#I didn't even realise i had that much to say

[shallow-between-stars]

When I grew up I spent a lot of time at my maternal grandparent's home in Victoria.

It was an old, brown two-storey that's since been demolished and subdivided because that is the way of things. After Pop died there wasn't much call for a house with that much space in a gentrifying suburb and it made more sense to knock the whole thing down than try and sell land with a two storey with a separate toilet, a garden, a detatched garage and another garden after that all on it.

Hey, something something property prices.

(Something something buying land in the 1950s and selling it in 2023.)

But next door to my grandfather lived a pair of 'brothers' and their 'live-in best friend.' By the time I came into this world only one of the three was still alive - Al. He was from Germany, I think his name was Alphonse? But to everyone he was just Al. His 'brother' was Hans, I don't know what their 'friend's' name was. I remember that Al's eyes used to go dark and distant if I ever asked him about Germany, and that I learnt to stop asking.

He used to say that he and his 'brother' and their 'friend' were Australian, in a German accent so thick I could only half-understand him, and as a child I did not understand the way I do now.

The thing is, up until the day Al died, he was one of my grandfather's best mates. Pop was around there nearly every day sharing the newspaper, sharing the spoils of the gardens, chatting and fixing electronics and generally just being great friends with this guy.

This had been going on for years. My mum tells stories of Al treating her and her siblings with the same love and kindness that he treated my brother and I with. He was a gorgeous, generous, dapper man with a thick accent and the ability to slip his neighbour's grandkids their bodyweight in chocolate when their parents weren't looking.

And apparently his 'brother' and their 'live-in best friend' were much the same.

Al never told Pop that his 'best friend' and his 'brother' were not his best friend and his brother. Mum clocked it, I have a feeling most of her generation did. I never did until a long time later, but Al was the last to leave us and even he left before I was old enough to realise that the photo on his dining room table that I flipped up once of the three of them with their heads pressed together and bliss on their faces meant what it meant. I never understood the kind way in which he took my hands away and pressed the photo back down.

I don't know if he kept it face down or if it was only down like that when people were visiting. I like to think that in his privacy he would flip the photo up, but I also understand as an adult that hearts sometimes do not heal from grief.

I don't know if Pop was letting him keep a polite fiction. I do know that Pop stopped talking to Cousin Louis when Cousin Louis brought his first 'close friend' home and Pop caught them kissing in the back garden. (He didn't disown Louis, with 27 of us grandkids running around, the only one of us who was left something was my brother and that was for the sole reason that my brother was the Favourite. Everything else was given to the eight children. So none of us grandkids were really in a place to be disowned.)

I do know when I was fifteen and reading terrible yaoi manga on the couch, Pop picked up the next volume I had next to me, flipped to an unfortunate page and told me, brandishing the picture of two anime men kissing, that he wouldn't allow this filth in his house.

I do know that every single family member (including Nanna) who knew that the three men living next door were not brothers and a friend never, ever mentioned that to Pop.

And I wonder sometimes how this story would have played out differently if Al had decided he wasn't going to keep the lie.

I do know that it would not have been kind.

We, in many ways, are moving slowly into a kinder world.

But we cannot forget that the world we come from didn't use to be the way it is now.

Every now and then some discourse pops up around a queer ship consisting of a pair of fictional characters who are not blood related, but refer to themselves as "brothers" or "sisters," or are in some way, according to the fandom, "sibling-coded."

Every time I see that discourse, all I can think about are the very real queer men I once knew, who, before their deaths, lived their lives posing as "stepbrothers." The only way to avoid suspicion for being two older unmarried men living together in a rural conservative area was to pretend they were from the same family, even though the truth was that they were lovers.

They were never out in life. Their relationship was a strict secret to nearly everyone. They never knew that I knew, and sometimes it fucks me up inside that they never got to come out to me. It fucks me up that they had to hide behind a fake "brotherly" relationship for their own safety. It fucks me up to look at a gravestone that reads "beloved brother" and know what it really means, and what it could have said if they'd lived under different circumstances.

In another world, they could have been husbands, but they never had the opportunity. The world will remember them as brothers, because, even in death, that is what was safest.

The freedom to declare queer love openly is something that not everyone has. And I think more people could stand to remember that.

[fluffylino]

railway inspired drabble ⚘️‼️

im fucking screaming at the scene where the blood drips out of his mouth and down into the other's mouth. aaaaa screaming without the s

-contains mature themes (chris is mean and not very nice, choking and strength kink, darker themes)

"trust me, darlin and stop trying to run"

his hand firmly pushing down onto your neck. fingers tightening around the base of your neck. you gasp, struggling to escape.

partly blinded by the rags tied over your half your face. catching a glimpse of the creature above.

.

.

this was a bad idea. wandering into the abandoned infirmary and nearby asylum for a few ingredients was not a great idea.

doing this for an acquaintance who you weren't on good terms with, made it feel worse. sometimes desperation fuels a person into doing things that are unusual.

a witch like you? in vampire territory?

no. this was the holy grave.

that too a place where no one dared to go... that was a death sentence.

confrontation with christopher. a man who no one believed was real.

was in fact very real. and very terrifying.

hiding yourself as the other zombified prisoners was the only idea that came to mind.

however it wasn't the best idea at all.

he'd hunted you through the corriders. chasing you down particularly till the open airs. barricaded and within the grass patches outside the asylum.

the end was near? or was it?

.

.

body arching upwards at the heat that licks up your legs. spreading straight to your core. a sensation that has you squirming.

everything blurring when his mouth finds its way to your heat. tongue slipping against your soaked folds.

canines grazing the swollen bundle of nerves in a way that heightens your senses. he's pulling you onto his tongue, tasting you entirely.

unaware of how you ended up in this situation. until you realise this situation wasn't taking place.

atleast in reality.

it was all in your head.

he was in your head. tricking you into being compliant. submissive only to him.

"you seemed to have enjoyed that, didn't ya?"

he cooes, laughing without much care for the fact that he had now kept you pinned to the floor with his booted foot.

hand slipping up to choke you harder.

"dirty girl. or should i say filthy little witch"

a flash of terror ignites within you. minutes to tasting death.

a little more force, a snap and your life would be over in his hands. in the hands of a blood thirsty cold blooded killer of the night.

"you thought i'd be dumb enough to not catch a whiff of your scent"

his lips curve upwards into a condescending smile.

"i'm smarter than you think. i'm everything you think i'm not"

"I knew it from the beginning. hiding? hiding gets you nowhere little one" and you fight back the tears in your eyes. going lightheaded.

watching him bite at his own wrist. whipping his head back with force. not a glimmer of pain in his expressions.

stoic and eerily cold. even as his arm bled. crimson red dripping out of his mouth. staining his chin.

his fingers cupping under your jaw. keeping your mouth open unconciously to gasp for air.

kicking at the grass under you at the warmth of his own blood dripping right onto your tongue.

tastebuds firing up at the iron like taste.

eyes fluttering as his darkened pupils stared straight into your soul. parting his lips further to spit more blood for you to swallow.

"h-hah" you gurgle, desperately trying to grab onto him. any part of him. wrapping weak hands around his covered biceps. clawing at the skin.

"take it like a good girl" and you moan. breathing heavily around the two digits he pushes past your lips.

pressing down on your tongue, making you swallow. his nails prodding deep enough to make you gag.

"i said take. it." and it shouldn't be so arousing. you can't control the slick that pools between your thighs. cunt throbbing and weeping for him.

even more so...now that he had imprinted himself on you.

you didn't know what to classify him under. an original vampire? a half turned werewolf?

whatever he was...he was powerful. controlling. thirsty for blood. thirsty for ruthless killing.

its only when you sob out. grinding onto his boot with relentless hips. that he pins you down. licking the redness that dribbles out of the corner of your lips.

"shush now, my sweet thing" he cooes, kissing the tears that stain your cheeks. his fingers tugging away the cloth covering your face.

"hush hush pretty girl" the vampire trails a finger down to your lips. firmly shutting you up.

"i'm in control of you from now"

.

.

.

.

.

the mv screwed up my brain and now all i can think of is mister christopher bahng-

[hurtingbuck]

things unsaid

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[sheepispink]

୨✧୧˚ ACTING DIFFERENT ˚୨✧୧

✧ resident evil masterlist

✧ tags: fluff, reassurance, hurt/comfort, leon kennedy x afab! escort!reader

✧ Summary: You’re an escort for Leon, and you’re pretty confident in your own abilities. Although, it’s pretty funny to see you two together, especially since he looks pretty brooding on an actual job. Despite that, some jealous interns make it their mission to put you down for the way you act with him, calling you selfish and the like. You shift, trying to be ‘better’ but Leon is determined to get the bottom of this.

✧ a/n : technically this is a part of my series ‘the escort protocol’ found here, however it is a standalone too.

————————————————————————

It would’ve been a normal day in the office, that is if you hadn't just walked straight past him whilst he drank the largest coffee cup known to man. He grumbles as you ignore him for the third time that day; he saw you glance at him and then the cup and then still decide to carry on. He lets out a l huff as he tosses the cup behind him into the bin before resting his head in his hands; the cup was empty, of course—he just wanted to see you react. That is the exact problem actually, because you haven't reacted to anything he’s done for a whole week now. The first day was already crossing the line, but he figured you were in a bad mood. Then the second day you continued and by the third he started questioning if this was a new symptom of your menstrual cycle. He felt a bit bad if it was (and also for blaming your mood swings on that) so he gave you a chocolate bar randomly. It was your turn to be confused that day because it turned out he just gave you chocolate for nothing and you were in fact not on your period.

All of this started last Friday. He hadn't been at the office on Thursday because quite literally he couldn't be bothered and would rather continue work at home— plus he was feeling a little more tired than usual. Of course you text him, asking if he was okay and offering to drop off food if he was sick, that was before you scolded him upon realising he had been slacking off. When he came in on Friday, he expected a huff of frustration before you made him buy you a coffee but there was nothing except an “Are you feeling better?” and then you were disappearing into your small box desk again. He raised an eyebrow but didn't think much until you walked past him downing a soda and barely said anything. The next day was the same, and then the next and the next until he was fed up. If there was a guiness world record for the most crap ingested in a day, he’d take the gold medal home. He had eaten a burger every lunchtime, had way too many cups of coffee each morning and even munched sweets instead of cereal and you still didn't say anything. The worst part was that you always just stopped, stared before eventually deciding to walk away again.

So today he tried for the last time before he finally gave up. He’s just going to have to ask you head on; there’s no way he’s letting you off the hook this time. He finds you in your usual spot at lunch, munching your sandwich on the park bench near the office. It’s quiet and no one really comes to the park here and whilst he’s never actually joined you before, he knows you come here often.

“Hey.”

You lift your head to meet his, suddenly caught off guard by his presence in the quiet park. “What are you doing here?”

“Y'know—just thought I'd ask if you wanna grab a drink with me?”

“What kind of drink?”

“Uhh… a slushie.”

You pause and then raise an eyebrow at him, confused. He’s sure he’s got you now; there's no way you can turn a blind eye to a slushie at break time. But you do. “Oh um, i’m okay, but if you want to-“

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You blink at him in confusion, shocked as he huffs loudly, breaking the tranquility of your spot, and stands right before you.

“Um, nothing?”

“It’s not nothing! You’ve barely commented on anything I've done all week. I drank soda for a week straight and you barely breathed wrong about it!”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that? They all said that you would-“ This time he crosses his arms and stares you down and for a moment you’re actually kind of scared of him. You haven't seen him this annoyed since his superior in the DSO joked about blackmailing him with Sherry again.

“I’m sorry— who said what?”

“It’s not a big deal, I was just talking to some people..” But he’s already cutting you off and you know you can't escape the truth when he speaks again.

“If it's not a big deal, then you can tell me right? Go on.”

You let out a long sigh, attempting to make it seem like it's not that serious. His eyes are locked onto you and you have to avert your gaze to stop yourself messing up when you speak. “It was just a passing conversation between me and some interns last Thursday.” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich as you look at the scenery, attempting to act nonchalant about it.

“And? That's not all, I know it isn't.” You groan and shift uncomfortably, letting out another huffed breath. “They just said I keep you in check a lot; I stop you from doing a lot of stuff.”

He’s not buying a second of it though and you don't even have to wait for him to urge you on to know he wants the full story.

“Fine, okay, they said that I was really bossy towards you and that I should let you do what you want.”

“What else? I know you wouldn’t care if a mere intern said that, so what's with the sudden change?” He rolls his eyes, sitting beside you on the bench as you groan and fiddle with the food wrapper in your hand. “They said I'm just an idiot who took the first job she could get and now I'm acting all high and mighty when I have the status of a mere assistant. Apparently you always look annoyed when I “scream at you” for doing anything i dont like and I'm also just an attention seeker or something. I left soon after..” The words are mumbled and he hates the way he can tell you’re ashamed of yourself when you avert your eyes like that and take the last bite of your sandwich.

“You’re such an idiot, yknow? Why on earth would you ever be bossy?” He scoffs, letting his arms settle in his side and he leans back into the bench. You dont reply, and he can't help but feel a gut full of worry for you. “You believe it, don't you?”

“I mean- it’s true a bit, is it not? You’re a higher status than me and I just.. decide what you can and can't do.”

“You do realise if i really had a problem with it, i just wouldn’t listen to you, right?”

“Yeah but- either way, surely I'm still annoying with my constant remarks.”

Your gaze shies away from him again and it causes a pang of guilt knowing you really did take some of their words to heart. He lets out a small sigh and shuffles up beside you, resting an arm on the back of the bench.

“Sometimes I forget that this is technically your first job out of university. You haven't done anything wrong in the slightest, alright? They’re just putting you down because they’re jealous. Just interns, that's all they are. But you’ve got authority and a position here. Hasn't every other staff here been nice to you and respectful? Hey, even the reception lady encouraged you to scold me the other day, didn't she?”

“..I mean yeah, she did and everyone else laughs about it too..” His hand slips down from the bench, patting your shoulder lightly before rubbing at it.

“Exactly, and you don't do it to annoy me do you?” He loves the way your lips curl into a frown at the accusation, horrified he would ever assume that.

“What? No, I only do it because you drink way too much coffee and you end up not sleeping well. Plus you always tend to eat fast food like every lunch, it’s not good for you.”

“So what's the harm done, hm? You’re not trying to be mean, I clearly don't mind it at all either. So stop beating yourself up about it.”

He gives you another quick squeeze as you mumble “okay”, and then finally retracts his arm, Though not before poking your forehead with his finger, intent on cheering you up. “I can't believe you’re actually three years younger than me. You’re so little, you know? I can’t believe you’ve only had one job your entire life.” The way you roll your eyes and stand up has him chuckling at your exasperated expression.

“I know what you’re going to do, don't even try ruffling my hair.”

“Would you prefer I carried you over my shoulder like a kid instead?” He wont forget the glare you gave him, crossing your arms at him and staring him down until he chuckles and stands himself.

“You know you’re not very intimidating, maybe you should try dressing up as a bioweapon— might even scare yourself. Anyway, cmon,” He remarks, picking up your work bag and slinging it on his shoulder before throwing your sandwich wrapper into the nearby bin.

“I think I have to go move some interns to a new state.” He smirks at you when he says it but deep down he’s dead serious; he won't let anyone put that ashamed expression on your face again.

Bonus:

“Hey, you know all those days i saw you eating that junk food, did you actually want to eat all of that?” You tilt your head up at him, almost about to scrunch your face up in disgust. He can't exactly blame you, after all, a burger for lunch every day isn’t appealing in the slightest.

“Well, the coffee was fake.”

“What about the food?”

“…” He’s already anticipating the punch you plant on his arm, huffing in annoyance.

“Leon!”

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

hot take about silco x vander that no one asked for

okay so it's 3:25 am and i spent too much time in pinterest comment sections so now i have Thoughts and y'all are gonna hear it (this is mostly spoiler free even for s1 but it won't make much sense unless you've watched arcane so go wATCH IT if you haven't). so there were a bunch of posts shipping Silco and Vander and in the comments people were really pissed coz they're said to think of each other as brothers.

TLDR: They did not grow up as brothers, they think of each other as such, and those thoughts can change over time or evolve without it being incestuous (with nuance), and of course it could stay the same too.

and I have a bunch of things to say, starting with for one, some folks were legitimately confused because they thought silco and vander were biological siblings. so, first off, let's get that clarified, they're definitely not. they weren't adopted or step siblings either. they met in their early adulthood, i believe, in the mines.

i'm gonna continue below the cut coz this is gonna be looooong.

now, the thing is, silco and vander explicitly state that they were each other's brothers and/or call each other brother. why? there could be multiple reasons for that. one, that's how they saw each other. they were as close as brothers and they saw each other as family. two, in the sense of being brothers in arms, fighting together against a common cause that brought them closer. three, they felt affection for each other and that was the closest term they knew to describe it. or something else.

and like, i do not mess with found family, that shit is sacred. if someone told me my brother isn't actually my brother because we didn't grow up together or share blood, i would happily punch them in the throat.

HOWEVER, Silco and Vander are fictional characters. so if someone headcanons that their relationship changed, and evolved, that's not disrespectful or incestuous. it just means the person believes that how they saw each other changed. or maybe they didn't realise how it was that they felt for each other. or any number of other things.

and hey listen when i was a teenager in two of my long-term relationships, i thought at the start that what i felt was platonic love. i'd literally call them my brother. because that was the way i knew to describe the intensity of my affection. i was figuring shit out, and then i realised that what i felt was romantic, and not platonic or familial.

does that make it incestuous? well i fucking hope not. i was a queer greyace teen trying to figure out what the fuck i was feeling.

and that's not even toUCHING the surface of queerplatonic feelings. like i had no vocabulary to describe that for most of my life. it was clearcut in my head--romantic, or platonic. and if platonic was very intense, then sibling. that was the only way i knew how to describe it.

and that's changed over the years and now i know a little bit better how i feel, and i have platonic feelings that aren't siblingy, platonic feelings that are very much siblingy, platonic feelings that aren't siblingy but familial anyway like that for a parent, and romantic feelings also of various shades.

but back then, i didn't have that vocabulary and distinctions and self-awareness. and it's entirely plausible for someone to headcanon that maybe Silco and Vander didn't either. maybe people ship them and hc that they had feelings for each other and didn't understand them, that could be romantic or queerplatonic. or had feelings for each other that were familial, but that evolved in a different way later (or in the AU). both of which ARE LEGITIMATE INTERPRETATIONS OF A FICTIONAL RELATIONSHIP WITHOUT IT BEING INCESTUOUS.

anyway so it's entirely chill if you don't ship them but it's also entirely chill if you do. the issue is when you attack people for interpreting a fictional relationship in their own entirely valid way and call it weird or incestuous and attack them as people for their ship. just let people be sigh.

so that's my unnecessarily intense take at--jesus christ it's nearly 4 am. :)

[morphids]

first off- happy holidays!! idk if this is something you’d be interested in but how about a pining assistant troupe with hange? i think it would be fun for reader to have a reiner-ymir relationship with moblit, constantly fighting for hange’s attention and stuff <3

give me all your attention, hange zoë

hi lovely, happy holidays!! this was so much fun to write thank you for requesting!! <3 hope you enjoyyy

summary: pining assistant!r x nb!hange

warnings: kinda sfw—suggestive themes, heavy makeout and a lil dirty talk, tension, lowk dominant hange, nothing explicit. unreliable narration sometimes (r is projecting on moblit a lot) moblit slander—sorry guys i love him really, r def has a hidden praise kink lmao, gendered nicknames towards reader, hange teases a lot, downbad behaviour.

wc: 3.2k

—

Life as Hange's assistant was stressful, to say the least. You think one of these days you'll have a cardiac arrest, the way they're so unbothered about jumping right into danger. Sure, there were worse jobs to be hired into, but it definitely wasn't easy. Hange made sure of that.

But more than that, you couldn't stand Moblit. He was a nice guy, and all, but you two clash a lot. Especially when Hange was in the picture. You'd think Hange had needed him all their life, the way he jumps on the chance to do anything for them. Always doting, chasing them around like a good little labrador. It was sickening, to be honest.

You glanced up from your clipboard, eyeing the way that Moblit brought Hange some dinner, as they hadn't eaten theirs yet. Would've been a nice, caring gesture— except that you had already made extra dinner earlier and boxed some away especially for Hange to eat. Out of all the meals you cooked, that one had been Hange's ultimate favourite. He would've known if he'd bothered to ask, instead of taking it upon himself. You hated how eager to impress Hange he was. Hated Hange's reaction even more, like he was God's gift to their stomach. Ugh.

Both of you were Hange's assistants, having been hired around the same time. So a few years had passed of this little rivalry with each other. You wondered what his motivations were. Why he was as desperate to please as he was.

I mean, your relationship with Hange was so different to theirs. Could he not see that? It's not like all the responsibilities fell on him. If it was up to you, he'd be stuck doing all the paperwork whilst you had the more... hands on jobs that needed doing.

"Dear? Could you come here for a sec?" Hange's voice broke you from your entranced thoughts. You made your way over to the two, tucking your clipboard underneath your arm. Hange seemed to always call you names like that, during the first few weeks of working you worried that they actually just forgot your real name and wanted to cover it up with an easy-to-remember pet name. Then months later, you realised they just seemed to have a proclivity for referring to you in that way.

It flustered you sometimes, made you wonder if that was the reason Moblit didn't seem to take you seriously and seemed to have it out for stealing jobs away from you. Always puffing his chest like he can do everything under the sun. It just seemed to be a quirk of Hange's, though, they never seemed to mean anything by it, always remaining professional. They must just really like nicknames?

"Yes, Hange?" You'd been conditioned to not use their title over the years, Hange seemed to hate that—weeks of correction every time 'Commander,' came out of your mouth.

"I need you to re-check these test results for me—something isn't right, I need fresh eyes."

"Oh, I can do that for you Hange," Moblit spoke, eyes eager as he awaited a new task, even his spine straightened out a little more.

"That won't be needed, Moblit, I'm perfectly capable." You narrowed your eyes at him, voice terse, there he goes again, always trying to take jobs away from you, what an asshole. Does he think women aren't able or something? 

Clearly, your glare hadn't been as internal as you intended, as Hange side-eyed the two of you before shoving their slacking glasses tighter up the nose bridge, then clapping their hands together.

"Anyway, I'd need it by tonight, so bring your findings down to my office when you're done, dear." They smiled down at you, warm and gentle.

"Sure, Hange." You nodded as they walked away, leaving you and Moblit stood awkwardly side by side. Moblit looked you up and down, with a vague face.

"Need something?" You bit out, increasingly getting more annoyed. It had been like this since you both started, but it was becoming worse. Your patience was wearing thinner and thinner as he was getting more absurd with his actions. You often wondered if Hange noticed the growing animosity between their two assistants, and actively chose to not get involved, or if they hadn't even noticed at all.

Moblit cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes now.

"Nope,"

"Great, I'll get started on the analyses."

Moblit nodded curtly, moving aside so you could make your way to the desk to do your work.

—

A few hours had passed, your neck was crooked and sore from having been craned towards paper for the afternoon. It took ages to realise what the problem in the test results had been, and then you finally spotted it.

Oh, you were so gonna kill him.

Etched in Moblit's handwriting, was the incorrect recording of two variables. Making sure your tired eyes weren't being deceitful, you flicked between the two sheets again, the one Hange had drafted for the hypothesis plan with the correct variables, and Moblit's, which was supposed to have it all recorded, properly.

He must've misread the numbers, transcribing the data wrong and fucking up the whole experiment.

Idiot, you thought, sighing. You leaned back into your chair, relieved to have found the error in the results, at least it could be fixed now. Sitting up from your seat, you compiled the work together into a pile and took yourself to relay it back to Hange.

Knocking on the door, Hange's voice rang from the other side of the wall, before cracking the door open. Once seeing it was you, moving to the side to let you in, eyes glimmering as you entered.

"Come in, dear, we were just chatting."

Moblit was in there, too. How great. Well, looks like you'd have to do this with him there.

"I found the error," You muttered, placing the sheets down on Hange's desk.

"Ooh! I knew I could count on you - what was it?" Hange excitedly beamed, sipping on some coffee that you just knew Moblit had brought. He's never brought you any, always just the two cups.

"Well, ask Moblit," you chuckled, maybe it was a good thing he was here, so you could see the look on his face, "He marked the variables wrong, it confused the outcome of the experiment."

Meanwhile, Moblit was mortified.

"Wha—", his mouth slightly hung open as he frantically grabbed the sheets to check for himself. Sighing as he saw that you were, in fact, correct. There it was, his mistake written right in front of his face, mocking him.

"I'm sure it happens all the time," You muttered, just not by you, or Hange.

"I'm sorry, Hange! It won't happen, again!" He bent his neck down with shame, Hange only laughed, shaking their head.

"Don't worry, Moby! It can happen to anyone— at least we know, now!"

As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn't have expected Hange to berate him, not for an honest mistake. Yet, a callous part of you wished they had. Chastised him for his error ruining the experiment, wasting hours on a test that was never going to be executed correctly. Scold him for always acting like he was above you, only to fuck up now. But you knew they were too nice for that, it's what you respected about Hange.

"We'll run it properly tomorrow, right, dear?" Hange beamed, brown eyes shining at you through their specs as you found your anger simmering.

"Of course, Hange," They nodded, pleased.

It wasn't long until Moblit excused himself, leaving Hange's office whilst the remnants of shame fuelled his steps. You were about to follow suit, facing towards the door until Hange spoke, stopping your steps.

"Dear? I wanna speak to you,"

Your stomach sank, fuck. What if you were going to get scolded? As far as you were aware, you hadn't done anything wrong. Sure, they didn't scold Moblit, but that had been an easy mistake. What if something you did was so reprehensible that they would? Maybe Hange had grown tired of the way you were towards Moblit— but just because you were vocal about your irritation, doesn't make Moblit anymore innocent. He's the one that started this, always trying to one-up your achievements and helpful nature.

Turning yourself towards them, you failed to meet eyes. Feeling your nerves increase as you feared the worst, plucking at the skin around your nail beds.

"Don't look so scared! I just wanted to say thank you,"

Looking up at them, you faltered, Hange stood right in-front of you.

"What for?"

"Finding the error! It was driving me insane, honestly, I can't believe I missed it," Hange joked, rubbing their forehead, "Must need a nap,"

"Oh...of course, y-you asked me to,"

"I did," Hange came closer, "That doesn't mean you'd find it, though— I must've looked at that report a hundred times and didn't catch it."

"So well done!" They beamed, "You always do what I ask of you, dear—so well, too."

Hange's arm raised to bring a hand down to your arm, squeezing it affectionately.

Your breath caught in your throat, Hange's praise and the contact seemed to have made your brain go a little silly. A lot, silly, in fact. You could just feel your cheeks warm, the implications of their words used in a different context short-circuited your head.

"T-Thank you, Hange, I'm glad I could help," An attempt at retaining strong, retaining dignity and professionalism. You hoped it worked.

"You always help, dear, just try not to give Moblit such a hard time about it, okay?"

Well, that ruined that. Any sense of pride you had just gotten immediately crushed. Hange must've caught the way your face hardened, the way you began nibbling the inner skin of your lip with your teeth, holding back resentful words at your lips puckered out.

"Look, you don't have to be best friends— I know he isn't innocent, either, okay? But I'd rather have my two favourite assistants get along!"

You stared at them, with an 'are you kidding' expression coated on your features. Heck, you had tried getting along with him. He was the one who made it into a competition of who could please Hange the hardest. Constantly prying their attention away from your impressive feats.

Yeah, okay, fine, time to cut the bullshit— you had realised that you had perhaps, a little, teeny crush on Hange a while back. Heart fluttering too much at their praise, their soft way of speaking to you, the way they were so affectionate or had no qualms about rubbing your arm if you'd done a good job, making sure you knew just how much you had been of help.

You craved it. You craved more of their attention like an addict and craved to impress them, to hear those sweet praises as they smiled at you with those warm eyes and enticing smile. Like you were so good, so smart, useful. Had been the best damned assistant that could preemptively predict what Hange would need.

Especially, in the scientific sense; working hard late at night to write the best damn reports they had ever read. Making sure to help think of clever alternatives for an experiment gone wrong. You were damn good at your job. That's why it pissed you off when Moblit decided to keep shitting on your parade, purposefully outshining you so that he looked like the knight in shining armour.

It wasn't like Hange picked favourites, in fact, they seemed a little oblivious to his ways. Thanking him just as they thanked you, with just perhaps a little less skin-ship. And a little less petnames, the things that made your heart race and stomach flip.

At least you knew your reasonings for this—what were his?

But, Moblit had definitely noticed, the way Hange's professionalism seems to falter a little bit when you were around. Definitely noticed when you both stayed in each other's presence more than was deemed necessary, the way Hange's eyes brightened as they spoke to you.

He thought he could never compete with that, not in the professional sense anyway. He'd made it his mission to try and outshine you however he could so that he wouldn't get left behind in tasks, all due to his Commander's potential sweetened feelings towards you. He'd never have any work if Hange just gave all the good work to you! Truthfully, though, by the time he noticed Hange's...affections for you hadn't impacted the way any of you worked, hadn't picked favourites - it was too late to stop the competitiveness. Too late for the animosity between the two assistants to halt.

"Hange, we would get along if he wasn't hellbent on ruining my career!"

Hange cackled, covering their mouth at the dramatics,

"How does he ruin your career, my dear?"

Ignoring the new addition to the nickname, you continued, having held it in for so long it all just came pouring out.

"He steals all the good jobs, acts better than me even though he messes up experiments, feeds you food even though I made you the dinner you like,"

Yup, you were definitely going off-track, but it was too late to stop the rambling, the box had been opened.

"He follows you around like a puppy, brings both of you coffee—always failing to bring me one! Doting on you like—" You cut yourself off, once you caught the look on Hange's face.

Amused and mirthful, front teeth pulling back a bit on the side of their lip as they listened to your rant. Arms crossed as they looked down at you, eager brown eyes bright and glimmering, wanting you to keep going.

"Why does that bother you so much, huh?"

"It's just annoying—he acts like your boyfriend." You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, as you looked to the side.

"Well, he's not, we all know that, dear."

"Does he know that?"

Hange gaped at you, a playful expression glazing over their eyes, a gentle smirk tugging on their lips.

"Don't worry, pretty, you have all of my attention."

Meeting their eyes, your stomach flipped, a tension in your abdomen at their words. Pretty? That's a new one. You hated the way it sat in your stomach, making your mind sink to dark, dark places. The words in your throat were caught, trapped as you couldn't find in yourself to respond eloquently.

"Yeah right." You knew you were being unreasonably bratty, especially to your superior, but you couldn't care at this point. Deciding to just spew it out.

"Why don't I show you, then, hm?"

Hange unfolded their arms, grabbing your elbows and pulling you close to them.

"What—"

"ssh—told you, 'm gonna show you,"

Hange moved your arms to rest around their shoulders, their own coming down to wrap around your waist.

"What does that mea—"

"It means," Hange was losing patience, "Let me show you how no one else is stealing my attention away, pretty girl."

Hange was inches away, eyes down to your lips, as one hand reached up to thumb the skin on your jaw. Your plump lips split, shallow breaths escaping as your pretty, doe eyes stared up at them, dilating to reveal a darker pool of black in your pupils at Hange's closeness. Mind reeling at how close Hange's fingers were to your throat.

"They never did, dear, my attention was always yours."

Their lips almost touching yours, your brows tilting up slightly as their words. Almost hesitant, what if this was a trap? An insanely well-thought, long planned trap from Moblit, get you to admit your feelings and then humiliate you.

"You were always just so good, doing everything I asked you," The paused, the hand at your waist tightening its grip on your sides, "'N you do it all so well, pretty girl."

"Y'can't possibly think I was never impressed with you, hm?"

Hange's mouth reached your ear, lip grazing your earlobe as shivers went down your back, "All you needed to do was walk into the room n'Im impressed, dear."

"So I’m asking you, will you let me show you?"

You nodded, biting back a low whimper as Hange's lips moved away from your ear to the front of you, hand at your waist still strong, and the other tugging at your jaw, grabbing you a little bit harder, dragging your skin as they pulled your face closer, your eyes fluttering as they moved you.

"Yeah?" They smiled, a gentle, soft smile. Voice teasing, almost mocking, like they knew exactly what they were doing to you—it's not like you were hiding it well, "You'll let me, pretty girl? Need t'hear you say it,"

All doubts left your mind, that craving returning with full force as your mind turned to mush, incoherent thoughts, all you could make out was that craving. That desire that had been eating up at you over the years, Hange’s sweet praise leaving you feeling floaty.

"Y-yes, Hange,"

With the confirmation, Hange pressed their lips to yours, skin finally touching skin. The warmth of their mouth encompassing your own, as you allowed yourself to melt into their kiss. Surrounded with Hange, your chests pressing together as you hands grabbed at the back of their neck. Impossibly close, yet you still craved to be closer.

The sound of lips smashing against each other filled the room, the mutual desire would be heard clearly to anyone who walked in. Heavy breathing through noses as you sighed into each other.

Hange separated your lips to murmur against you, in between shorter pecks, “Been waiting to be able to kiss you,” They breathed out, voice rasped and low, “Waiting this whole time,”

“Hang—“ Your whimpers were cut short, swallowed as Hange connected your lips again, the kiss starved and ardent. Hange’s grip on your jaw was unbelievably tight, helpful considering it was getting harder to hold your head up, truly weakened.

Hange moved your bodies around, the back of your thighs meeting the line of wooden desk, as they leaned you up against it. The hand from your waist reaching down to lift your thigh up on the wooden slab, letting you lean your weight back on it as they placed themselves comfortably in between your open legs. Your thighs tightened around them to keep them close, shivering at the contact of them pressing up against you. Hange’s hands grabbed at your thighs, feeling as much skin as the clothes on your legs would allow, fingers kneading against the fabric, wishing they could feel you without the layers.

“Taste so sweet, dear,” Hange groaned against your lips, “Makin’ me wanna do bad things,” Hange’s lips were plump and flushed, solid evidence of the feverish kissing as you imagined your own weren’t any better off.

“Makin’ me wanna take you right here,” Hange’s words incited you, propelled you deeper into impropriety as you responded, words breathy and full of want.

“What’s stopping you then?”

—

…welp 🫣

[blueepink07]

My interpretation of Diana's character

(spoilers for chapter 1 and fte!!)

I find it interesting how many people believed that Diana is the mastermind, when the prologue released, and still believe that she is hiding something, especially since we see the events from Damon's perspective. And for me it's really odd, because I feel like Diana doesn't act with other ill-mannered intentions in mind, but out of consideration for others. So much so that I think that she has become a people pleaser. 

Starting with her animal motif, the chameleon, everyone knows it for its ability to change its appearance as a form of protection, in order to survive. Many people tied the chameleon with her ultimate talent, because as the ultimate cosmetologist she can change others and her appearance with make-up. But I think it goes further than this. Her personality is rather unpredictable. Of course, she is usually bubbly, and very talkative, however, it seems she cares a lot about what others think of her. 

At the end of chapter 1, after the trial, the conversation she has with Eva, highlights some interesting details about her character as a whole. She wanted to make both Wolfgang and Eva happy. However, these two had contrasting beliefs, two sides of the same coin. She was forced to choose between two different points of views… But she wasn't able to. So she tried to support both of them, the best she could.

In the end, this choice led Eva to not trust Diana's kindness at all, because she knew Diana was never fully on her side. She would still agree to what Wolfgang said, which implied going against her. What comes next is more concerning, however. And I’m not talking about the fact that Diana might become the antagonist in the future chapter, but strictly about what it will become of her character. To throw away your sense of self so easily and to state that you will live to fulfill somebody else's wish, that she will change to become more like Wolfgang and continue on his footsteps…

And then, I've completed her two fte's and realised that her decision to continue Wolfgang's legacy makes sense. Damon, in the second fte, asks her why she never told anything about herself, but insisted for him to open up more. From Damon's perspective, of course he finds her behavior suspicious, because considering the context and the fact that they are in a killing game, Diana is at advantage, not sharing information about herself.

So I've decided to look again at Diana's first fte and this part was truly interesting. 

She asks if Damon wants her to become his follower. The report card summarizes the conversation by stating that Diana asked Damon what he wanted her to be.

Considering all these aspects, I have reached the conclusion that Diana doesn't really have a "sense of self". She is always seen changing the way she behaves in order to please the person she has a conversation with or is seen asking how she can improve in order to meet the expectations. The reason why she even went to the boiler room was also because she didn't want to disappoint Wolfgang. Diana's always thinking about how others perceive her, so much so that, with time, it seems she has lost her sense of self.

That’s why, the moment when Damon wants Diana to talk about herself, she is restless. Diana has no idea what to say. The only thing we learn about her is the fact that her family is nice and supportive and she never had to worry about money. But she didn't continue on with the conversation, because she felt like she was bragging.

Moreover, she always seems to see the good in people, but is harsher on herself.

Despite Eva being the culprit, Diana considers that it is solely her fault for not saving both her and Wolfgang. Even after the way Eva treated her, she can't see her as a bad person. Diana acknowledges that nothing will ever be the same, but is still standing strong, wishing that her actions will give hope to others. She hasn't just  covered the wound that she received from Wolfgang, but, indirectly, also her trauma and her negative thoughts about herself by stating that she will change, in order for others to not suffer anymore. 

Maybe I'm just biased, but I can't see Diana having any bad intentions. She is just a 17 year old, who experienced something very traumatic, and is trying her best to help the people around her by putting her own needs aside, changing the way she behaves so the others can feel comfortable around her. 

[hartnellwho]

OMG, so much to talk about here and lots of it will be spoilery for anyone who hasn't listened (IN WHICH CASE YOU SHOULD!) so I'm putting it all under a big cut here...

I'm still so bitter about the "the Doctor got us there on the first go" cop out. Like; they could've left a gap for more stories but didn't and it's such a waste.

I'm torn between two different headcanons to give Oliver more stories.

The first and most simple is the Doctor didn't get them there on the first go, he couldn't and made excuses for why it didn't work every where they went. Eventually he gave up trying to get them there, but eventually he realised he had to try, got it right and immediately acted like it was the first try because it was the first try... of this set of tries. Steven of course knew and by this point so did Oliver better than to try and correct him.

The other is a lot more complicated, but I enjoy the idea of it a lot more... when Four manages to defeat the Vardans in The Invasion of Time he puts them in a time loop. Which to me sounds like what the Time Lords did to the War Lords in The War Games. And what was said there...

"A force field has been placed around you, and around your planet, so that your warlike people will remain prisoners forever. You have been found guilty of all charges, and you and your murderous associates will be dematerialised. It will be as though you had never existed."

So after the Vardans have this done to them they were retroactively never on Grace Alone. The Doctor, Steven and Oliver arrive to a fully crewed station in no trouble and have to conspire to cause/create/fake the criminal records they saw in the future that made them come there in the first place.

I've posted about this idea before here. But I've pondered trying to expand it into a brief fanfic. But the problem is I'm not a great writer and haven't even tried to make fanfic before. But I just love the idea so much I want to spread it, haha.

As to the idea that Oliver had to have a tragic ending because of where he fits chronologically... I originally wholeheartedly accepted that idea as it was explained in the CD extras. Like: it was sad he had to die, but he did have to die 'to fit the tone of that era'.

What changed my mind to the polar opposite was another CC, called The Vardan Invasion of Mirth. it is set in the time where Steven is the sole companion so must be after the Oliver trilogy and before The Massacre. Steven even knows the Vardans so must have faced them before.

But what happened: no mentions of or any thought given to Oliver, the Vardans easily defeated and a happy ending.

I was so pissed off, I hated it so much and I still don't consider it canon.

But the main thing it did was destroy the argument that things have to fit the tone of the era. If the people in this story could get a happy ending in a story set in the same era then why couldn't Oliver?

Oliver getting a happy ending could've been a brief light in an otherwise dark era. A small hope spot that says even in hard times things can sometimes work out or go well.

So yeah; I no longer feel like Oliver "had to" die and so am a lot more bitter and upset about the fact that he did. it feels like the bury your gays trope in action.

I'd just love if BF retconned his death away and gave us new stories with this team: go full cast with Steven Noonan as One even. Or do another CC but with Oliver as the narrator so we can get in his head and Steven as the guest voice rather than the main!

The First Doctor and companions Oliver and Steven. Admittedly, I do need to listen to these stories... Whoops!

[chateau-dilf]

LCDMC Script: The Count, Fernand and Opium

Out of all the cut material from the script there were only two subplots: Maximilien's involvement and the Count introducing Fernand to opium as a cure for his headaches. The latter is by far the largest cut, and the most devastating for myself as Fernand is my favourite. His absence or lack of involvement in the films middle section is noticeable, and I'd also wondered why he's so silent during many of the scenes he's in, lo and behond he had many of his lines cut. But I'll focus on the opium for now as it's an entire character arc we didn't get to see, and really could have benefitted a character who is supposed to hold significance, especially as the final showdown is between him and Edmond.

The opium plot begins, as we see in the film, with Fernand experiencing a headache as he leaves the Count's house, attributed to a 'metal souvenir'. He leaves in a hurry, which the Count later brings up in our first cut scene, which was connected to the poker game:

Fernand experiences another headache at the table, leaves, and the Count follows, helping him with his ether in a move described as having a "strange intimacy." I would have loved to have seen this, the power dynamics at play are excellent - Fernand is vulnerable and insecure (so unlike his arrogant younger self,) the Count's gesture is non-judgemental and kind as he offers him a "miraculous cure." Of course this is all part of his plan, yet there's something to be said about the image of a man smothering the mouth and nose of his vulnerable enemy with cloth and not hurting him, rather helping him. The intimacy is fascinating - here are two men who grew up together, the betrayer and the betrayed, yet when you spend the first 22 years of your life together some part of that intimacy must live on, as much as you might wish it didn't, even if you don't realise it. I would have loved to see Fernand vulnerable like this, too. It adds a layer to his post timeskip character that he could have really benefitted from.

Fernand takes the count up on this offer, arriving at his house in a scene which took place after Haydée talks to Edmond about her trip to the gardens with Albert.

The cure, it turns out, is opium, and the Count leads Fernand to an opium den within the house. We have a vague idea of what this scene would have looked like from this image shared by Pierre Niney on Instagram:

The scene in its entirety:

Ross and I have analysed at length the few lines Fernand has prior to Edmond's arrest and how he absolutely felt superior to Edmond and that he (as part of the Morcerf family) is responsible for Edmond's success and therefore Edmond is forever in debt to him in his eyes. It's either impressive that they still got that feeling across with what they kept, or we think way too hard about these men, or both, but our suspicions were absolutely confirmed by Fernand's dream-memories and the way he speaks to dream-Edmond. I don't believe he ever thought Edmond was even a potential threat to his (at that point entirely nonexistent) romance with Mercédès because he did not even consider Edmond could be on the same playing field.

What's most interesting to me is this dream sequence is in Fernand's mind - it's likely he's had these dreams or thoughts so many times and this is what he tells himself: that Edmond had no right, Edmond betrayed him, it's Edmond's fault, he should have stayed in his place, he wouldn't have made Mercédès happy. Alongside this, he imagines Edmond asking him why he did it and saying he would have given his life for Fernand. It's regret and grief for a friend mixed with extreme entitlement, which ultimately wins.

The scene is quite exposition heavy in a way the film generally isn't, but the majority of the script is the same. They cut back exposition everywhere, so I believe they could have made this scene work and I wish they had. If nothing else, it would have been very fun to see the Count throttle the guy - again, there's an intense intimacy between them, with Fernand once again entirely vulnerable and this time the Count does take advantage of that. We see Edmond wasn't as ready as he thought he was to hear Fernand say such things, and the pure rush of emotion takes over. Equally, I can see why this might have had the potential to feel awkward within the narrative with the Count displaying violence towards an enemy during the middle section as opposed to the climax, however I think we do miss something by not allowing Fernand a scene with such a significance, and the dream exchange between the men is fascinating.

Furthering the intimacy, the opium plot steers us towards a world wherein the two men harbour an old (if imbalanced) care for each other which can neither be completely destroyed nor returned to. Their dialogue leading up to the final duel was intended to follow along these lines:

In the film, we have Edmond tell Fernand "You should have killed me," with Fernand replying "It's never too late." But here the thread of friendship is continued with dialogue of a very different sentiment, immediately juxtaposed by brutal fighting. Edmond's statement that he could have died for Fernand entirely backs up what Fernand imagined dream-Edmond to have felt ("I would have given my life for you.") Fernand rushing towards Edmond would have also mirrored dream-Edmond rushing at him.

The description of Fernand running up the stairs "four at a time" was also used earlier when Fernand was running to Villefort's office to save Edmond.

I am glad the wolves were removed from this scene however, it strips him back to just Edmond, who is now threatening enough on his own without the mask and character of the Count. It's a much more powerful image to see him descend the stairs alone and it's a real testament to how much he's changed.

Finally, after the duel, rather than cutting straight to Mercédès at the church, we were going to be shown the fate of the three villains:

Villefort and Danglars are entirely expected (the former can't exactly go anywhere else...) but Fernand's fate is interesting - rather than having him kill himself as he does in the book, he seems to be reliant on opium, presumably living in his memories now he is alone and disgraced.

The mention of him not wearing his eyepatch could be interpreted in a few ways, but I think this was intended to show his lack of care for his own honour and dignity, why should he care when everything's already lost? It's the cruellest fate of all for a man with such entitlement and complexes of superiority and heroism, and it's entirely deserved.

However, it should be said that a depiction of a disabled, drug addicted villain would have carried ableist connotations and overall I'm glad we didn't see what happened to him or Danglars (though there does exist a photo of the latter.)

It's impossible to estimate how much of this was even filmed, and it's unfortunately unlikely we'll ever know. We know Fernand did not leave the poker table, but we also have an image of Edmond attacking him in the opium den. My best guess would be that the decision was made some time during filming to allow either last minute changes to the script or reshoots of necessary scenes, rather than a whole cut during editing.

I'll save the rest of Fernand's cut content for another post, but the opium plot was the most significant loss and I think it's felt in how unfortunately action-less and hollow Fernand can feel at times in ways other characters don't.

[desperateknot]

Swap Ishqueg/LCB Queequeg AU.

Dieci Assoc. South Section 4 Queequeg uptie story:

The child sits a bit too close to her friend, but it's not enough to look too suspicious. She quietly places a tiny piece of a sponge cake on the friend's tight, and, without a wasted movement, the said friend puts it in her mouth. Her eyes are still pinned on the last few pages of the 20th Volume of Ancient Civilizations and their various Codes of Law.

That other child is supposedly way more of a stickler for the rules. It's not like she would snitch her colleague to the head librarian, but sneakily snacking with her is a bit out of character.

That said, existing between them is a tacit understanding and a trust that is much needed in the suffocating academic atmosphere.

In other words, if snacking with Rodya makes her happy, Queequeg would gladly do it.

Gradually, she, who used to believe she would spend her entire life delivering unreasonably cruel punishments for violating even more unreasonable laws, has learned to be more flexible. After all, the 20th Volume is about clemency and amnesty.

Perhaps, there would be a day when she, too, would be pardoned.

For now Queequeg is thankful that Rodya finally brought something that they could eat discreetly, and not…cookies, like the first time they met.

The child with flaxen hair, who has been a part of the Dieci Association ever since she was a little kid, was the first member outside of the Director to approach Queequeg.

It's hardly anyone's fault that she was shunned. The tattoos on her body are only partially covered in the Association's uniform, and her reticence didn't make her appear more friendly either.

Although, to be frank, at that point, that child only wanted to be left alone.

Rodion: Hey, eat this. Just put it in your mouth and chew. No need to thank me.

The child ignores her colleague and continues reading the borrowed book — Ancient Civilizations and their various Codes of Law Vol. 1, more confused than annoyed at her advances.

Rodion: Hello? Hey…I know you can hear me.

That child whispered, but that was way too loud for Queequeg, who thought they were starting to attract unwanted attention.

Queequeg: Shhh. Reading.

Rodion, disheartened to see her efforts for naught, sighed very deeply before breaking the cookies on her hand into two, and threw one half inside her mouth.

The course of actions utterly baffled the other child, who only then noticed the choice for her colleague's discreet snacking were very crunchy cookies of all things.

The sound of Rodion’s chewing grinds Queequeg's ears. She wanted to flee to the other side of the table to act as if she had nothing to do with this, but she was already sitting on one end of the table, and Rodion was physically blocking her way in the other direction.

As though Rodion realised the frantic look on Queequeg's face, she exasperatedly assured her.

Rodion: Come now. No one noticed.

Queequeg: At least. Softer food. Crunchy food. Loud chewing.

Rodion: Not as loud as your stomach growling, though.

It was indeed true that the child had been avoiding the canteen out of the fear of being gawked at by other people — as if she was some kind of rare specimen, but she wasn't so hungry that her stomach would growl.

She wanted to retort, but right at that moment, her stomach made an ungodly sound. Queequeg embarrassedly looked up to see her colleague handing her the other half of the cookie, which she felt she had no choice but to take.

Rodion: Hey. I know this might look like it's easier than your last job, just reading and all…But if you don't eat properly, you are going to faint all the same.

Hostile kid: We don't have anything to pay you with!

Throwing the unconscious body of the Syndicate's member aside, Queequeg takes a bit of time to comprehend what that small child is saying. A bit of her knowledge was depleted during the fight, but surely not that much?

Scared kid: Sister…can we go now?

It finally clicks.

The child half-bends her knees and extends her hand to the orphans’ place, as if planning to pat them, but she thinks better of it and withdraws her blood stained hand half-way.

Queequeg: No. No need payment. Just wanted to help.

The older girl's eyebrows ease, but she's still very much on guard, while the younger one still hides behind her sister's back. The child unconsciously adjusts her glasses in a certain bashfulness, feeling guilty that she terrified the kids so much.

The tense awkwardness formed gradually broke by an untimely stomach growling from the girls’ direction. The red flush on Queequeg's cheeks immediately switches to the orphans’.

Queequeg: Hungry?

The younger girl, somehow already stepped out from behind her older sister's shadow, nods before the other could stop her.

The Fixer of the Dieci Association can't hide her gentle smile. Still a bit too disgusted at herself to pat the children, but she is confident enough to signal them to follow her.

Queequeg: With me. Food over there. Good friend over there.

Dieci Assoc. South Section 4 Queequeg voicelines:

Gaccha: Shh. Reading.

Uptie: Get it. Finally. 

Reasoning:

Queequeg would probably be quite good at reading, memorising, and learning (theories) since she had to learn the Book of Vengeance during her Middle's days.

She is seeking atonement, and where better to seek it than the "Charity Association"? They also raised children on the streets, and Queequeg is presumably good with children because she had a lot of "siblings." 

Also, in between Moby Dick's Queequeg left his home in search of Christianity only to be disappointed, The Little Mermaid's effort (Queequeg's other source material) to attain an immortal soul has some religious subtext, and also the Middle calling themselves a family while following strictly a decree from a book...it gives Queequeg a bit of...Christianity themes, strangely enough. And Dieci Association has exactly that.

Also, that is an excuse to give her glasses.

Personal notes:

I know it has been like a month since I promised to finish this. You can see that this one isn't really good and I really had to drag my ass to get it done.

Anyway, I had a few different ideas for Queequeg's study field, ranging from Marine Biology, Religion, Neurology, Psychology, Anatomy, to Law. I think Law fits her the most from what I planned for her (themes of retribution and atonement) and this uptie story. It also fits with the Middle and the Laws of the Great Lake.

Also, shout out to Rodya for picking chips as a secret snack of choice in the library. Just check Dieci Rodya uptie story.

[maibeenot]

Last one about TUA season 4, for now.

(I talked about this in the tags of one of my RBs before but I wanted to elaborate)

I don't like how they keep trying to make Five a badass.

I find it especially frustrating as doing this constantly, bogs down any form of character development we could've had from Five.

For whatever reason, the writers seem to be allergic to acknowledging Five's biggest character flaw, his arrogance. Five always has to be right. He always has to be capable of everything and never needs any help. Despite the fact that Diego also has a very similar flaw (and is punished for it consistently), Five's seems to go completely untouched.

(A part of me thinks that the reason why they punish Diego so much more is because he comes off as the hot-headed impulsive one. While that's true, it certainly doesn't negate Five's ability to make mistakes or be incompetent)

Instead, they keep trying to invent a new flaw for Five in that; he is obsessed with the apocalypse. In reality, he's not obsessed with the apocalypse. He's obsessed with keeping his family safe. It just so happens that their most immediate threat (in his eyes) tends to be the apocalypse. (I really don't understand what they're trying to get at with this, especially considering the fact that he already has an extremely apparent flaw)

While this isn't an issue I take with season 4 specifically, it has definitely amplified this issue like crazy. Five's arrogance is vaguely addressed by his siblings in season 1, but it never seems to get him in trouble? Or at least he doesn't seem to have learned from it (except for the time-travelling thing from when he was 13, and when he bled out also in season 1)

Season 1 (and 2) handled it the best out of the four. Five never seems to ask for or accept help unless backed into a corner (telling Viktor about the apocalypse, asking Klaus to help him get the prosthetic eye). Or if he is literally incoherent or unconscious (him passing out from blood loss, him being drunk and telling Diego and Luther about what's happening).

And outside of that, Five's arrogance still had brutal consequences within this season (him not noticing Viktor's declining mental state because he was so sure about the apocalypse (but this was partially because this man tunnel-visions like crazy)).

(there are probably more instances of this with s1 & 2, i just can't think of them off the top of my head so tag them if you'd like)

Season 4 is extra mean with this. From the 'Five getting to work for the CIA at 19' to 'Five randomly figuring out what's causing the end of the world with a bunch of other Five's' while he was off moping.

And when he does make mistakes, it's not because he's actually not capable of everything and anything.

Noooo, Ben really really sneakily stole the marigold and spiked the sake. Five couldn't have possibly noticed. (and none of the other siblings for that matter)

Noooo, it's because Luther is actually super smart in figuring out that Five's boss is a Keeper (no shade to Luther btw, I like him. They just don't treat this moment as Five being a complete dumbass).

Oh no! Five (and Lila) can't figure out a way back from the metro! Never mind, another Five managed it.

Five being a homewrecker? That's him being an asshole, not incompetent so it doesn't count (lighthearted).

Five's arrogance one of his defining flaws, yet it's not really challenged. The fact that he gets away with a lot of bullshit is simply because he can! When he doesn't face failure, he doesn't find growth. He doesn't learn to stop being self-destructive just because he thinks he can do anything. He doesn't learn to reach out.

This stunt in growth is obviously not only present in Five but also everyone else. I just find his to be particularly grating since he's my favorite.

Feel free to add your thoughts to this, not just about Five's fucked up character growth but everyone else's too!

(I'll make long a ass post/video essay going into detail about all of them one of these days)

I'd love to read them :)

[lunarharp]

What led to this (orufrey comic, cw an uncomfortable/creepy scene)

[fidgetspringer-art]

✧ The Ardal stars ✧

[langernameohnebedeutung]

something about the way Candy had a crush on Blaine in seasons 2-4 but became increasingly disillusioned with him and realised him for the manipulative, self-obsessed piece of shit he is in season 5 ---- and the way she's extremely gentle and sweet to Don E when she leaves and tries to help him fix things with Darcy and wishes him "good luck" specifically when she leaves. something something.

[destructix]

normal reaction to have about ur new baby brother