents working to bring down Big Brother, but they must be willing to sacrifice everything; they must be willing to not only suffer and die, but to murder civilians, to spread disease, to sow discord, to do anything the Brotherhood asks of them. They even, O'Brien says, must be willing to "separate and never see one another again." This is the only thing Julia and Winston are unwilling to agree to. O'Brien accepts them anyway and, many days later, gives Winston a book through a secret messenger.

This book contains the writings of Goldstein, the supposed leader of the Brotherhood, outlining the Party's core philosophy. Winston reads this to Julia, who is hinted to not be all that interested, but she does listen a little.

While they look out the window and contemplate that the proles are alive and the Party members are already dead, Winston and Julia are captured. It turns out Mr. Charrington was a member of the Thought Police and the room had surveillance in it. Winston and Julia are separated and dragged to the Ministry of Love.

While at the Ministry of Love, Winston spends a lot of time waiting, watching other prisoners pass through. Some of them are proles, and some of them are people he knows. The waiting room is enormous and brightly lit with telescreens on all walls. There are essentially no shadows.

Another familiar face appears at the Ministry of Love. It's O'Brien. Winston first thinks O'Brien has been captured, but it soon becomes apparent that O'Brien was masterminding this whole operation and is in charge of Winston's torture. They have, indeed, met "where there is no darkness" - because of all the telescreens and artificial lighting. O'Brien and other Party members even wrote Goldstein's book as yet another propaganda piece. O'Brien states the description of the Party in the book is true, although the book's implication that the Party can be defeated through a prole uprising is false because a prole uprising will never happen. (Note that Winston did not actually read the part of the book where "Goldstein" outlined how the Party should be defeated.)

Winston is tortured for an undetermined amount of time. He discovers that he is a prisoner of his body; his torturers can get him to say pretty much anything through punishment and reward. In fact, they can force him to feel certain ways, too. O'Brien and the Party aren't only trying to get Winston to give away information; they want him to really internalize sincere belief in the Party doctrine, like doublethink, symbolized by the concept that 2+2 equals 5.

Winston starts out promising to himself there are certain things he will never agree to or say out loud, but torture proves an effective method at getting him to say whatever O'Brien wants. Winston vows that he will recite the Party lines, but will not actually believe them. If he lies to get the torture to stop but still retains his ability to reason for himself, Winston believes, then he can beat the Party.

However, O'Brien and the torturers are slowly able to break that down, too, as they are good at reading Winston's emotions, and they torture him every time he recites their desired lines without the sincere belief they're looking for. Winston is highly resistant to the 2+2=5 idea, but as he is tortured over and over, he does come to believe that because the Party can define his reality through brute force, then 2+2=5 could very well be true. They can force it to be true. He has no choice but to believe it, because only believing it might possibly end his torture, and the torture must end.

In other words, Winston and Julia were wrong. The Party can, in fact, get inside your head.

When Winston starts to believe 2+2=5, O'Brien does indeed start to improve his treatment of Winston, providing him with food and comfort, allowing Winston to become much healthier over time. This bonds Winston to O'Brien and makes him feel attached. However, Winston has not forgotten Julia, and in an unguarded moment, he cries out for her. This prompts O'Brien to ask Winston his feelings, again, about Big Brother. Winston states that he hates Big Brother.

It is at this moment when O'Brien sends Winston to the notorious Room 101.

In Room 101, prisoners face their worst fears - which, of course, the Party knows, because they know everything about everyone. Winston, who we know has a phobia of rats, is shown a pair of cages with starving rats in them. He is told that the rats are, as everyone in this world knows, flesh-eaters, despite being rodents. Winston is restrained, his head held in place, and O'Brien informs him that the rats will be released to eat his face.

Winston realizes what O'Brien wants to hear: he realizes his torturers will probably not allow the rats to eat him if he is willing to inflict the torture on Julia instead. They want Winston's betrayal of Julia to be complete. They want him to stop caring for her, the one thing he and Julia had once agreed they would never, ever do. And Winston has reached his limit: he cannot tolerate the idea of being eaten alive specifically by rats. So Winston says, "Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia!"

And then he is finally let go.

We continue with Winston once again living on the outside. He has seen and spoken to Julia, who was also let go. But the bond between them is completely broken. Julia admits she also betrayed Winston when she was faced with Room 101.

"Sometimes," she said, "they threaten you with something---something you can't stand up to, can't even think about. And then you say, 'Don't do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it to so-and-so.' And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself, and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself." "All you care about is yourself," he echoed. "And after that, you don't feel the same toward the other person any longer." "No," he said, "you don't feel the same."

In other words, by demonstrating to Winston and Julia that they ultimately cannot escape their own self-interest, O'Brien has caused them to reject each other.

At the tail end of the book, Winston is sitting in his usual spot at a place called the Chestnut Tree Café, pondering a happy moment from his childhood before pushing the memory away, believing it to be a false memory. When an enormous military victory is announced on the telescreen, Winston realizes that he finally, truly loves Big Brother.

Interpretation of the End

Although the events at the end of the book are pretty straightforwardly described, I found them slightly confusing on an emotional level. Winston and Julia aren't really angry at each other for their betrayals, it doesn't seem - in fact, they admit to each other that's what happened, and they agree on their mutual experience. But they don't love each other anymore, and Winston loves Big Brother instead.

So, here is my initial thought on what the characters went through:

For people to love each other, both need a sense of individuality. There needs to be a connection, but there also needs to be a specific You and a Somebody to love, to connect to.

Through torture, O'Brien has effectively torn away Winston's individual sense of self. I know that's a weird thing to suggest when the book repeats "all you care about is yourself" multiple times, but I think that by so completely obliterating Winston's ability to make anything resembling his own decision, O'Brien has essentially made "Big Brother" and "Winston ('yourself')" the same person. Big Brother's wishes are Winston's wishes. Winston has been assimilated into Big Brother. Winston and Julia's conversation at the end describes what it feels like to be liquidated as a person and assimilated into a collective.

Winston now knows that the one core impulse he can never escape is self-preservation, and the only one who can provide that, with infinite military might and an infinitely-deep torture repertoire, is Big Brother. Julia represents the ideal that caused Winston to estrange himself from the safety of embracing and trusting Big Brother. And because Big Brother is both eternal and almighty, giver of both life and death, he is the only one it is safe to trust.

By betraying Julia, Winston discovered that his own will inherently had limits; because he would always, eventually, revert to self-preservation, his will and therefore his identity became synonymous with the force that decided whether to preserve him. That's why the end of the novel involves Winston imagining that he has finally been shot in the head and killed; he has experienced the death of his sense of self. And this is exactly how "Goldstein's" book indicated the Party's operations work: eliminate individuals and assimilate them into a collective to achieve immortality.

Character and Faction Parallels Between Nineteen Eighty-Four and Good Omens

The Party and Heaven and Hell

They're both the one overarching power over everyone's existence. The inner workings of it are mysterious to the characters and even moreso to the audience. The main characters are agents working for these entities, and they are controlled through surveillance, punishment, and reward.

Although Heaven and Hell give the impression of being two large overarching powers, it seems apparent to me that the whole thing is really just one system that has intentionally split its workforce into factions. Ultimately I think we will see in the most explicit way possible that whoever is actively calling the shots in Heaven is also actively in charge of Hell.

Winston and Julia, Aziraphale and Crowley

Both pairs are agents who are in love with each other even though they're not supposed to be, who enjoy Earthly pleasures and experience the joys of humanity before getting arrested and dragged away by their authoritarian "employers."

It's tempting to try and figure out which character mirrors which - Aziraphale mirroring Winston, Crowley mirroring Julia? - but I think, sort of like with Nina and Maggie, the reflections work in every direction. The characters aren't literal stand-ins for each other, but they are exploring similar themes, including what happens to people when a society forbids intimacy.

O'Brien and the Metatron

"More even than of strength, he gave an impression of confidence and of an understanding tinged by irony." This line describes O'Brien from Nineteen Eighty-Four, but it sounds quite a lot like the Metatron's manner as he enters Aziraphale's bookshop. Confidence and an understanding tinged by irony indeed.

O'Brien seems to appeal to Winston's ideal in authority figures, appealing both intelligent and physically strong. The Metatron seems to have tailored himself to appeal to Aziraphale's ideal of an authority figure: someone who is calm and in control, but also has an exceptionally gentle manner (and this isn't really true of the Metatron, but he can make it look like it is).

There are more similarities. Winston thinks and hopes O'Brien will be a helpful figure, and O'Brien convinces Winston he's a helpful figure, but in the end, O'Brien is the mastermind behind Winston's capture and torture. Additionally, Winston assumes, during his torture, that the Party's drive for power is for the Greater Good. But O'Brien tells him this is stupid, and the Party's drive for power is just for the pure sake of having power, because that's the only thing that will guarantee the Party's immortality.

This reminds me a little bit of the Metatron telling Aziraphale the point of the war is to win it, not to avoid it. It also hits me as a potential motivation for Heaven - like, why do they do what they do instead of doing something else, since the universe seems perfectly capable of running itself? "Power" or "immortality" could be a reason, and it would also be a reason that would resonate with very human themes, since power and (symbolic) immortality are among the motivations that can drive real-life authoritarians.

The Proles and Humanity

The common people. The populations who are considered by the main characters' societies to be "beneath" them, but who the main characters become fascinated by, and whose lifestyles the main characters come to prefer.

Both Nineteen Eighty-Four and Good Omens contain in their narratives the notion that the prole or human way of life is where true meaning can be experienced. Winston and Julia go as far as to announce that proles are alive and Party members are dead. And at the end of Good Omens Season 1, Aziraphale outright tells Adam that being "human incarnate" is better than being Heaven or Hell incarnate.

This mirror is probably the one that brings up the richest speculation possibilities for me. I won't go in-depth here, but I see in both stories the main characters developing this love for the proles and humans while continuing to separate from them - even trying to turn around and exploit the very power structures that have oppressed them in an effort to fight against the oppression.

It's worth noting that in Nineteen Eighty-Four, Mr. Charrington, the man who Winston and Julia rented their secret love nest from, and whom they thought was a prole, was actually a member of the Thought Police who helped capture them, whereas in Good Omens, so far, the humans have just been humans, and while Adam Young started out as an incredibly powerful non-human, he later chose to be a human and used his power to reject authoritarianism.

The Themes

Authoritarianism and Power

Obviously, the whole overarching cautionary tale in Nineteen Eighty-Four is about authoritarianism and the insidious ways it affects populations. The Party's power is almost as absolute as it can possibly be. Big Brother really is almost always watching; there is almost always a telescreen somewhere nearby. Even when there isn't a telescreen, there are microphones. And unorthodox ideas and behavior are punished with annihilation - not just death, but the total annihilation of the self.

Doesn't this sound like a version of Heaven and Hell in Good Omens?

At first glance, it appears Oceania's Party is more aggressive about surveilling its Party members than Heaven and Hell are about surveilling Aziraphale and Crowley. One has to wonder if perhaps Heaven and Hell are just as aggressive with surveillance in the Upstairs and Downstairs themselves, but are less aggressive or maybe even less capable on Earth, just like the Party's surveillance is less in the countryside (although it is still a significant threat there).

But still, we see Michael pull out those photos of Crowley and Aziraphale through the ages, and we hear the Metatron refer to reviewing Aziraphale's "exploits," and we see Hell drag Crowley down in 1827, and we see both Crowley and Aziraphale anxiously glancing around throughout history with the assumption that someone might be listening, and we see how ready Heaven is to erase Gabriel's memories (his identity! his entire self!) from existence. We also watch Heaven and Hell try to make Aziraphale and Crowley disappear in a gout of hellfire and a tub of holy water after realizing that Aziraphale and Crowley do represent a threat to the current celestial order. Heaven and Hell's Nineteen Eighty-Four-esque insidious threat is clearly established in both seasons.

Vaporizing Dissidents

In fact, Heaven and Hell's arrest of Aziraphale and Crowley reminds me a bit of Winston and Julia's arrest, in the sense that the protagonists knew what was probably coming but not exactly when. And Heaven's attempted execution of Aziraphale in particular reminds me very much of the Party choosing to vaporize a dissident. They were going to try to disappear him. No angel or demon other than the ones who were involved would have known what happened to him. Hell's attempted execution of Crowley, meanwhile, reminds me of the Party's public executions of war prisoners.

Finally, the Party will attempt to erase people from existence by killing them and then erasing all records related to them, down to the very last detail. Meanwhile, the Archangel Michael threatens Aziraphale with being literally written out of existence in the Book of Life. There's lots of speculation about how possible this is. I wonder if maybe, it's a flawed process. Maybe erasing someone from the Book of Life can cut a hole shaped like them in the universe - but maybe it isn't that simple, and they don't actually get taken from anyone else's memories. Maybe, as people in Oceania haven't quite lost the ability to remember their dead, Heaven cannot actually erase the fact of anyone.

Social Disconnection

I see a lot of complaints online about the characters of Nineteen Eighty-Four being impossible to like. What tends to make characters likable? Their behaviors toward others, especially humor, compassion, individual quirks, and affection. Their moral strengths, like a sense of justice, might appeal to us, too. And what has the Party been systematically beating out of people for decades now? Anything that could possibly make fictional characters likable.

One of the Party's primary modes of social control is to keep people from having individual, intimate relationships outside of the Party. Each individual regards every other individual with distrust at all times, and only the Party is capable of providing safety. Winston mentions many instances in which he believes parents are afraid of their children, for example. There are also a number of people who he thinks would report him for thoughtcrimes.

This is getting into heavy speculation territory, but it hits me as a major motivation for the Fall in the first place. It's a great way to instantly divide Heaven itself in half, make everyone instantly suspicious of everyone else, and set up a whole bunch of rewards and punishments to hold over people's heads related to Falling.

One thing that's obvious, though, is the total lack of social connection in Heaven. Michael and Uriel are constantly treating each other with barely-suppressed contempt. Muriel wants approval so badly, but nobody has any patience for them. The "friendliest" any angels get are Gabriel and Sandalphon in Season 1, and that's still like, corporate-coworkers-style friendliness. Gabriel outright tells Beelzebub that no one has ever given him anything. Although it's...theoretically possible Gabriel is an outlier, I think his experience is probably representative of all the angels.

Bodily Experiences, Physicality, Gross Matter

There is a moment that made a big impression on me. Winston observes a prole woman outside singing a silly popular song at the top of her lungs as she works. This woman is not an attractive person by Winston's or Party standards; she is older, she is fat, she has a "lower-class" accent, her skin is weathered and reddened from working outside. But Winston, self-admitted misogynist who came of age on the Party's feminine ideal, thinks she is beautiful. He has a moment of realization that she's beautiful because the very things that theoretically would make her "unattractive" are evidence of a human life fully lived.

We also have Winston and Julia enjoying the world through their senses together in a way that they simply cannot in the grips of the Party. From listening to a thrush in the countryside to drinking real, delicious coffee, they experience pleasures that are denied to them and cause them to feel peaceful in a way that is denied to Outer Party members. As they experience life in a way that is much closer to the ways of the proles, they decide that only proles are alive; Party members are dead. It is at the moment when they speak this out loud that the Party chooses to capture them.

There's a darker side to the bodily experiences explored in Nineteen Eighty-Four, and that's experienced in the Ministry of Love. Here, Winston and Julia discover that their thoughts and feelings are indeed controlled by their bodies. There is only so much pain a human being can withstand before they will comply with their captors just to get the torture to stop. In fact, if the Party's psychological manipulation tactics haven't worked thus far to indoctrinate the population, then the body can be used to brute-force an attitude change.

The connection to Good Omens here is obvious. Aziraphale and Crowley are just like a couple of Outer Party members who haven't experienced real pleasure before, and then they discover wine and ox ribs and music and nice clothes and all those delightful human experiences that the other angels sneer at. It seems Heaven looks down on Earthly pleasure as a morally inferior, dirty pursuit, while Hell looks on Earthly pleasure as a kind of weakness, a pathetic softness. But Earth is where Aziraphale and Crowley have found meaning. Physical existence is where they've found themselves, where they've connected with each other, and where they've connected with the stuff of the universe itself.

Memory Manipulation and Thought Policing

In Nineteen Eighty-Four, there are massive governmental departments dedicated to revising all printed records, including reprinting newspapers as needed. Private writing is also not allowed. This means that even if a Party member has a memory, there is no physical evidence of it. Even if there were physical evidence, something a person had stuffed away in a safe place, there would be another, more "official" source to prove one's personal source wrong. Of course, anyone trying to make any kind of fuss about official sources being wrong would disappear, too, so no one will even try.

Winston mentions often in his narration that he has trouble remembering large portions of his life because of the way the Party has controlled the public narrative and obscured any fact that would once have been a point of reference for him. For example, Winston estimates that the date his journal starts would be April 4, 1984, but he actually isn't certain, not even about the year, because time isn't kept track of by those dates anymore. Historical facts, like events that led to the Party's ascent to power, have been rewritten so many times that Winston can no longer know what really happened. He can be sure there was chaos in the streets, followed by violence, and then proclamations from above about what was supposedly true, but one individual human being usually can't judge the big picture of what's going on in their entire society without a relatively objective source of information for major events.

Nineteen Eighty-Four also has literal thought police, Party members who study their fellow citizens for any sign of even the most remote disagreement with Party doctrine. If someone proves to be a problematic thinker, as Winston and Julia both did, they are dragged to the Ministry of Love to be violently re-educated. Using a series of punishments and rewards, prisoners are slowly broken down until they are unable to think for themselves at all.

Although it's unclear what Heaven is like in regards to spreading information, we've got the Metatron and the Archangels literally ready to erase Gabriel's memory. In Good Omens, since it's all dressed up in Heavenly attire and the characters have their unique attitudes, it comes across as less dystopian, more quirky and fantastical. But they are fundamentally threatening exactly what is done in Nineteen Eighty-Four. And based on Beelzebub's comment about how Gabriel's memory is "all your...you," the same identity issues would be at play. To erase Gabriel's memories would be to erase everything that makes Gabriel himself - an execution by another name.

Reality As A Construct (Or Not)

The Party's stance on reality is fairly simple: human beings perceive reality, so if human perception can be altered, reality can be changed and turned into whatever the Party wants it to be. This sounds wrong because it is wrong, but people who the Party has targeted for thought control don't get to think for themselves about it, because they can't withstand the torture.

This might be Heaven's approach to reality as well. Look at how questioning is discouraged, and how the angels choose to believe whatever is most convenient for Heaven, or whatever they believe should be true ("there are no back channels").

More importantly, though, we have characters in Good Omens who actually can change reality. In particular, this is what Adam Young does - and what he actively chooses not to do for the majority of the world, in the end. He only adjusts reality enough to be allowed to make his own decision: he's not the Antichrist anymore. Otherwise, he restores the world to its state from before he ascended to power (aside from a couple of tiny little eleven-year-old-boy-ish tweaks here and there; hey, you can't blame a kid for adding a few extras of his favorite books to the world).

Proles as the saviors of society

So this one is complicated because repeatedly through Nineteen Eighty-Four, we come across this feeling from WInston and Julia that the proles have some almost mystical connection to True Humanity which Party members have lost. However, there is also the repeated assumption that the proles are incapable of revolution on their own. And in a practical sense, this appears to be true. The intellectuals of their world look down on them for it, but the truth is that just as in real life, the proles are living in poverty and are far too desperate for their basic necessities to ever gain the class consciousness needed to overthrow the Party. This is, of course, by design.

Winston goes as far as to believe the proles might possibly rise up and overthrow the Party, but he never considers working with them. He goes straight into the jaws of the Inner Party instead! This seems to be for a couple of reasons, but primarily because Winston has formed this sort of attachment to O'Brien, his Inner Party member of choice.

In Good Omens, Season 1 and the book, humans do eventually save the world. Well, Adam - technically an Antichrist - saves the world by thinking like a human and accepting humanity as his true "side."

Free Will

"Free will" as a theme really ties into humanity as a theme in Good Omens, since Earth is neutral ground between Heaven and Hell and humans aren't born to a particular Side. In Nineteen Eighty-Four, of course, the Party's goal is to eliminate free will, while in Good Omens, Heaven and Hell are looking to eliminate humanity.

Individualism Versus Collectivism

Oh there it is! There's my pet theme!

I've always argued that in Good Omens, the core of the dualism explored between Aziraphale and Crowley is individualism and collectivism, with Crowley the dedicated individualist who nonetheless would like to belong somewhere, and Aziraphale the nervous collectivist who is secretly desperate to have an identity and belongings to himself. Good Omens has already touched on the notion that working together as a collective is necessary to keep the world turning, but it's also important to preserve individuality, so we have people to keep us company and meaning to live for. I think this will come up again.

Meanwhile, Nineteen Eighty-Four explores an authoritarian and destructive form of collectivism in which human beings are not allowed to have individual interests or experiences; everything flows toward the power of the Party. Individual identity is viewed as a weakness. With that said, Nineteen Eighty-Four does consider the potential power of collectives to overcome authoritarianism.

Mortality, Immortality, and Change

In Nineteen Eighty-Four, O'Brien eventually reveals that the goal of the Party is to become immortal through collectivism. While the fate of an individual human being is always to die, the Party believes a collective that is single-minded enough about maintaining power can live forever. In that way, people who submit to the Party's power can live forever, too. One has to wonder about the real point of all this, of course. The Party regards change as its downfall. For the Party to succeed, it must keep everyone moving toward the exact same goal of maintaining power forever.

In Good Omens, many of the characters are naturally immortal, as angels or demons. They don't have to change, and Heaven and Hell don't have to change. However, existing as immortals in Heaven or Hell, not experiencing any of the things mortals do in the physical world, all seems pretty obviously pointless. Aziraphale and Crowley, and then Gabriel and Beelzebub, and then Muriel, all start to find meaning on Earth among mortals. And I think this is all yet to be expanded upon, especially with the looming Second Coming.

Where Good Omens is concerned, the notion of change as a type of death and/or death as a type of change may be important (and ties into The Crow Road by Iain Banks as well).

By coming to Earth, the immortal characters are essentially doing the reverse of assimilating with the Party or Heaven and Hell: they're discovering themselves. With self-discovery comes the risk of change - changing from who they used to be in Heaven or Hell - and the reward of meaning.

The Party of Oceania wants to assimilate everyone into the same goal of maintaining the Party's power in order to make the Party immortal. While "maintaining power" is a "purpose" of sorts for the collective, on an individual level for any specific human being, it is nihilistic, since there is no place for the individual other than ensuring the success of the Party's destruction of the individual.

Freedom in the Natural World

In both stories, we've got the notion of nature as a place of freedom. The countryside where Winston and Julia first meet up lacks telescreens, and there are fewer microphones as well, allowing them to act naturally in a way that isn't usually permitted in the city. The room that Winston and Julia rent from Mr. Charrington is also so old-fashioned that it doesn't have a telescreen; they believe themselves to be momentarily safe in their own little world there. Unfortunately, Mr. Charrington is not really an ordinary prole, but a member of the Thought Police, which allows the Party to invade Winston's and Julia's space.

Of course, in Good Omens, Earth is the ultimate place of freedom. Heaven and Hell are both awful in their ways, hyper-controlled and devoid of real meaning. It's on Earth that Aziraphale and Crowley can begin to truly live. Of course, the safe little place they create together, the bookshop, is eventually invaded by Heaven and Hell.

I'd like to leave you with a pair of quotations.

"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face---forever. ... And remember that it is forever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of society, will always be there, so that he can be defeated and humiliated over again. Everything that you have undergone since you have been in our hands---all that will continue, and worse. The espionage, the betrayals, the arrests, the tortures, the executions, the disappearances will never cease." O'Brien Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell Part Three, Chapter III

"If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boot . . . no, imagine a sneaker, laces trailing, kicking a pebble; imagine a stick, to poke at interesting things, and throw for a dog that may or may not decide to retrieve it; imagine a tuneless whistle, pounding some luckless popular song into insensibility; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human . . . Slouching hopefully towards Tadfield. . . . . . . forever. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

[nathaslosthershit]

[3] Who is Birdie Hughes?

Mat Barzal x Hughes!sister

Part of the Birdie Hughes AU

Here is the link for the Masterlist 

Summary: Why Birdie is out of the limelight and the 3 times the Hughes brothers talked about their big sister

The three Hughes brothers becoming huge hockey stars and seemingly getting those talents from their parents, was a story told over and over. 3 out of 3 Hughes boys ending up in the NHL at the same time truly showed the talent this family possessed. But there was a fourth child, the oldest and only daughter of the family, that wasn’t so much in the limelight. This was on purpose, Birdie never wanted too much attention on herself, and she thought that with three famous superstar hockey brothers, she wasn't interesting enough to warrant attention. It was shortly after Jack was drafted, and the family began to gain much more popularity, that they were all asked to be interviewed, when she sat them all down to talk.

“I don’t want to be interviewed.” She stated, firm but not unkind. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Well, Birdie, we will have someone there to help you out and talk you through it ahead of time.” Her dad said.

“I know that, and I know if I said anything stupid or whatever they wouldn’t include it. I just think I don’t need to add my input. They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Sweetie, they asked you to do it because they want to know. They want to hear what you have to say as the oldest.” Her mom reasoned.

“Come on dude, you are part of the family, it would be weird if everyone but you were interviewed.” Jack argued. They didn’t understand, which wasn’t their fault. Birdie didn’t know how to articulate how she was feeling. She loved her family, she loved hockey, and she loved how her brothers were talented and had bright features ahead of them. What she didn’t love was the guilt she had always felt for quitting. She was good and she enjoyed playing, but she simply wasn’t competitive enough. She didn’t feel the need to practice day in and day out, she never stressed about whether her team was going to win because she simply enjoyed playing. After a particularly bad season had ended in high school, her coach had sat her down and berated her. Accusing her of not caring enough, of letting down her team. She vowed then and there that the only times she would be playing was for fun. She didn’t want big arenas full of fans and the best hockey equipment money could buy. She wanted the public rink and to play with her family for fun during the weekend and days they had off. 

When Birdie had finally told her family she was done, they were confused. After a bit of pushback they finally decided that if she wasn’t going to be happy, then there was no reason to make her continue. She missed it, of course, and she felt terrible for quitting, but over time she felt less and less guilty. 

She didn’t want to talk about that though, she didn’t want to explain. She also didn’t want to feel like she was less then because she chose a different life than what her brothers did.

“You can mention me, I don’t want to totally not exist from your lives publicly. I just don’t want to be interviewed right now.” She said firmly. 

Silence filled the room, till they all began to nod.

“Also, just call me Birdie. I don’t need my name out there so some crazy fan can dox me or something.” This she passed off as a joke, but they all knew she was serious at the same time. 

Ever since then, the public has known little about the mysterious first Hughes child. Comments here and there from the boys or their parents about their sister and daughter, but not much more. A childhood photo here and there, but since Luke’s draft day, there hasn’t been much of her, unless it was a hockey game she went to support her brothers at. 

Over time though, this began to change.

It started with Jack.

Out of everyone, Jack hated interviews the most. He knows it has become somewhat of a joke and over the years he just couldn’t bring himself to care about hiding his annoyance. Luckily, Jack was only doing a small sit down to talk about his family. Nothing about a game he had played where they would ask if he was sad they lost or some shit.

“Now your whole family is very close it seems. How have they impacted your career and helped you grow?”

“Uh yeah, obviously we are close and they all mean the world to me,” what the fuck is he supposed to say? “Growing up with three siblings has honestly really shaped me as a person. I owe so much to my brothers and sister. Beyond hockey even. Having three people you are sort of forced to love and grow with has been a blessing, even if they are annoying. Birdie, my sister, has had the most impact I think. She has always been kind of a, um, mentor, I guess- I don’t really know how to say it. She helped me become a better person, I don’t even want to know who I would be if I didn’t have her to somewhat keep me in check growing up. She lives not too far from me, compared to the rest of my family, so when I moved to New Jersey she helped along the way. She also did so much to help me when I was younger. Driving me to practice, driving my friends to practice too. Also school, she is the smartest person in the world, I swear. Always gave me shit for tests I would do bad on, but would always offer to help me study. And I gave her every single essay to proofread, which led to more bullying from her, but I never got too bad of a grade after she put her input in.” He was actually smiling and laughing, which is not common for Jack during an interview.

“She must be your favorite huh?” The interviewer said laughing.

“Oh she is everyone’s favorite. Although we all know Luke is her favorite. That's only because he is the youngest. She calls him ‘her baby’, which she has said since she was 6 and he was an infant.”

Luke

“So, Luke, a lot of talk from Jack about your sister. Something about you being her favorite?” The interviewer asked.

“Oh, of course I'm her favorite. Not even a question. She loves to tell me how I will always be her baby brother, despite how old I get, which is kind of annoying.” he laughs.

“Most people would find it endearing.”

“Yeah until she visits you in college and starts yapping about how you are ‘her baby’ to all your new friends. They all thought it was hilarious and I had to put up with them calling me ‘baby Hughes’ for like a month.” 

Quinn

“Tough game today, Quinn.” The reporter said, not really a question but he still waited for the captain’s response.

“Yeah. I have family here today so the loss is a little more upsetting.” He said somberly. He really hated interviews sometimes.

“Your brothers were here?”

“No, uh my sister. She surprised me last night. Didn’t know she was coming till then. She works in New York so I don’t get to see her as much as my brothers do. Something that I am jealous about.”

“Ah yes, the first Hughes child. You two being the oldest- are you guys close?”

What a weird question. But honestly, Quinn would rather talk about his sister than the game.

“Of course. It was just us for a little bit and I was more of her younger brother then, but once the other two came along we became each other’s confidant. I love it when she visits, and she is a better guest than my brothers so,” he laughs.

“You said she works in New York. Is she also involved in hockey like her siblings? Seems like a family trend so I wouldn’t be surprised.” The reporter said. 

This pissed Quinn off and he knew he had to be careful with how he answered this. Being so close, he was the first person she told when she was thinking about quitting hockey. He knew why she felt awful and he hated it. He also knew that this question would upset her, so he had to do something to make his answer one that wouldn’t hurt her even more.

“No, she actually works at a museum. She is easily the smartest out of all of us.”

“Ah so sort of a ‘black sheep of the family’, right?”

“Not whatsoever. We all love her, and since I was young she has been like the coolest person to me. It's honestly hard to explain what she does because it is much more sophisticated than me playing hockey or you asking stupid questions for a living.” Honestly, he would have dragged the interviewer more, but was soon let go because they could tell he began to have an attitude that wasn’t very good for a captain. 

“Fucking idiot” Quinn muttered after he left.

“What's wrong?” Birdie, who had waited outside for him to be done, had asked.

“Nothing, just- you are smart and talented, and everyone is so proud of you for what you do. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Quinn, what happened?” 

“The interviewer was just stupid. I had said you were here and they asked if you were involved with hockey. When I said no they were rude about it. Then I got mad. Fuck them though. Your museum shit is much cooler.” “Cooler than being a professional hockey player that makes millions of dollars? I don’t know about that, Quinn.” She teased. She was used to it. It was worse when people who actually knew her had added their two cents in, but some random interviewer wasn’t going to upset her. She wouldn’t let it. “But thank you. I am not upset, I promise.”

“Love you, B.”

“Love you too, Q.”

[mixu]

Hi, hope you are doing well. )

I am curious to know your impressions, anecdotes, experience of being a veteran SNS shipper. How was your experience with Naruto fandom? Has it changed? It would be great if you could talk about it.

Hi! I hope you’re doing well too. I barely receive any asks, so I’m excited.

Ah, my experiences and anecdotes being in the fandom, especially as a SNS shipper (does it count as shipping if they’re canon?) … It’s more than half of my life (I feel like I’m talking to my grandchildren) so this could get long.

I’ve been part of the fandom for 17 years, but it’s just recently that I’ve gotten to interact more with other fans both pro and anti sns. This mainly for three reasons:

Time period

When I entered the fandom internet and social media weren’t what they are today (that’s how old I am). I barely had access to internet for school and quickly read the new manga chapter before having to disconnect.

Location

Younger people don’t realize this but the globalization of manga and anime are quite recent. Now you can find merchandise even at the supermarket and a great catalogue of series is at your disposal with minimal effort. And being an “otaku” in the 2000’s was begging to be bullied at least in my country, so I preferred to keep my interests to myself.

My personality

I’m not the most social of people.

Thus, in the beginning, the fandom was nonexistent to me. It was just me, what Kishi wrote and my thoughts.

Little by little I got to interact with other people who were mainly shônen fans, and never read outside of that demographic, so there was no chance they would recognize a “non-pure shônen” even if it hit them in the face. There was not much to discuss aside from who would beat who, and I wouldn’t have been able to articulate it back then anyway, but my guts knew there was something different about Naruto. More than met the eye.

I next met a different part of the fandom in the form of fanart and fanfiction, but at that time it never crossed my mind that people would cling to those non-canon portrayals with their life. I would say most of these fans are avid consumers from other demographics that got attracted because something (the romance or the potential gayness) caught their eye, but are only interested in how to bend the characters to fit their vision. I know fanfiction and fanart are supposed to be self-indulgent, I enjoy it and write it even, but I’ve mostly managed to separate from the real thing. Not many discussions about the story as a whole (please keep in mind we were all teenagers back then).

So, none of those previous fan groups seemed to understand what I couldn’t put into words, and for the longest time, because my understanding of Naruto and Sasuke’s story was mostly instinctual, I had to go along with it. I let myself be gaslighted into believing my thoughts were just a byproduct of my fujoshi tendencies (I guess it could be right to call me fujoshi, but never due to Naruto).

After a quite long break, not just from Naruto but from manga and anime in general, I came into contact with the more educated part of the fandom in tumblr, and I finally got to put into words what was behind Naruto and Sasuke’s dynamic thanks to all of the great analysis that I found. I got vindicated and felt like I could finally live in peace but it was short lived.

When I met all the crazy antis, oh boy, I understood why ignorance is bliss.

That being said, there are indeed a bunch of obstacles between the fandom and understanding the true significance of Naruto’s story. However, not all of them are due to lack of knowledge when it comes to narrative devices and storytelling tools. I’m far from proficient in that topic and I can confidently say I got it.

Discarding those who will perpetually live in denial due to bigotry, homophobia, lack of an open mind, cultural differences, etc, and after much pondering elicited by this post of yours, I’ve come to the conclusion that the shônen label holds way more power than I originally thought. Or better say, all that shônen represents functions as the most effective reality filter.

Because Naruto was labeled as shônen:

The dudebros who only care about the power escalation won’t understand even if they are not homophobic because they came for the blattles and cool powers, nothing else matters.

The lost shôjo readers who force nh and ss into focus and think they can bend the “romance” to cater to their taste because a shonen writer would drop the ball with something as delicate. “Let Kishimoto draw his battles, we will fix the deficient love story because we know how true romance it’s supposed to look like. We wouldn’t be interfering with the hero’s story, anyway.”

All the while ignoring they are dragging a bunch of toxic tropes with them. They don’t see their pairings as failures because shôjo also has its good share of toxicity and abuse.

The fujoshi and fundashi who despite coming after the gayness, still miss the point because they do not care about the story so long as two hot men are kissing or fucking or whatever. They don’t actually believe in sns because most of their pairings are ships for fun, anything can be shipped, (pencil-senpai and sharpener-kun) so they see Naruto as a love story only under their terms but never in canon.

Then we have people that read a wider range but fail to look at the story as anything else than one written for male teenagers. Got shôjo for romance seinen and josei for more maturity, so shônen is meant for an easy quick snack.

Some of my friends, that I consider very intelligent people, way more versed in storytelling and narrative and whatnot than me, who are definitely not bigots or homophobic, still miss the point because they weren’t looking for it. They realized only after I pointed it out (I even made a ppt presentation, but that’s another story).

As for the people who understand from the beginning:

There’s of course those with the knowledge to dissect the story, and who can consciously ignore the restrictions of the labels.

Yet another group (I consider myself part of this one) that manage to bypass the rules only guided by instinct, but kept second-guessing themselves until they met someone from the previous group.

Then there’s my mother, bless her, who watches anime and loves her romances, but knows shit about manga demographics and wonders how the fuck Naruto and Sasuke gave birth to Boruto because in her eyes that little piece of shit has to be their son.

So once again, it all comes back to Kishimoto and his decision sell his soul to Jump. Was it all for fame or money? Was he too hopeful and naïve? Was it all a cruel prank?

What happened to mangakas like Tezuka? That man knew no limits.

That’s it for my thoughts on and interactions with the fandom. I think I leave my evolution as a sns stan for later if you’re interested in it.

[trapastrology]

Songs that explain 12H synastry (house pov)

This song explains 12H synastry to a T from the perspective of the house person. Now, there are many different feelings & thoughts that the house person can have. This pov is when the house person is still toxic & scared of surrendering to real love. They tend to self sabotage heavily as well.

Die 4 U- The weeknd

"I'm findin' ways to articulate the feeling I'm goin' through I just can't say I don't love you 'Cause I love you, yeah It's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold But tonight I'm gon' let you know Let me tell the truth"

~The represents the confusion the house person goes thru. They are usually so used to being so closed off to the point where they find it jarring when they start to find themselves feeling these deep & true feelings for the planet person. They also find it hard to express these feelings to the planet person. They are terrified of rejection & getting taken advantage of so even when they feel these feelings & have found a way to articulate them, they'd rather keep it to themselves (which is detrimental to the relationship). This song shows the pov of the house person realizing what they've been doing to sabotage this perfect relationship with the planet person & finally wanting to put all their feelings on display before it's too late & they lose them for good.

"I'm scared that I'll miss you, happens every time I don't want this feelin', I can't afford love I try to find a reason to pull us apart It ain't workin' 'cause you're perfect And I know that you're worth it I can't walk away, oh!"

~This shows how the house person fears vulnerability to the point where they are scared of of even missig the planet person. They are the same ppl who only want true love but at the same time due to what they've been thru they are completely terrified of it. They try to test the planets persons love with ridiculous tests which only tiers the planet. House may try to always look for holes & doubts in the relationship, but they are the ones creating these holes. House starts looking for red flags that aren't even there. & in the end the house person tries to do everything they can to fix the parts of the relationship they can before it's too late

"Even though we're going through it And it makes you feel alone Just know that I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah The distance and the time between us It'll never change my mind, 'cause baby I would die for you"

~When they are having difficulties in the relationship caused by the house person the planet person can indeed feel alone but chooses not to speak about it. Either way it goes, houses feelings are so strong & so pure for the planet that they would kill, steal & lie for them with no hesitation. Most times, they wont even disclose those feelings with the planet person. One day if the time comes the planet sees thru actions how much house truly cares & feels. No matter the circumstances good or bad, the houses feelings rarely change.

"'Cause I can't take this pain forever And you won't find no one that's better 'Cause I'm right for you, babe"

~At the end of the day, the house person thinks (& is most times correct) that no one will love the planet person the way that they do & no one is a better match for them. Most times they just have a bad way of showing it or they choose not to show it at all. They just have to remember that not everyone is their enemy.

~Stay tuned for more stuff like this in my upcoming ebook about the complete ins & outs of synastry! There will be an entire chapter dedicated to dissecting songs from different perspectives of this synastry. Love yall!!!!!!!!

[simplymarr]

Chapter four.

warnings: none (yet).

I spent all weekend trying to guess what i had done, where i comitted a mistake. Over-analyzing each phrase, each word and tone used. I couldn't grasp it and i was losing my mind.

An then of, course, it was the shame. Why do i felt this way? I mean, he was just my professor. Professor Vincent Renzi. Two days a week. Nothing else. Maybe my mistake was thinking we could talk about everything we wanted and that he would understand. That we could be just friends.

"Yeah no, that's bullshit". Claimed Justine, interrumpting my train of thoughts.

Justine was my roommate and best friend. We could talk about everything as i trusted her like a sister. I mentioned the whole situation with Mr. Renzi to her and, with her usual histrionic personality, she pointed a few things to me.

"First he flirts with you and then he acts like nothing happened?" She said, with big eyes.

"He was absolutely not flirting with me" I interrupted, quite nervous just thinking about it. I mean, just the thought of it made me shiver.

"Well, let's just put it this way" Justine sat at the blue couch in the living room, taking a softer tone. "First, he complemetns your thesis, tells you you're brilliant. Then he offers to drive you several times and acts like you both know each other for years, and then he just completely dissappears?"

I sat in silence, thinking. Justine continued.

"I'm afraid you might not be the wrong one here, y/n". She let the words sink in the air as i just sat there in silence.

She was right. Fuck, she was right. All this confusion, all this twisted games weren't my fault. It was his.

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

Next week arrived and, with it, Mr. Renzi's class. I didn't t want to call him Vincent again.

The classroom cold as every winter morning. My fingers were nerviously tapping on the wooden table as i waited for him to start. I was going to wait patiently until the end, until he was all alone. A strange anger mixed with angst took over me, a build up tension that he had to resolve, one way or another.

The bell rang.

I slid over each seat until i got to his desk where he was picking up his books. He turned back surprised to see me. The two of us now alone.I looked at him with big eyes and started speaking, praying that he wouldn't fail me the rest of the year.

"Can i ask what happened to you? why do you act so different all of the sudden?"

He hessitated for a minute before asnwering me. "I don't know what you're talking about, y/n. Please, let's drop this." His accent getting harsher as he is getting, for the first time, nervous.

"Bullshit, you know exactly what i'm talking about" The words coming out of my mouth like knifes. "First you drive me home and everything's fine and then you just stop talking to me?". I looked at him waiting for an answer. a real answer.

"I won't do this right now. Not here." His tone firm. He wasn't joking.

"Vincent, plea-"

"I'm still your goddamn professor". He said, almost yelling. Big blue eyes pierced at me.

I couldn't articulate any word. I just looked at him as i could feel the tears behind my eyes, threatening to come out. My head buzzing with all the words i wanted to say but couldn't.

I left immediately, and as i walked down the stairs i heard him calling my name, trying to stop me. This was such a stupid idea. What did i thought he was going to say? What did i expected?

I stepped out of the building once again, almost running, wanting to escape from all that happened. Tears finally rolling down my cheeks, pink nose and lips.

A couple of blocks later i could hear a car getting behind me. I kept walking without looking back. The car kept on near, almost stepping by my side. I didn't need to look to know who it was.

The window opened. "y/n, let's talk, please".

I didn't answer, i just kept on walking on the freezing sidewalk. He, again, tried to reach to me.

"y/n, please. I'm sorry for what happened".

I stopped almost instantly. "Do you mean in the classroom? or all that nonsense you pulled last week?

"Just me explain it to you".

I hessitated, looking at him. His looks quite concerned, the strands of silver hair falling on one of his eyes. His cheeks also seemed pink, like he was freezing too.

"Please" He insisted.

I opened the door and got into the chevy.

Silence again. Like the first time.

He was driving with both hands, his gripping on the steering wheel harsher than usual. He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke:

"You're right, okay? i was an idiot. You are on your right to be mad".

I kept on listening in silence, also looking at the road.

"I-i just...i don't know how to explain it. I can't do this, i can't be near you this way." he stuttered a bit as he tried to explain himself.

"But why? what's the problem? i thought you enjoyed talking to me.

"I do, believe me i do. It's just-" he kept looking at me as i was letting my words come out in confusion.

He parked near the bus stop.

"Vincent, please, I don't really underst-"

He didn't let me finish the sentence, as he grabbed my face with his cold hands and kissed me firmly.

His eyes closed, perhaps trying to feel it was all just a dream. I just stayed still, eyes gently closing as i was losing myself in the kiss, beggining to understand the reason of my ache. He tasted like sweet coffee, maybe cigarettes but not too invasive. Our mouths began to move slowly, with precaution, like if we were tasting each other's limits. The tip of this tongue softly touching my lower lip with each movement of his lips. I could feel his nose brushing into mine, both cold as the windows began to glisten with heat. One strand of my hair fell and he put it behind my ear, using that hand to hold my cheek.

Gently he broke the kiss, opening his eyes to look at me as we both grasped for a breath. I couldn't believe what just happened.

"Now you understand?" He said, almost whispering, with a shy smile.

"Yes, now i can" i thought to myself. Not only his feelings, but mine.

next chapter soon

[rickktish]

A list of mutable batfam headcanons that live inside my brain:

Steph deserves to be 6’ minimum, preferably 6’1” or 2”

Bruce is constantly trying to balance his need to be at the same eye level or above the people he’s intimidating vs his need to do his funky little gargoyle crouch. His favorite thing about the GCPD roof is that it has lots of surfaces he can crouch on and still meet or look down at Gordon’s eye level

Tim and Damian suffer from “too similar to get along” disease and must either become best friends or despise each other until the end of time

Babs prefers light, natural toned makeup. Steph prefers pops of color and decent amounts of jewelry when she can get away with it. Cass prefers jewelry and no makeup at all

Jason’s comfort meals are all variations on soup served with bread for dipping

Jason is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy is an ass at the beginning of the book and it’s a good thing he decided to change himself so he could take his place as Best Fictional Man Ever. Dick, who read the book in order to be able to connect with Jason better, is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy has done nothing wrong ever and only needed to work on his social skills, meaning that it’s his improved ability to communicate that makes him worthy of Elizabeth Bennet at the end. Neither of them wants to listen to Tim’s analysis of what this says about their relationships with Bruce

Duke has never engaged in non-Alfred approved chaos. This is not because Duke seeks Alfred’s approval, but rather because their senses of humor are in perfect alignment and Alfred is always pleased to discover that he approves of Duke’s particular instances of chaos even after the fact

Damian never had stuffed animals growing up, but after being corrupted by Dick’s influence he can no longer sleep without a minimum of one in his bed

Damian collects posters and articulable action figures. His favorite ones are the ones that can stand on their own, which he uses for posing practice in his drawings. His favorite figure is of one of the characters in Cheese Vikings who has a zuko-esque backstory and a secret propensity for gardening

Dick always buys the most beat up box of cereal at the grocery store because he feels bad for them

Cass loves not only ballet, but other works by classical composers as well. She will unironically listen to the local classical station, and can identify the Borodin String Quartet by the sound of their instruments alone

Tim and Bruce watch and read Gray Ghost media in all its various forms and discuss it together as a bonding activity

Alfred and Jason’s shared birthday is usually celebrated with them making each other cakes, meaning that everyone gets to enjoy not one but two cakes for the day

Jason specializes in cheesecake above all other cakes, though he did make Damian a black forest cake for his birthday once right after he’d finished playing Portal

Literally everyone is surprised when they learn that Damian plays video games. No one has ever once looked at him and thought “yeah, i bet that kid plays console games” and he’s actually really insecure about it, but he also refuses to wear any kind of merch outside the house. He owns dozens of gaming and anime T-shirts but refuses to be seen as anything but completely neutral outside his own territory

Most of the bats wear drug-detecting nail polish at all times, though the base and reactive colors vary by the bat in question

Bruce and Dick have both had therapists straightup quit on them and are therefore reluctant to go back to therapy ever again

Duke’s favorite book is Walden Pond

Alfred read Lord of the Rings aloud to Bruce when he was a kid