#I don't know why this quote makes me emotional

[rius-cave]

Adam babysitting would probably go like—

Child: I want to play superheros!

Adam: ugh. Fine. What superpowers do we have?

Child: I can talk to seals and you're divorced.

Adam: What the—that's not even the foundation of a superpower!

Child: You don't even have emotional strength. You're just sad because they told you yesterday it was your fault.

Adam: Look you little brat. Either give me a superpower that's equal to yours or I'm not playing.

Child: Fine. I have a unicorn that fixes friendships and you just realized you can't pay rent this month because you're poor.

Adam: You know what?! I stole that unicorn and sold it to the glue factory so it can make those sparkling glue sticks!

Child: No! No, you can't because I'm the smartest princess in the world! You don't even know! You don't even know!

Adam: Guess what? I visited DisneyLand and I saw Elsa. I told her you were the worst princess ever!

Child: What?! No! You didn't!

Adam: Yeah! I did! They banned you from DisneyLand!

Child: NO!!!!!

And then Adam looking all smug because he made a six-year-old cry—

HELP- HELP!!!! OKAY BUT WHY IS BABY CHARLIE SO SAVAGE IM PISSING MYSELF DNDMFKSLGLSG

I CAN TALK TO SEALS AND YOU'RE DIVORCED ANDKFKKSKGKSKGKDIHOSFJD

Is this an incorrect quote from somewhere? Because that's hilarious lmao. I think Adam and baby Charlie would make a fantastic duo

[bed-lam]

Ng Kok Song, Group Chief Investment Officer, GIC, 2007-2013

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

[captainfantasticalright]

In 1985, one of the only persons interested in an interview with a “new” writer called Terry Pratchett, after his publication of the Colour of Magic, was one Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman was writing for Space Voyager at the time. "The Colour of Pratchett" was the name given here:

It ran exactly one page inside the June/July issue of that year. The interview took place in a Chinese restaurant in London.

Here is Neil many years later holding that issue. You can see it here if you want. Warning: extremely emotional video.

Neil arrived wearing a grey homburg hat. “Sort of like the ones Humphrey Bogart wears in movies” he later wrote. (Before saying that in fact he did not look like him, but like someone wearing a grown-up’s hat). Terry Pratchett, photo courtesy of one @neil-gaiman, was in a Lenin-style leather cap and a harlequin-patterned pullover. At this point, Terry was already a hat person, although not that hat.

Terry offered Neil this : "An interview needn't last more than 15 minutes. A good quote for the beginning, a good quote for the end, and the rest you make up back at the office"*. (Terry Pratchett had worked many years in journalism by this point ).

But the meeting went terribly well. The two of them realized they had "the same sort of brains". So well indeed, that in 1985, Neil had shown Terry a file containing 5282 words, exploring a scenario in which Richmal Crompton's William Brown had somehow become the Antichrist. Was a collaboration in the cards as of that moment? Not really. But Terry found in Neil someone to whom he could send disks of work in progress and to whom he could pick up the phone sometimes when he hit a brick in the road of his writing.

Terry loved it and the concept stayed in his mind. A couple of years later, he rang Neil to ask him if he had done any more work on it. Neil had been busy with The Sandman, he had not really given it another thought. Terry said, "Well I know what happens next, so either you sell me the idea or we can write it together". **

On collaborating together:

Here is a video of Sir Terry saying why he chose to collaborate with Neil, another video talking about the technical difficulties of writing a book when the two of them where miles apart ,and some pages from Interzone Magazine Issue 207 published December 2006:

An Interview with Sir Terry Pratchett and his works- and Neil Gaiman, where he shortly addresses the process of writing Good Omens.

Terry shortly mentions,

“Neil doesn't rule out another book with me and he was good to write with...yep, it could happen. With anyone else? I don't know, but probably not.?”

Neil says,

"Terry took that initial 5,000 words of mine and ran it through the computer (because I’d lost the files in a computer crash) and made it the first 10,000 words, and it was definitely Good Omens at that point. Neither one thing nor the other, but a third thing.”

"I think Terry could do a very good impersonation of me if he needed to, and I could do a very good impersonation of him; so we knew the area of the Venn diagram in which we were working. But mostly the book found its own voice very quickly. It helped that we were both scarred by the William books when we were kids...”

And as you know, unless you’ve been living in Alpha Centauri, the rest is history. That was the beginning of what would become William the Antichrist and later would get the name Good Omens:The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. (Title provided by Neil Gaiman and subtitle by Terry Pratchett).

More about the writing process:

Terry took the first 5,000 words and typed them into his word processor, and by the time he had finished they were the first 10,000 words. Terry had borrowed all the things about me that he thought were amusing, like my tendency back then to wear sunglasses even when it wasn't sunny, and given them, along with a vintage Bentley, to Crawleigh, who had now become Crowley. The Satanic Nurses were Satanic Nuns.

The book was under way.

We wrote the first draft in about nine weeks. Nine weeks of gloriously long phone calls, in which we would read each other what we'd written, and try to make the other one laugh. We'd plot, delightedly, and then hurry off the phone, determined to get to the next good bit before the other one could. We'd rewrite each other, footnote each other's pages, sometimes even footnote each other's footnotes. We would throw characters in, hand them off when we got stuck. We finished the book and decided we would only tell people a little about the writing process - we would tell them that Agnes Nutter was Terry's, and the Four Horsemen (and the Other Four Motorcyclists) were mine.

From the introduction to William the Antichrist:

“In the summer of 1987 several odd ideas came together: (..)I found myself imagining a book called William the Antichrist, in which a hapless demon was going to be responsible for swapping the wrong baby over, and the son of the US Ambassador would be completely undemonic, while William Brown would grow up to be the Antichrist, and the demon would need to stop him ending the world. The unfortunate demon, whom I called Crawleigh, because Crawley was a nearby town with an unfortunate name, would have to sort it all out as best he could.

It felt like a story with legs.

Terry took the 5,000 words, and rewrote them, calling me to tell me what he was doing and what he was planning to do. The biggest thing he was going to do, he told me, was split the hapless demon into two characters – a would-be-cool demon in dark glasses (which was, I think, Terry’s way of making fun of me, a never-actually- cool journalist in dark glasses) who had renamed himself Crowley, and a rare-book dealer and angel called Aziraphale, who would embody all the English awkwardness that either of us could conceive.”

William the Antichrist being a direct inspiration of the 1976 film The Omen. If the baby swap had just been a little bit messier and the kid had gone off somewhere else he would have grown up as somebody else. “And then there was a beat and I thought, I should write it, it will be called William the Antichrist” says Neil. ***

“The first draft of Good Omens was a William-book. It was absolutely in every way it could be a William book. It had Violet Elizabeth Bott, it had William and the Outlaws, it had Mr. Brown”.

Over time they realized that they would have more creative freedom if they in their own words filed off the serial numbers. William and the Outlaws becoming Adam and the Them.

But the spirit of Just William was never far away.

The joy for Neil was to construct “perfectly William sentences”. The one when Anathema tells Adam that she has lost the Book, and he tells her that he has written a book about a pirate who became a famous detective and it is 8 pages long… that’s “a William sentence”.

If you want to read more details about William The Antichrist, here are some slides I made.

Good Omens was also inspired by a particularly antisemitic moment in The Jew of Malta and John le Carre's spy novels. (Neil’s ask)

 Then I was reading The Jew of Malta by Kit Marlowe, and it has a bit where the three (cartoonishly evil) Jews compare notes on all the well-poisoning and suchlike they’d done that day, and as a Jew who never quite gets his act together, it occurred to me that if I were the third Jew I’d just be apologizing for having failed to poison a well… And suddenly I had the opening of a book. It would be called William the Antichrist. And it would begin with three Demons in a graveyard… (x).

“When we finished the book we estimated that the words were 60% Terry’s and 40% mine, and the plot, such as it was, was entirely ours.” -Neil Gaiman

"Neil and I had known each other since early 1985. Doing it was our idea, not a publisher's deal." "I think this is an honest account of the process of writing Good Omens. It was fairly easy to keep track of because of the way we sent discs to one another, and because I was Keeper of the Official Master Copy I can say that I wrote a bit over two thirds of Good Omens. However, we were on the phone to each other every day, at least once. If you have an idea during a brainstorming session with another guy, whose idea is it? One guy goes and writes 2,000 words after thirty minutes on the phone, what exactly is the process that's happening? I did most of the physical writing because: 1) I had to. Neil had to keep Sandman going -- I could take time off from the DW; 2) One person has to be overall editor, and do all the stitching and filling and slicing and, as I've said before, it was me by agreement -- if it had been a graphic novel, it would have been Neil taking the chair for exactly the same reasons it was me for a novel; 3) I'm a selfish bastard and tried to write ahead to get to the good bits before Neil. Initially, I did most of Adam and the Them and Neil did most of the Four Horsemen, and everything else kind of got done by whoever -- by the end, large sections were being done by a composite creature called Terryandneil, whoever was actually hitting the keys. By agreement, I am allowed to say that Agnes Nutter, her life and death, was completely and utterly mine. And Neil proudly claims responsibility for the maggots. Neil's had a major influence on the opening scenes, me on the ending. In the end, it was this book done by two guys, who shared the money equally and did it for fun and wouldn't do it again for a big clock." "Yes, the maggot reversal was by me, with a gun to Neil's head (although he understood the reasons, it's just that he likes maggots). There couldn't be blood on Adam's hands, even blood spilled by third parties. No-one should die because he was alive." -("Terry Pratchett : His World”)

(Here are some slides of mine where I go into some other details concerning the origins of Good Omens).

Another wonderful insight with Rob Wilkins in "The Worlds of Terry Pratchett".

*Quote: from Terry Pratchett A Life With Footnotes by Rob Wilkins, but said by Terry of course.

** All the quotes, facts listed here : see above.

***all other quotes by Neil Gaiman from various interviews and asks I’ll link.

[silent-sanctum]

"Jotaro Kujo is Weak at His Core"

As a writer and avid character psycho-analyzer, I find this concept fascinating because I wholeheartedly agree with what OP has quoted from a "What opinion would get the community to do this? *Insert Johnny getting torn apart*" post.

Before I begin, I know some people will see this, misread it, and immediately say "lmao did we watch the same show? He's strong, badass, and can kick anyone's ass. Like do you know Star Platinum bro?". Trust me, I've seen the replies to this post and they said this same exact thing.

And I'm here to say that to said people, if you truly are not the illiterates I'd like to term you as, you'd take the time to realize that when we say "he's weak", we're not referring to his physical prowess because we know he's one of the strongest characters in the show.

If you don't like to, then you're just proving the accuracy of the last sentence: "You can't stand seeing your edgy badass image of Jotaro as vulnerable."

Pushing that aside, I'd like to expand on OP's opinion/headcanon with some depth to it and explain how exactly he's "weak" outside of being a skilled and strategic fighter.

I've learned that to be holistically healthy, one needs to develop and maintain all optimal functions of oneself: Physical, Emotional, Social, and Mental.

Obviously, Jotaro excels in the physical category. He's conventionally attractive, taller than the average male population, well-defined with a muscled build, fit as hell, street and book smart, and highly in tune with his environment making him adaptable in any circumstance.

He's "strong" in that aspect we all know at a superficial level.

However, we start to see the core problem once we strip this good-hearted man of his physical appeal:

Emotional? He believes he doesn't need to express them to others because why should he. He refuses to process them and instead keeps them behind a locked wall of stoicism and aloofness.

Social? Can't communicate to save his life. He's reclusive and doesn't know how to socialize outside of work. Guarded and skeptical around others. Too much of a workaholic to bother making new acquaintances (if he even knows how) outside of familial connections.

Mental? At 17, he went on a death crusade over Asia and the Middle East, almost died numerous times, and most likely lived with unresolved PTSD that carried over into adulthood, and further deteriorated his already poor social and emotional skills.

What do we have then? If we look past that powerful exterior of a man, we have inappropriate emotional expression, poor socialization, and constant fatigue of dealing with bullshit that relates to his trauma.

And this is what we mean by his "core": His mindset. His inner machinations. The soft spot his enemies would need to target in order to defeat or kill him, strategy-wise.

I. Emotional

We pretty much already know how this man handles emotions. And this may come off as "irrelevant" to the dudebros and the meme riders who believe "haha feelings are for pussies, I advocate for edgy autistic Florida man who don't give a fuck, elopes with dolphins, and berates women".

But believe it or not, he has them, just like any other human being on the planet. I said it once and I'll say it again: Not everyone will wear their heart on their sleeves. Some will convey emotions publicly with no issue, while others would prefer to keep to themselves.

But how does this contribute to him being "weak" at his core?

Essentially, it's similar to how someone with depression may behave (not everyone, some of them). One may appear friendly, sunny, and bubbly to everyone around them, not knowing they're actually suffering from a void that eats them up from the inside when alone.

For his case, it may look like he doesn't care about what happens to him and everyone around him, considering his nonchalant and aloof behavior, but beneath that cold exterior, he cares way too much for his family, friends, and allies. He feels too much to the point where once his allies are endangered, he would sacrifice his well-being without a second thought.

And that's an issue to him.

To him, emotions make him vulnerable and in his circumstance where enemies are actively hunting him down trying to find his weak spots, his emotions should be kept behind doors because he doesn't know how to regulate it on the outside so it's either total stoicism or lashing out.

I found someone saying this line about him that fits him so well: "He's a good person who doesn't know how to be a good person."

This is a man who means well and truly wants to help out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his inability to convey his emotions properly and is unable to pick up emotional cues, it can lead to shit tons of misunderstandings due to inappropriate tone & expression, and that can change how someone views him in the long run, thus leading to unintended deterioration of personal relationships (which contribute to the social aspect of his weakness).

I found a visual representation of what I just said above. Just to give context: The show is about a married couple who struggles to keep their relationship afloat, having to navigate through family politics, work & life balance, and miscommunications so they could find why they loved each other in the first place.

The emotionally-reserved character here with the poor communication skills is the girl. She's a CEO who just received a call, came out from work, and meets with her husband, asking him to accompany her to a doctor's appointment.

Observe how she thinks she views herself VS how others actually view her as.

Other's POV: Demanding, brash, and insensitive Her POV: Anxious, hesitant, and confused

Now remember what Araki had written about Jotaro? "He doesn't believe he must reveal his emotions to others because he thinks everyone can figure him out, leading him to be a victim of misunderstandings. Others think him to be cold-hearted, rebellious, and insensitive."

II. Social

With emotions as our base foundation to poor communication skills, this leads us to his weak socialization aspect.

In a recent quote reblog about how he was raised as a child may have contributed to his tough persona, I mentioned something about his need of "Security".

Growing up, it was mostly just him and his sweet pacifist mother Holly. Joseph couldn't have visited often (he hates Japan) and his dad is a busy musician with a packed schedule on tour. As a kid up to early adolescence, he was coddled by his mother and raised as a good student. Everything was going great for him.

[In popular headcanon] Once he passed puberty, the change to his Part 3 MC era began. People began picking fights with him and bullying him, and he began to see the world as a threat to his safety. Knowing his mother, he wouldn't rely on her to defend him against these dangers. She was too kind, too friendly, too loving for her to deal with the harsh life he now has to deal with.

So he had to be the stronger one for both of them. He already had the physical attributes for it, so why not use it to his advantage?

He got on the popular delinquent trend back in 80's Japan, integrated a couple of cool masculine-esque personalities as his own from his favorite Western and Crime media, and is then able to project this menacing aura everyone should be afraid of, to ward potential threats away from him and his mother.

But Mijin, how does this make him weak? What does this have to do with his need for security?

Think about it: The poor guy's already introverted, doesn't feel comfortable with his emotions that he can't express properly, and now he has to be skeptical with people around him because he realized how shitty society can be, which leads to intimidation that wards off not only potential foes but potential friends as well, making it look like he's anti-social.

On the outside, people are likely to think that he likes being this way when in reality, he seeks a reliable support system on which he can lean onto. Everyone with a sound mind wants that subconsciously because we are social creatures. It's part of our nature.

He's constantly fearful of his surroundings, growing even more vigilant as he ages, but he doesn't look afraid because he chooses to put on a brave face to challenge said fears instead of acknowledging he's scared. I read somewhere in an ask that's not mine that in the manga, some panels actually depict Jotaro shaking/trembling in a mix of fear and adrenaline during some of his fights.

He wants to be around people who he can trust. People who he can lower his defenses with. People who are capable of protecting him just as he is capable of protecting them. People who can face his intimidating aura and challenge it to stand on equal grounds with him or to remind him of his place when he goes too far with certain things. Hence, why he seems comfortable being with the Crusaders.

For once, he wants to feel safe.

To not feel like he has to be this strong pillar of hope that everyone depends on.

To be someone being protected, instead of the other way around where he was always the strong protector. He wants a life of normalcy where he can just be a marine biologist and a professor with a loving family he can come home to.

But that can't happen. The inner circle of friends he counted on is either dead or far away, leaving him even more fearful of the world around him. This results in even more guarded skepticism, always watchful of who's an enemy Stand user and what their Stand could do. Because of his cautious nature, this leads to minimized socialization with others.

With little to no solid support system he can count on, he has no one he feels completely secure with because he believes danger will always come to hurt and/or kill those near him. He doesn't want to burden others with the issues & responsibilities of dealing with Stand users. He wants them to live the normal life he could no longer have.

He doesn't trust in the capabilities of his loved ones when it comes to defending themselves against the amount of potential threats and dangers he has faced, and yet he cares about them dearly. So, he commits to what seems to be the most practical solution in his mind: Self-Isolation.

To be a distant beacon where danger is attracted to and away from those dear to him.

(As we see in the beginning of Part 3 where he willingly locks himself in jail as soon as he sees himself as the threat, and in Part 6 where he stays away from his family once he realizes his enemies were targeting him).

"Your family is your weakness."

All this leads him to become what Araki always envisioned him to be: A lone hero.

III. Mental

Now onto the last part, this part of the essay will focus more on the popular headcanon the community has made about him: "Jotaro has PTSD."

Considering what he's been through at only 17, it would be no surprise that he'd acquired major trauma after those 50 days. Think about it- he gets injured more times than he can count, almost dies numerous times, sees his grandfather get "killed" in front of him, and all this combined with the constant reminder that his mother's life is also on a time limit. A failure to kill DIO meant a failure to save Holly.

The amount of pressure and risk he had to endure for her (and there will still be people who adamantly believe that he hated Holly because he said "bitch" to her twice in the first two episodes).

Now, remember when I said about him having this mentality of over-independence when dealing with stressors? It was still manageable during Stardust Crusaders, but because of what had transpired in Cairo, that mindset carries on to the rest of his adulthood, more so if we consider that he most likely didn't get any therapy or treatment for his trauma.

It might be normal for a teenager to hold onto this stubborn notion of "I can do this by myself" and be casual about it, but with trauma now involved, that notion warps into a persisting belief of "by doing this myself, no one else will get hurt" (i.e. refusing help, doing solo fieldwork, self-isolation).

But Mijin, you keep saying "mentality" this, "mindset" that. What are you talking about?

There's an old Tumblr post I found that talks specifically about this in great detail, but to put it shortly: Jotaro has always wanted to do things by himself because he believes that not only will the task be done with, there would be no one else involved with it, making it better for him to cope mentally if ever shit hits the fan (tying back to poor emotional expression and insecurity in bonds).

If any injuries were to be inflicted, he would be the one to receive them, and he alone, because who knows how he'll react and/or cope when his allies are harmed instead of him over and over again? (refer to the trauma of Jotaro surviving Cairo while the majority of the team that went with him died a.k.a "survivor's guilt")

(Also, refer to how he had exhibited great distress when Jolyne was about to be struck by a rain of knives that Pucci sent)

This might also be the reason why he's more self-sacrificial as an adult: Will be the bait during the rat episode instead of Josuke, takes the brunt of Sheer Heart Attack's explosion to spare Koichi, dives straight onto a path of bullets to save Jolyne, etc.

The only possible solution so he could snap out of that belief he holds on to is that strong, reliable support system he internally needs. People who can help him without sustaining fatal injuries in the process [social]. People who he can approach to release any pent-up frustrations and inner conflicts [emotional].

If he had found those people, then he might have been able to deal and/or cope with his trauma better instead of letting it linger and change his outlook in life [mental].

But we all know how his life went in canon. One moment he's a kid playing ball with his mother, then in his last, he dies by having his head bisected by a time-altering Stand.

Jotaro is a person with a gold heart and a rough exterior. Someone who wants to help and protect his loved ones from the unpredictability of the world the best that he can. But even then, his best wasn't enough. His fear was masked with an air of strength and capability, perhaps as compensation for everything else he lacked:

Adequate processing of emotions.

Stable connection with familial, platonic, and romantic bonds.

A sound mindset that stems from effective coping for his PTSD.

We could only hope in headcanon land that he had a better chance at life in the Ireneverse where he finally could develop his inner core better and get that long-deserved break he had always wanted.

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale does NOT need to suffer MORE

Can't believe I have to say this. TW: grief, mourning, death (sorry) I have, since falling into the fandom 6 months ago to escape real life, seen many takes on how Aziraphale needs to (or at least should) suffer in S3 to match Crowley's suffering. As the counterpart to the moment Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale as he's looking for him desperately in the burning bookshop....

...after this he drinks, we suppose, to dull his pain, waiting for the Armageddon. Or, for the way Crowley suffers at the bandstand argument, the 'I Forgive You' moments, which many people find utterly devastating and incredibly heartless from Aziraphale. Not to mention when he doesn't react in the 'right way' to Crowley's confession in the Final 15. And then on top of that, 'abandons' Crowley. For Heaven. Oh and also for, and I quote: "The smug and entitled way Aziraphale went around in S2 assuming Crowley would love and follow him everywhere." And so for all this pain that Crowley endured for him, Aziraphale should suffer in S3 (to I assume) even out the scores. Or... to deserve Crowley. Some people also want to see him lose it, show his emotions, to cry or beg or otherwise show how much he misses Crowley and how very sorry he is for what he has (so thoughtlessly) done.

Now for the TW grief content I motioned above. You can skip to the next sentence in bold.

I was on holiday late September last year, visiting my mum, stepfather and my two younger brothers. We went to a cousin's wedding. It was great. The day after, as I was hanging out reading a book, my mum got a call. The kind of call every mother fears. My youngest brother (he was 27) died in an accident. We needed to speak to police and the coroner. She cried and cried. She's still crying. She asks questions. She gets no answers. I...did not cry. I talked to the police. I googled a funeral home. I bought my brother his last set of clothes. He lived in a hoodie and torn black jeans. Mum wanted a suit. I texted a lot of people. I bought snacks for the many friends who came to the funeral and wanted to speak to us after. My grief feels like a vice. I am not sad. I do not appear sad. Contrary to what people expect. But I am ANGRY. I am furious. But nobody can see this. I am not fine and I wish no one would ever* ask how I was again. TW/Personal content over. WE ALL SUFFER DIFFERENTLY Since I was small (because I am weird like that) I genuinely wondered if, finding myself in danger, I could scream like people in films do. I don't think I could. I cope with hard situations, fear and stress and anxiety by shutting down, sometimes by retreating as well, and by furiously (but quietly) trying to find a way out. And I think Aziraphale does the same. And that's why I love him so much. And why I feel I get him and understand that people sometimes can't tell how much he's actually feeling. I also express love the way Aziraphale does - by organising things for people, inviting them places, making plans. When Crowley said you call me for three things (and it's basically any old reason) I felt SO SEEN. This is what I would do with a friend who I know is feeling unmoored, sad, stuck (Crowley's 'What's the point of it all' at the beginning of S2). I'd text them with any old thing. I'd never actually say I love you, but I would try to get them to talk, meet me, go somewhere. Aziraphale does not express emotions the same way as Crowley.

But his emotions are valid nonetheless. He is worried for Crowley from around 3 minutes into their acquaintanceship. And he NEVER stops worrying from then on.

And are we quite sure he has never lost Crowley?

How many times did Aziraphale's heart freeze in horror when he realised Hell has taken Crowley and he had no idea if he'll ever come back and what is happening to him?

How did Aziraphale spend the night after vanquishing the demons and starting a war? He had no idea where Crowley was. What happened to him. He was probably sick with worry that Hell just took him away. We didn't see him drink and cry, but surely, the worry must have been overwhelming. The wait for what will happen now.

ALL his worries over the Arrangement. Was he worried for himself? Do we really think that?

Crowley thought he lost Aziraphale in S1, yes, we saw that. And what happened to the angel then?

He got blown into atoms which I bet wasn't pleasant and when he arrives in Heaven he limps. Why is he hurt? And why is he quickly pretending he isn't? Why is he always hiding how he feels? Also, he immediately deserts, wants no part in the Holy War and quickly finds an extremely unconventional way to get back. It's not a grand gesture, he doesn't deliberate, doesn't worry that he will Fall (although surely that must have been what he thought will happen if he survives this), there's no pomp around it, he thinks it and then does it. No hesitation.

Is this coming from an angel who just can't leave Heaven behind and longs to be a part of it? Who loves to follow rules? And let's not forget in those moments Aziraphale thought Crowley was most likely gone. That he probably left for Alpha Centauri. Last he heard from him he was told he was talking to an old friend and had no time for him. Why we NEVER talk about how that might have felt for Aziraphale? About his sadness?

Things are not as simple as Aziraphale has been supressing his emotions and lying to himself about how he feels and he should get over it and become free. That's not how this works. First of all, he was suppressing his emotions OUT OF LOVE. His main goal was always to keep Crowley safe. They simply couldn't run away or hoodwink Heaven and Hell. They had nowhere to go. They had no hope and yet they kept loving each other. That's courage. I know we all grew up with Romeo and Juliet and Heathcliff and Cathy and we FORGOT that those were CAUTIONARY tales. And this is not what Aziraphale wants for them. He would never allow himself to go so fast he would hurt Crowley. He feels guilty enough for agreeing to the Arrangement and for meeting Crowley at all when he knows they can be discovered and punished at any point. And Crowley knows it and RESPECTS it. He does not tolerate Aziraphale's decision to not go on a date and to hell with circumstances. He understands Aziraphale's reasoning and he respects Aziraphale's decision. Don't forget, they have NO POWER. They can't change Heaven and Hell. They can't stop believing in God and work on their religious trauma. Their Heaven and Hell are real places with real power and they both BELONG to them. Aziraphale's trauma and his personality are deeply intertwined and he'd probably never be the kind of person who is open in showing their grief or stress like Crowley does. He will learn to be more open, I'm sure. With his love especially, we see him reaching for and touching his demon in S2. Openly being with him, looking at him without guarding himself. They got a little bit of freedom for themselves despite ALL odds. So. Just because Aziraphale is not crying and screaming and I dunno, tearing his hair out or whatever some people would have him do, does not mean he isn't overflowing with pain, fear, uncertainty, doubts, worries, and so much anxiety that if he let it all out, half of the solar system would turn to ashes.

Aziraphale does not need to suffer in S3 to level out Crowley's suffering. They are, unfortunately, equal in their pain as they are in love. If there is one thing Crowley would never abide, it'd be this take from the fandom. * One more note on grief: (obviously from my personal experience) As initiated by @anthony-crowleys-left-nut in a comment

It's not that I mind to know people care and worry etc, not at all. But asking how I am can only end up in me lying (fine, thank you) and both of us knowing it's not really true and feeling awkward or not lying (I feel like shit, mostly cos I can't sleep and think the world is a stupid, unfair place) and both of us feeling awkward anyway. Does that make sense? I wish I could tell friends/colleagues to ask what I've been up to or something similar instead. What I've been reading (um, AO3, but I'll make something up), watching, do I want to go see some spring flowers bloom (I do). I think...this would probably work not just for someone who is grieving but also for someone who you know is dealing with depression for example or a serious illness etc. Edit 2. It's now almost (in 15 days) a year since my brother died. The random attacks of pain and grief have lessened and I have started to do more of the things I enjoyed before... and I am able to answer how are you questions without feeling like they are trying to mock me (the questions, not the people). So I suppose things do get ... lighter? More diffused? I'm not sure. Because it's still exactly as unfair that my brother has not lived this past year as it will be however many years I will be here without him I expect.

[ennn]

Re: “Rio's goal is to kill Agatha so she can be with her forever”

My brother in Christ, if Rio's ultimate goal this series was to kill Agatha we wouldn't have gotten past the first episode.

Okay okay, I get how it can be confusing because Rio literally says she wants to see Agatha dead in episode one and tells Agatha she'll let the Salem Seven (who do want Agatha dead) know where she is.

But it is noteworthy that Rio tells Agatha what she is going to do and when the Salem Seven are expected to arrive. Rio is usually surprisingly fair in how she deals with Agatha.

Rio has always met Agatha at her power level

In episode one, even assuming Agatha was protected by Wanda's spell and Rio couldn't harm her there, once it was broken Rio went "full analog" – to quote Hahn – with her knife, the only magic she used being the wind blasts.

Guys, that's not a serious murder attempt, that's foreplay to them. Violent, bloody, sexy foreplay.

Also Rio has healing powers. That's a thing they have very clearly shown.

To be clear, my read is that Rio can't actually kill anyone before their time ("You can't kill me, it's not allowed") just hurt them really really badly until they maybe choose to die ("I can make you wish you were dead"). Which you could argue equals killing I suppose, just slower.

But this is Agatha Harkness: all she really needs to survive is a bit of time to scheme and manipulate and do her usual girlbossing, gatekeeping, and gaslighting – and I think Rio also knows this. Agatha keeps surprising her, for better and worse.

Yes, Rio gets BIG MAD in episode 8 because Agatha says possibly The Worst Thing to her but the first part of their confrontation is technically physical torture, not murder attempts.

I know it sounds like I'm splitting hairs here but my point is that having Agatha dead isn't Rio's ultimate #1 goal. It's not so clean and easy.

There's something to be said about how the wounds Rio inflicts speak to how Rio sees herself hurt by Agatha emotionally in the relationship i.e. death by a thousand cuts, the severing of her Achilles tendon.

There’s probably something also be said about the relationship a being like Rio has with physical pain. Trees feel pain. Everything living does. Rio mocks Agatha for dulling herself to it using dark magic.

But I digress.

Anyway, note: it's only after Agatha gets magic back that Rio starts throwing magic blasts – and even then she seems to be holding back.

These two are possibly the worst two witches to fight each other directly like this because Agatha can't absorb Rio's magic or she'll die. She has to actively block or avoid all hits. And I bet this isn't something Agatha is used to dealing with considering she had no issues taking Wanda's magic.

And Rio is aware of this because she’s just lobbing quick little green blasts Agatha's way. It's not a torrent of magic like what Agatha is gleefully unleashing.

It's also the Watsonian (in-universe) explanation as to why this fight is so short. Because you literally can't straight up fight Death. Rio is a hard counter to Agatha's special siphoning ability just like how Agatha was a hard counter to Wanda's magic (insert your scissors-paper-stone visual of choice).

Rio doesn't want Agatha dead, she wants Agatha to want her

It's clear that Rio is grieving when Agatha dies. This isn't the outcome she wants. They're also both crying during the kiss it's great.

Rio wants what Agatha specifically tries to deny in the deal Agatha proposes: she wants to keep pursuing Agatha, to keep seeing her, provoking her, to be shocked and surprised by her. To keep loving her but also, to keep hurting her.

Because Agatha also hurts her right back. And Agatha knows she has Rio constantly on the emotional backfoot, that Rio – despite centuries of hatred thrown her way – still humours her more often than not and what levers to push.

I don't think this can happen with Agatha dead and gone.

To be fair, we don't know what the rules are in this world's afterlife. The only insight we get into Rio's job is her scene with Alice and that still leaves a lot of things unanswered: Does Rio just escort souls to a destination or does she have more control beyond that, like a domain? Can souls refuse to go with Rio? How do ghosts happen?

I had previously assumed Rio needed to allow it but Schaeffer says that her vision in that moment has Agatha's using an evolved form of the power to take Rio's magic by touch.

And with that, it's telling that it's Agatha who ultimately ensures that she dies (with the "calculated risk" of becoming a ghost), siphoning Rio's death magic energy.

Agatha embraces death, embraces Rio, but she also doesn't – Rio's clever witch got away again.

[afsosville]

This is just an /opinion/ and I'm just tryna find ppl that agree with me.

I do not think having kids could quote on quote "fix" Shen Jiu, biological or otherwise. 1) A kid should not bear the responsibility to be that emotionally invested in the shit mental health of their caregiver. Don't make any child go through that. And 2) Nothing about any child could make Shen Jiu be a decent caregiver out of his own volition (sure, he was nice to NYY and probably did care for her, but that's about how far it went ejrrjf tho I'll gladly eat up AUs where he does treat her like a daughter when he knows how to care for a kid properly).

Good luck trying to make Shen Jiu get his shit together unless you're actually changing things about his past. The easiest "fix" imo is to give Shen Jiu an ADULT, heavy emphasis on this, an ADULT that could invest in his mental/emotional wellbeing when Shen Jiu is still a kid or a teen. How else do you expect Shen Jiu to be a responsible adult around kids when he's never had a responsible adult to care for him at all?

There's not a single authority figure in Shen Jiu's life that's ever done him good, not QJL, not WY, and SJ's own shizun, the prev. QJPL is up for debate but I have reasons to believe why they ain't shit too. And like hear me out, YQY doesn't count either coz SJ *thinks* YQY is another caregiver that gave up on him and didn't take responsibility for him. And obviously that's not true, but that's just how it is from his perspective sadly.

I still really like Shen Jiu's dark backstory, coz there's no Shen Jiu without it, buuuuuuuut if you really want a version of him that doesn't take that bullshit out on his disciples, do give him an ADULT, coz never a kid, give him and adult first, before you give him any kids, so he can LEARN HOW TO BE AN ADULT.

Ykwim???

Anyways, this is why older SY/ younger SJ is best Shen Bros dynamic don't try to change my mind.

Here's some Shen Bros fics that are like that >>

Locked and Loaded by Hellister

These Gentle Hands Will by anorangecarrot

Reversal of Fortune by Grace_Youya

The Shadows that Raised Me by Lbhs_left_tiddie

[etherealily]

𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 // 𝙉𝙁𝙅!

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. SFW, but discretion advised. Drugs.

I don't know if this is milder or darker than the previous parts, but I do know that it is LONG.

Part 1 : Whiplash

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : You're fun and you're wild, but you don't know the half of the shit that you put me through

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

TUESDAY, LIBRARY, 4 PM.

"We need to talk."

Suddenly, Carl Jung had never been more interesting, your eyes unable to rip away from the words on the paper in front of them, ignoring Nate as much as possible.

Your shoulder suddenly jerked, and a soft whisper followed. "Hey. We need to talk."

Frowning, your eyes darted between the two Jacobs brothers, the looks on their faces not strict, but the most infuriatingly stoic gazes mankind had ever known.

"You had quite a weekend, right? Anything crazy happen?"

The real question Aaron was asking was whether you were going to talk about it.

"Nope, just lots of psych homework."

"See, this is why I'm telling you to drop Psych. Unnecessary stress.", remarked Nate, his fingers rapping on the table in an almost musical pattern. Almost, because music is art, and there was nothing artistic about the false smile he was giving you.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"How are the rest of classes going?" Small talk?

"Great. Chem is pissing me off, though."

"Eh, well, only nerds are good at Chem, and I don't fuck with nerds. So you're lucky."

Oh, thanks, man. Such an honour.

"Are you good at Chem?"

"I pass."

"Where'd you get time to study? What with all the vapes and parties and quote-unquote 'dozens of bitches'?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "I got good work-life balance.", he replied, leaning on his arms closer to you. His head tilted and you knew something psychotic was about to happen. Well, it was Nate. You knew something psychotic was about to happen the second he walked in.

"I'll bet."

He smiled at that. "Are you my friend, Y/N? Are we friends?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. We're on the same page.", he hissed, moving in closer, glaring at you with the same eyes that had been acting as a dam to his true emotions two nights ago. "You can't tell anyone." His fingers deftly twirled your hair around before tucking it behind your ear.

"About?"

"Saturday."

"How you threw a lamp at me?"

"What you heard about my Dad. What he wanted to... what he said. What you learnt about our family."

"I won't."

"No, seriously, Y/N, don't fucking play with me right now. You'll regret it if you do."

"I'm not playing around, either. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good.", sniped Aaron. "'Cause we'll fucking ruin your life if you do."

"Aaron.", whispered Nate, shaking his head. "She already said she wouldn't."

"And you trust her?! She walked in with this polite girl attitude and then when shit got tough, she yelled at you with Mom just a room away. And you told me she wanted to fuck Da-"

"Aaron, shut the FUCK up, okay? She said she isn't going to, so she won't." The glares were back on you, an unwelcome blanket in the heat of tension.

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to have to say stuff about you , too."

"Aaron, I said fuckin' drop it."

"No, she gotta know what's at stake, or she's going to take this shit lightly."

You could almost see the vein pop in Nate's head.

"Nate, what... what stuff?"

"It's nothing. Just... we needed incentive.", he muttered, shrugging.

"What incentive?"

"You're buddy-buddy with a drug dealer, Y/N.", he continued, although, to his credit, it seemed with a little reluctance. "And he has access to a lot of shit, right? Who knows if he's ever slipped something into your drink and... y'know."

"What the FUCK? What the FUCK, NATE?"

His idea of incentive was making you a rape victim?!

Being shushed by the librarian solidified your thirst for homicide.

"I mean, you fucked Shane voluntarily, so you're already a fuckin' whore.", he declared, shrugging again as if he was just stating that the sky would be lit up by fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Maybe he just thought it would be easier, without all the playing-hard-to-get-shit. You're close enough that he trusts you to watch over his store."

"You can't FUCKING be serious! FEZCO WOULD NEVER FUCKING-"

"How sad, you're in denial.", tutted Aaron, pouting. "How would you know? He could have used shit stronger than Rohypnol, ya know? Shit that could knock you out cold for hours, and maybe he even called a couple of his trapper buddies-"

Aaron shut up quite quickly when your knuckles met his jaw, but started cussing you out when Nate pulled you off of him. "We're just saying, Y/N, you don't tell anyone the truth of that night, we won't tell them the lies about Fezco."

You pointed your finger at Nate's chest, hoping to god that that would distract him from the rage-induced tears pooling in your eyes.

"You're a fucking coward, Jacobs. With a pervert dad. A fucking coward who can't admit that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing."

"Big words coming from a girl that was raped by her dealer."

OH, someone needs to euthanize this motherfucker.

FUCK. NATE. JACOBS.

TUESDAY, 9PM

Nate had no fucking clue why he was doing this.

He was just drunk, he supposed. Drunk and horny. Average teenage experience.

But it's like.. he could've done anything. ANYTHING else. He could've actually gone to the party, picked up some girl, screwed her into the bed.

But no.

He sat there, scrolling through the fucking SlutPages. For who?Shane's sister, maybe, because of the inexplicable hatred he'd been feeling for him for about a month that he couldn't really think of a reason for? You would think, wouldn't you?

He looked for you.

There was no way you were a virgin. But he should've known there was also no way you were a slut. Or at least, that you were smart enough not to end up there.

He almost fucking threw the phone onto the wall. Fuck.

And you'd blocked him. That was the problem. He couldn't even text you. And he didn't have your fucking phone number, Jesus fucking Christ, he should've gotten it! Relying on something as flimsy as social fucking media was stupid. Idiot.

Wait. Social media.

He quickly slid his chair over to his computer, his hands moving with a pace and mind of their own.

No fucking way would he admit this, but his brother... had some good ideas, once in a while.

When he was fourteen, he'd been wide-eyed, watching through the crack through a door as his older brother -17 at the time- created an account, some random username, some girly bullshit, and then gone Incognito, finding a picture to add.

And then he watched as his brother spent hours poring through pictures of girls - at the time, Nate's seniors- and then suddenly sigh.

"You know, you breathe like fucking Darth Vader?" "What's that?", he'd asked, ignoring that comment and padding over to sit next to him. "This account? I'll tell you, but it- it's like... private brother shit, ok?"

"Shit". What a novel word that was at the time.

"Okay." "Spit-swear it, runt."

He spit-swore. A thing he never fucking did again.

"You can use it. Whenever you're down bad for a chick but you're blocked." "Why would a chick I'm down bad for block me?" "You're so obviously fourteen."

And god fucking damnit, was he.

Not that he was down bad for you. But all he'd say is if this wasn't love, it was pretty fucking close. Why you enthralled him, no clue. You were so easy to rile up, but hard to push too far. You always seemed to be limitless.

He logged in.

Good, the loser, Crestin, posted a story.

Good, you were there in the background.

Great, you were hot.

Bad, you were drinking. Tequila. Wasn't that you and Nate's thing?

Of course, he wouldn't presume to have taken your tequila-V-Card, but he most definitely would have assumed that you'd associate tequila with him. With that night. He'd assumed you'd stay away from it, metaphorically forsaking him in the process.

But no.

Shane's tequila was non-traumatic, and apparently delicious. Ugh.

This simply would not do.

TUESDAY, SHANE'S PARTY, 11PM

"No, NO, GET the FUCK away from me!", you warned, pointing a finger at him. You should've taken his advice and learnt to shoot. "I'm warning you, Jacobs!"

Shane's party was meant to be the one place you could be to avoid Nate, seeing as the host was some sort of Nate-repellent, but NO, you'd just apparently underestimated Nate Jacobs once again.

And here he was, his hand gripping your wrist - just like the rope you wanted to grip his neck - and glaring down at you as if you'd just killed his entire family but he was mildly turned on by it.

"Y/N, just fucking listen! Just- stop causing a scene! Fuckin' LISTEN!", he ordered, grabbing your shoulder with one palm and pointing at you with the other hand, to stop you from writhing away from him.

"You can't just do what you did last week and then expec-"

He kissed you. What did he think this was, fucking Disney Channel?

"NO! NO!", you shouted, shoving him away and secretly hoping for a car to hit him as he stumbled back.

No such luck.

It really was the world according to Nate, wasn't it?

"You know it's okay, right? It's alright."

"What?"

"It's okay to want me.", he informed you, as if he was telling you it was okay to sing in the shower.

Everyone does it. It's like, a thing, relax.

"It's okay.", he continued, "People want what's bad for them all the time.", he murmured, his thumb tracing your lip like he was tracing out a line he wanted so desperately to cross. "It's human nature."

"You think I'm bad for you?"

He took a deep breath, as if he was about to tell you you were terminal. "I think you're good for my soul. Like a baptism without the water." His thumb moved further into your mouth, just barely grazing your teeth.

"Even you have no clue what that meant, admit it."

"It's called effect, Y/N. Drama. Intrigue. Doesn't have to make sense."

You stared up at him, waiting for elaboration, and that earned a huff from him as he looked around at the other people in the front yard - doing lines, making out, throwing up - before turning back to you. "No, honey, I don't think you're bad for me. In fact, I think you're unnecessarily good for me."

"Unnecessarily?"

"As in, I don't need your energy."

"Then why are you so insistent on being around it? 'Cause you want to fuck me?"

"No! Jesus. It's in the name, Y/N. GOOD luck charm. You help me do GOOD in my games. You're good energy."

"What's next? You gonna tell me my birthstone?"

"Oh, shut up.", he chuckled, shaking his head as he moved your jaw from side-to-side in what seemed to be a playful gesture, but at this point, could very well have been him trying to ascertain which cheek to shoot into or something. "You got your licks in. We good?"

"Good? No. NO. We're not good! You threatened someone I love, so no fuckin' way are we good!"

"I know, I know. Aaron wanted me to-"

"BULLSHIT!"

He sighed, as if you were his deranged relative who was climbing up some telephone pole.

"YOU just can't handle the fact that I saw you almost fucking cry! I caught you weak, and that's a power shift, and you don't FUCKING like it, do you?!"

His jaw ticked for a moment, but he managed to let out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. And then, as if what you said wasn't quite literally exactly what he was feeling, he asked, "Are you done?"

"NO, I'm not fucking done! I still haven't got to the part where you threatened to accuse him of rape, which is a fucking terrible thing to joke about in the first pla-"

"Look, man, I don't have time for this shit, okay? I'm not hurting Fezco! I came here so I could tell you something."

"My GOD, Nate, you made your point! I won't tell anyone!", you groaned, snatching a drink from some already-tipsy guy's hand and downing it.

"That's totally hygienic.", he remarked, eyes finally tearing away from you as you both watched the drunkard stumble over a girl who was getting rid of her lunch and breakfast in the bushes.

"I got new incentive.", he murmured, his forehead against yours, and his thumb rubbing your cheek as if it owned land there.

"What, now you're going make Shane out to be a rapist, too?"

Not a bad idea, actually. The corners of his mouth curled down, and he scanned your face as if he were actually thinking about it, eliciting a tsk from you.

He hid a chortle as he continued. "I'm offering you a deal. You were right, back at the bleachers about the control thing."

He was about to ask you to sell your soul, you could fucking feel it.

"So... you get to control me. For however long you need. Like, a month, a week, whatever. Just don't tell anyone about my family."

Whoa. Plot twist. You did not expect him to sell his soul.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure. So if I asked you to show up to school naked?"

"Yes, I'd show up to school naked for you. But it's funny seeing me naked is your first instinct."

His trust issues were suddenly working out in your favour- he was essentially offering himself up as collateral.

"If I ask you to announce a formal apology to me on a bullhorn before your game?"

"I just want you to leave my family alone, Y/N."

So that's where Nate Jacobs' humanity began. At his family. Noted.

"I promise. I'll do anything." The urge to say 'then die' was strong, but not invincible.

You wracked your brain looking for something you could make this psychopath do that would not cause him immense pleasure.

"Ah, see? Being the one in control isn't all it's cracked up to be. Too much power, and you don't even know what to do with it.", he taunted, pouting as he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead harder against yours. "Think. What is it you want from me?"

What the fuck did you want him to do?

"Do you want an apology? No, 'cause I've already given you plenty and you don't want meaningless things, do you?" His lips lightly touched yours and you could swear he smirked when you flinched on reflex.

But no. That wasn't what you wanted. He was spot-on.

"You want... do you want money? I'm a trust fund baby, essentially, right? My father basically owns the town. Sure, I could hook you up. Royal Enfield, BMW. Or, if you want, Chanel? But that won't cost me anything, at least not emotionally, yeah? So no. That's not it, either."

Why did you suddenly feel like your thoughts were transferring into his head?

"You want me? You want to cut me up, just like I forced you to watch me do to myself? You want to hold a gun to my throat like I did to you? No, because I'd low-key like it."

Yes, he would. So no, you didn't want it.

"C'mon, think. I'm at your mercy, I'm all yours. There's definitely one thing you want and you're just too much of a pussy to say it."

Why were you letting him do this? Why did you just accept that it was the world according to Nate?

"You wanna know what I think, huh? Huh? I'll tell you what I think.", he murmured. "I think you want me to care."

That got your attention. "Care?"

"I think you actually want me to give a shit about you, so you can justify to yourself why you keep lettin' this happen, don'tcha?", he asked, thumb rubbing your jawline. "You want me to stop acting like this whole thing between us is a game. You want me to acknowledge what I'm doing to you."

You hated this. You hated when men were right - it was ridiculous. And you absolutely despised when Nate was right, because it was dangerous.

"Look, I just want you out of my life, Nate.", you lied.

That had come out way too fast. That was the easiest thing he could do. That was the kindest thing you could have ordered him to do. That was mercy.

So why was he acting like you'd just asked him to jump into a fire?

"That's it?"

He didn't buy it. And neither did you. Because yes, you'd technically be very reasonable to want him out of your life. But no, the danger, the unnecessarily sexy amount of mortal peril you'd be in every second that you were around him- it was your fucked up version of heroin.

"I don't think you understand just what you're asking. You're going to miss me."

You scoffed and he shrugged, in a gesture that only seemed pitiful, as though he were allowing you to believe that for the time being.

'Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, baby', you could almost hear him snark.

"What if I miss you?"

You shrugged, downing another shot - one you'd stolen from a drunk girl this time. "I dunno. Just don't."

"You'll still come to games? Fist-bump me?"

"Still come to games? I guess, maybe? I'll high-five you, or something."

"I'll think it over." Wait, wasn't he the one who was making an offer?

═════════════════════ 🧿 ════════════════════

He found you almost fifteen minutes later, probably after mulling it over with a drink.

"I accept your terms. I'll go out of your life, starting Monday. However, I've got a little som'n som'n to show you.".

An AK-47? An atom-bomb? A grave he dug specially for you?

"It's a surprise. Only an hour. That's all I'm asking."

Only your sanity. That's all he was asking.

You'd promised yourself you'd never take anything from Nate Jacobs again, and you'd stuck to it.

I mean.

That was until he'd offered you molly.

Molly made you happy.

Molly made you forget stuff, like college apps, the loss of your internship and the fact that you'd basically been lying to your family the entirety of last week about the scar on your forehead.

But how he'd found that out was a question for the ages. And he seemed to know exactly what molly did to you.

And you best believe he was milking it.

"I want to get a tattoo."

"Okay...?"

"Correction : I want us to get a tattoo.", he whispered, before tsk-ing at your derisive snort. "C'mon, you get to draw whatever you want on me and I'll get it tattooed, I promise!"

"Tattoos are permanent, Nate."

"And you know what? So am I. In your life. In your head. On your lips.", he reminded, grinning mischievously, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You barely fought against him - the ecstasy sprinting through your blood vessels - and you found yourself lying back on the grass, his hands bracketing your hair.

"Just fucking draw something on me, Y/N. Come on. And I'll draw something on you. Yeah? Sound good?", he asked, his hand creeping up your shirt with surprising reverence.

He chuckled breathily against your lips, shaking his head as he rolled off you, lying next to you.

"I'll draw something nice and meaningful. And you get to, as well. Nothing cheesy, though. Like a fucking arrow-heart or an anchor or some shit."

"How about a star?"

"What, a star is not cheesy? That's the cheesiest thing ever. That's the pussy tattoo.", he muttered, before looking up at your eyes, sighing magnanimously. "What kind of star?"

"The ones that are hard to draw. With all the lines."

"Really, Y/N? I give you the chance to mark my body up and you want the hardest thing to draw from second grade?"

"Where'd you want it?"

"Where will you be willing to touch me?"

That was a million dollar question. Willing is a very subjective term.

"Neck. Under my ear."

You nodded, taking the pen he'd brought and gently tracing out a couple stars under his neck. He played with some of your hair that had fallen in front of his face, with terrifying dedication, as you did so. "Yeah. Done. You actually getting this tattooed?"

"Now you.", he ordered, grabbing your wrist, not answering the question. Red flag number eleven thousand. The pen lid in his mouth and a focused furrow to his brow, he began drawing.

"Infinity symbol.", he informed you, before you could even ask.

"Why?"

"I dunno. It's meaningful. 'To infinity and beyond'. Favourite Disney Movie, right?"

"That is not my favourite-"

"Yeah, well, it's mine. Buzz Lightyear is like, my hero.", he muttered, rubbing his thumb over the drawing and then kissing it softly, all while looking at you.

"Really? You seem like a Big Hero 6 guy to me."

He laughed deeper. "You always take me so seriously."

"Fuuuck, I know I'm not supposed to say this..."

He lolled his head over to you. "You could tell me you're Ted Bundy reincarnate and I'd still smash."

You decided to ignore that comment. "I'm not supposed to say this, but... but I get why Rue did it. Like Jesus fucking Christ."

He nodded in understanding, looking at the tiny packet that still had a couple pills in it. "She was just too weak to limit herself. But we got no limits. You got infinity on your wrist."

"Look, Nate, I can't tattoo that shit. My family would kill themselves."

"Same."

"Then why did you-"

"We're gonna do something that could go either way. It could either freak you out or turn you on. On the off chance that it's both, then we're more similar than you realize.", he slurred, lazily brushing hair behind your ear. "'Kay?"

"What are we gonna do?", you asked, trying your hardest to pull away, but the ecstasy made you genuinely defenceless against human touch. And it didn't help that Nate was holding your arms tightly down on the ground, as if he were trying to plant roots.

"We're going to carve the tattoos."

He said it so conspiratorially. As though this was your secret to surviving the zombie apocalypse. And his fucking eyes. Glowing like fireworks. Glowing like a child finally being told he could get what he wanted for Christmas.

"WHAT?!"

He licked his lips with an almost roll of his eyes as he looked up at you, because you were so clearly overreacting, right? Slitting your own skin in the shape of an infinity on it was a perfectly normal teenage activity. Of course. Drinking, smoking, fucking, slicing.

"I'll do it. I'm experienced, as you know.", he scoffed, his lips at your shoulder now. "We only have about fifteen minutes left of your curfew, Y/N, please. Please? Play nice."

The molly was clouding your senses, clearly. You could tell because a) you were still having this conversation and b) you didn't even question how he knew what time your curfew was, and c) you hadn't punched him yet.

"Think about it, it's less permanent than a tattoo, baby, please."

And then he placed another one of those little pink pills on your tongue, pressing down and forcing you to swallow.

MONDAY.

The scream came too late to your liking.

You'd tried to scream faster, but everything had come rushing back to you. The fever dream was not a dream. It's always relieving when terrible 'realities' end up only being dreams. It's a different kind of terror when you realize that the nightmare was real.

The number eighteen was etched on your wrist like a pathetic mark, like... like a brand.

You couldn't even begin to figure out just what the fuck that was supposed to be. Eighteen? How was that meaningful? The year it becomes legal to have sex? Freedom, maybe? Joy?

He wanted this aneurysm in your head. He'd placed it there.

FUCK !

FRIDAY.

"What? What is it you want?!"

He frowned, his face softening out of genuine confusion, making him look almost comically harmless in the harsh stadium lighting. "You said you'd still fist-bump me."

"What does 18 mean?"

He shrugged, holding out his fist. You rolled your eyes, bumping it with your own. And then, after telling yourself you were imagining the ghost of a smirk on his lips, you froze. Because he'd turned, running off to the middle of the field. You saw his back.

His jersey. 18. FUCK. He blew you a kiss about two seconds before the ball was passed to him. 18. FUCK.

"Did you just fist-bump Nate?"

"Yeah."

"Why?", asked Maddy, scoffing softly.

"He was talking to me about the project and then he said he had to go, so I wished him luck and... I guess I fist-bumped him."

"Oh, yeah, ew, the project. How's that going?"

"I scrapped it."

"Why?", she questioned, after shaking her pom-poms and screaming out some over-enthusiastic cheer.

"I don't fucking like him. At all. He's a DICK."

"What? No way. I had no idea.", she muttered sardonically, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "But was it, like, really bad?"

You nodded.

"After the game, you wanna do molly?"

"No." The reply was almost immediate.

"You don't wanna do molly? Don't bullshit me. Shut up. You're doing it with me."

You'd have hugged Maddy for knowing you so well if you weren't so focused on the big, blue, number 18 running on the field, matching the big, red one staying still on your wrist.

FRIDAY, 9PM

Staying over at Maddy's was an offer you shouldn't have declined, because it was getting genuinely infuriating how Nate found out things.

You were still extremely lacking in sobriety when he'd crawled into your bed that night, covering your mouth to make sure you didn't scream. How? Million dollar question.

"You want me to tell you a secret?"

"A secret? Wait, not some bullshit about my lips that you came up with?"

"I listened to Queen."

You sat up. "WHAT?"

He chuckled, sitting up as well and tilting his head while resting it on his knees. "What? Elvis, too. I even watched Blue Hawaii. I low-key liked it. Why? Would it have changed your mind?"

You frowned for a moment, before shaking your head. "Still would've been nice to know."

"Okay, how about you just kiss me now, Rue 2.0?", he asked, tracing out the number eighteen on your wrist before looking up at you through slightly furrowed brows. That was a challenge, of sorts, that gaze.

"You have something to ask me." Didn't take a genius to figure it out. Insinuation was painted all over his face. He had an accusation and he needed you to defend it.

"When Shane fucked you, where'd he come?"

You frowned, staring at him for a moment. "Yo, I- what? Where is this coming from?"

"At practice he was saying he fucked you."

"He's a dickwad, of course he did."

"It doesn't bother you that he's spreading that shit?"

"If I paid attention to every rumour some butthurt, fragile-ego jock spread about me, I wouldn't have time to fucking study."

"Your reputation's gone, though. That's fine for you?"

You sucked on your teeth for a moment before exhaling. "You're here to find out if I'm easy?"

He looked at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"If I did this, Y/N, would you stop me?", he asked, shifting to his knees at the foot of the bed. "Hm? If I just...", he trailed off, kissing up your knee to your thigh.

"Nate. Stop."

"That's not stopping me.", he murmured, gripping your back and yanking you closer.

You kicked him away, grimacing. "Get out."

He gazed up at you, and for a moment there, it seemed like he was rooting for you, for the rumours to just be cruel rumours and not true.

"Get OUT!"

"You can't let me kiss you and then just... it doesn't work like that."

The world looked glittery and he looked godly kneeling down there.

His tongue licked slowly up your inner thigh. "C'mon. Take it off. It's just me."

"Get out."

He rolled his eyes, yanking your shorts down himself. "I fucking...", he murmured, voice muffled against your skin. "Love you."

"You don't fucking love me!" You were struggling but it was fruitless.

"I could."

"Get out, I'm not bullshitting."

"C'mon.", he murmured, reaching up to unhook your bra before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "C'mon."

"No! Get off!" His hand held you down.

"Just let me-", he muttered, his fingers finally removing your underwear as he pressed a chaste kiss higher up your thigh. Your breath hitched and his smirk widened, albeit, with a bit of disappointment. "There we go."

Kicking him away, you finally snapped. Maybe it was the molly. Maybe it was his tongue. Maybe it was the fact that he'd somehow found out that molly made you make extremely bad decisions. Maybe it was the fact that he knew you wanted nothing more than to fuck him that night.

"GET THE FUCK OUT, NATE! YOU SAID YOU'D LEAVE ME ALONE MONDAY, IT'S FRIDAY! GET THE FUCK OUT, PLEASE!" He took every kick and every punch like a total champ, you'd give him that.

The disappointment left, and he smiled, softly, caringly, like a mother hanging up her child's drawing on the fridge, as he wiped your tears away.

Standing up, he grabbed your hair, staring into your eyes so deeply you were half-wondering if they'd changed colour, before patting your shoulder. "I'm proud of you."

Proud for disproving a rumour?

You watched his shadow on your wall as it climbed down the window behind you.

Look, one thing could be said. Nate Jacobs was a man of his word. He did not speak to you. He did not text you. He did not acknowledge you.

You'd blocked him online and he'd blocked you in real life.

However, his other account still kept tabs on you.

Average social media interaction.

Shane Crestin ended up in the ER later that night.

Average Nate Jacobs interaction.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Quote and character request. Levi Ackerman. "You don't have to love everything about me; that means you're actually looking at me"

Beneath the Armor

Pairing: Levi x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,2k

Synopsis: You searches everywhere for Levi Ackerman. But when you finally find him, he acts cold as eyes, doesn't even want to talk to you. Word after word his true intentions reveal...

Warnings: Levi is very self conscious in this fic due to how the war left him - if that's too negative for you or simly not your style keep on scrolling. Hurt to comfort, fluff fluff fluff

The room is tense, thick with the lingering echoes of your argument. You can’t believe it. You traveled for what felt like ages, turned the whole planet upside down in order to finally see that man again. And him? He avoids you at all cost, ignores you while you’re standing right in front of him.

You clench your fist, gleaming eyes staring at him through the thick silence. All of that, after you spent one night together, after you finally started trusted another human being fully.

The air feels heavy, each of you standing on opposite sides of a dark hallway that only seems to widen with every passing second.

Levi’s clenches his jaw, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes, normally so calculating and composed, flash with a rare anger. It’s not often that you two fight like this. But when you do, it feels like the world is tilting off its axis. You’re both too used to being strong, too used to being in control. And now, that strength is clashing, neither of you willing to yield.

Can’t you understand that he did all of this to protect you?

“You don’t get it,” you spit at him, voice trembling with frustration.

“You shut me out, Levi. You push me away every time I try to get close. And that after I searched the whole fucking world for you.”

He doesn’t immediately respond, his silence only adding to the tension. When he finally speaks up, his voice is low, almost dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

“And maybe you’re better off that way. Maybe it’s easier if you don’t get too close.”

The words sting like a flat-palmed slap, causing your heart to tighten in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to push you away on purpose, as if he’s testing to see how far he can go before you finally give up. But you’re not ready to let him off that easily. Not when you spent weeks trying to find him over here.

“Why?” you demand, taking a step closer, your voice rising with emotion.

“Why do you keep pushing me away? What are you so afraid of?”

Levi’s eyes flash again, but this time, there’s something else there - something darker, more vulnerable. He turns away from you, as if he can’t bear to face you head-on, his shoulders tense and rigid.

“I’m not afraid,” he mutters, but there’s a crack in his voice that betrays him.

“Then what is it?” you press out, not willing to let this go.

“Why do you keep trying to make me hate you? Why are you running away from me?”

He spins back to face you, his expression torn between anger and something else, something raw, something painful.

“Because if you don’t hate me, you’ll see me for what I really am,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.

“And I don’t know if I can handle that.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of his confession. Who he really is? You eye him up and down, take in his blind eye, his missing fingers, his overall worn-out figure. Is he really talking about how this war changed his appearance? No, he can’t believe you’re that superficial, right? Did he really push you away because he thought you’d stop loving him now? For a moment, you’re both silent.

“You believe I don’t love you anymore”, you finally speak up.

“I can’t believe you think that-“

“You don’t have to love everything about me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

There’s a softness to his tone now, a tenderness that wasn’t there before as well as a new-found fragility. His hand reaches out, hesitant at first, before resting on your arm.

“That means you’re actually looking at me. Seeing me for who I really am. But I understand that…You might not want me anymore.”

You feel like giggling and breaking down at the same time. Why would that man ever think that he isn’t good enough for you anymore, that you’d throw him away like trash? But he’s letting his guard down, exposing a side of himself that he rarely shows, a side that’s scared and unsure, but also hopeful. Hopeful that maybe, just maybe, you’ll see him and still choose to stay.

“I’m not perfect,” he continues, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’ve done things… things I’m not proud of. I look even worse than I did back then. And I don’t expect you to love me. I just want you to know that I’m trying. Trying to be better, trying to be the man I was before, for you. I just…can’t change that shitty body.”

His hand moves from your arm to your cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. But still, he doesn’t dare to look you in the eyes, his voice still muted and covered in agony.

Is this the reason why he never tried to reach you, never tried to find you? Because he thought you’d never look at him again the way you did before all of this? Humanity’s strongest losing his whole confidence over something so minor, something that actually makes you admire him even more.

His thumb brushes over your skin, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“I want you to stay. But if you can’t love me like that, I’ll leave right away” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

His words hang between you, raw and unfiltered. That lack of self-esteem, all the horrible things he had to endure while you were gone. What did he see? What did he feel? With each passing minute, your heart swells up more and more. For that man who risked everything including his precious life for a world you’d be safe in. For that man who know stands in front of you and thinks he isn’t good enough for you.

“I see you, Levi,” you say softly, your voice trembling with the weight of your own emotions.

“I see you, and I’m not going anywhere. Those scars,”

Gently, you allow your finger to wander over the faint scar that covers the skin around his blinded eye.

“Those hands that hold my entire world,”

You take his hand in yours tenderly.

“Do you really think I’ll leave you over something like this when I searched the world upside down just to see you again?”

A flicker of relief passes through his eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Levi allows himself to hope. And for the first time since he can think, he’s glad to see your tears paired with that loving look in your eyes. Will you really…stay with him?

“Please don’t push me away. I still need you in my life”, you mutter before lunging yourself at him.

Like countless times before, you rest your head against his shoulder, wrap your arms around him in fear that you’ll lose him any given minute. That precious but stoic man who drove you insane more than once, that man who never failed to argue with you.

That man, humanity’s strongest. The love of your life.

“Fine, brat”, he grumbles before stroking through your hair.

“But I’ll leave if you make fun of me.”

“I’ll always make fun of you half-pint.”

Tags:

@lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @levislegislation @istglevi-gotmesimping

[anxious-witch]

I think the reason why there are so many amazing ships in Dead Boy Detectives is because the show manages to show different versions of love/lust/devotion through different relationships all characters have.

Like, love triangles have been doing the whole "a girl has to choose between two guys who each being out a different side of her" for over a decade in popular media, some more, some less successfully. But the pitfall they often fall into is that those differences seem very shallow and often ignore the other aspect of the main person who have to choose between the love interests.

Dead Boy Detectives makes sure to not do that.

When we look at how Charles is with Crystal vs how he is with Edwin, we can clearly see the difference. In the beginning of his and Crystal's dynamic, he is flirtier and puts more if a bravado, but he pretty quickly opens up to her. Because he sees that she very quickly sees past his facade he puts up with his constant happy-go-lucky persona. Only when he starts opening up to her and showing his emotions does their relationship progress. Because after David, Crystal needs someone who can be emotionally vulnerable with her and in turn, Charles offers her the same, and offers her a safe space.

In contrast, we see that Charles is more at ease around Edwin. They know each other deeply, and are also woven into each other at this point. It's easy, like breathing. One thing it doesn't do is challenge either of them from the status quo they have built over the years. But there is a sense of ease there, and such devotion. There is no question about what they would do for each other because the answer is everything.

That said, while they both bring out different sides of Charles, those sides of him feel intricately linked to one another! Which is why Crystal coming into the pictures begins changing Charles' relationship with Edwin as well! It brings to light things they have ignored. And in turn, Charles' clear and unwavering devotion and loyalty to Edwin prompts Crystal to learn it herself. To quote Jenny in ep 8, "you were about to leave and never see these boys again, but now you are going to save them"? And yes, she does exactly that.

This even has influence on Edwin and Crystal's rs directly, which I can't recall ever seeing in a love triangle before, at least not in a positive sense. But it's so clear that Charles loves both of them that the other learns to love them too, and they realize their own similarities through it, too!

As for Edwin and his many love interests, well. I know there has been a lot of debate, especially around Cat King vs Charles dyankics with Edwin, but the thing is-you are comparing apples ajd oranges here.

The Cat King is enamored, fascinated by Edwin, and yeah above all, attracted to him. This dynamic serves to challenge both of their characters' beliefs and shake up the power dynamics between them. Whenever you like the Cat King or not Edwin clearly reciprocates the attraction part, at the very least.

Charles loves Edwin and is devoted to him and Edwin to him turn, as discussed above. What is difficult about their relationship is that it became stagnant due to lack of communication, which is why they needed other relationships to shake up that dynamic.

But to address the most prominent comparison I saw, which is the Cat King saying he'll wait for Edwin vs Charles going to Hell to save him.

Both are types of devotion, is the thing. A profession of love, if you will. To this day, we consider Penelope a faithful, loving and devoted wife for waiting for Odyssey for 20 years. Cat King saying he'd wait for Edwin isn't any small confession, given he is aware it could take decades, if not more.

Don't get me wrong, Charles going to literal Hell to save Edwin and succeeding where Orpheus and Eurydice failed is an enormous success and a way to show you love someone. I am not minimalizing that at all.

I am just saying that, for who these characters are and given their rs with Edwin, they did exactly what they were supposed to. They expressed in which ways Edwin had influenced them and what they can offer him if that dynamic becomes romantic.

Cat King represents experience, patience. As an immortal he has all the time in the world to wait for Edwin to return from hell, because he believes Edwin is strong enough to return on his own.

Charles represents love that breaks all obstacles in their way. He goes to save Edwin because he believes Edwin deserves to be helped in the way he helps others. He deserves to be saved.

My point is, there is no better of worse way of loving someone. The character in the love triangle choose the person that better alignes with who they are and who they wish to be as a person. So yes, you are absolutely allowed to say "I think this character would choose person a because it alignes better with their character development" but comparing the two as one being superior is kinda pointless imo? Exploring different dynamic of a character is the goal here, right? Either through canon or fanon.

...I was gonna talk about Crystal/Niko and Edwin/Monty too but this post got away from me to uhh. Might do another one if anyone is interested but in their way! I adore the way DBDA explores different sides of characters while still making them feel like a fully rounded person and doesn't shy away from letting one rs influence other rs character has.

[alltimefail]

Can we take a second to talk about Niko's connection to the Principal?

Because I think we all moved on a little quickly from that!

General disclaimer before we begin: this is just my own theory and my personal interpretations. <3

As a refresher, The Principal is the Night Nurse's "Superior." We see her for the first time at the end of season 1, episode 8. In this theory, I will be analyzing the potential role The Principal plays in DBDA, especially where our beloved Niko Sasaki is concerned.

A connection between The Principal and Niko is undoubtable to me for two reasons: the first reason being that they intentionally focused the camera on The Principal zero-ing in on Niko's case card, and she has a visible emotional reaction to seeing Niko's name.

The second being that, before departing, she quotes what Tragic Mick told Niko before the face-off with Esther which ultimately resulted in her death.

One popular theory I saw floating around in the first few weeks after DBDA released was that The Principal is Niko herself, and while this is a fun concept I can't get behind it because, well, Niko is "alive" at the end of the season. Yuyu has confirmed that she's the one in the igloo with the sprites, and Steve has confirmed that Niko is not dead/off the show as well. While we have no clue where the igloo is for certain, or what state Niko is in, it's safe to say that Niko has not moved on to her afterlife, so she can't be the Night Nurses' superior in the Lost and Found Department.

My theory doesn't reinvent the wheel, but I personally think The Principal could be Niko's mother.

From a non-storyline standpoint, The Principal looks to be a perfectly appropriate age to have a 16 year old daughter. From a casting standpoint, Yuyu and Tamlyn also are a convincing mother/daughter pair. I think their mannerisms (body language and expressions) are even a bit similar:

But most importantly, from a writing and storyline standpoint, Niko's mother is mentioned multiple times throughout the season but we never actually see her or hear from her - not in a phone call, a voicemail, or even in a picture in Niko's meticulously decorated, aesthetic bedroom. This is what leads me to believe that the persistent mention of Niko's mom is an example of Chekhov's gun being fired.

Emphasis here on: "If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there."

From the persistent plotline surrounding...

Niko's grief not just with her father's death but also with her mother who sent her to school across the world literally the day after her father's funeral to "escape the sadness,"

to the pile of letters from her mother that she couldn't bring herself to respond to,

to the response letter she finally writes to her mom but we don't learn the fate of,

to Niko telling Crystal that her mom would always say "A mother's intuition is very strong," (which could be why The Principal reacted to Niko's case card in the way she did...)

to even Jenny mentioning Niko's mom in the finale

... and so on, the writers seem to mention her as often as they can, even up to the very end. This makes Niko's mom a sort of looming figure in the narrative, a thought persistently brought back in a "Hey, remember this?" kind of way to the viewer, and that kind of intentional presence needs to serve a purpose or have some kind of payoff later. After all - if it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there... if we aren't going to get some kind of closure regarding Niko's family, especially her mother who is still alive, it shouldn't be brought to the viewer's attention again and again.

Also, The Principal being Niko's mother would make Niko at least half supernatural being (we don't know much about her father, but considering the fact that he's dead we can assume he was likely fully human). Niko being half supernatural-being would explain a few allusive plotlines such as:

Why Angie the fish does not try to tempt Niko into the water.

Why Crystal tells Niko that she should stay behind and not fight Esther because Niko is "Just a human."

Why we don't see Niko's spirit separate from her body at any point, nor do we get Death's blue light.

How the Principal knows Tragic Mick's last words to Niko and why she quotes them to the boys who were not even present at the moment the sentiment was delivered the first time.

Starting with Angie, it's obvious why the boys are not affected by her call: Charles and Edwin are incorporeal spirits, they have no physical body and Angie's call is sent out with the goal of finding food to eat, plain and simple. Niko not hearing Angie's call, considering the fact that she's flesh and bone just like Crystal, is noteworthy to say the least. After all, we can safely assume Angie's call can beckon more than one person at a time because the group is worried about the populated kite festival becoming an all-you-can-eat buffet, essentially. They need to figure out the case and only have 24 hours to do so before area is filled with bodies for Angie to tempt into the water, that's the whole time-constraint conflict that adds pressure to an already delicate situation. The first time Crystal hears the call she is with Charles at the top of the lighthouse with Niko nowhere near Angie, but the second time Crystal hears Angie she and Niko are standing literally right next to each other. Niko then confirms that there's "No voice" coming from the water after they save Crystal, but considering how Niko's grief surrounding the death of her father is such a huge part of her characterization - in the same way Crystal not remembering her parents is critical to hers - it makes no sense that Angie wouldn't try to lure in Niko as well by using the voice of her deceased father.

But let's consider what we learn from the Night Nurse: trans-dimensional beings don't die when they're swallowed by a giant fish, so they do not satiate Angie's desire for food. This is why everyone assumes Kashi is not human because he, like The Night Nurse, is alive inside the stomach of a fish. So if Niko's mother is like The Night Nurse, a trans-dimensional being, that would explain why Angie's call would not effect Niko, because Angie just wants to eat... and ghosts and immortal beings (even if only semi-immortal) do not count as food.

As for Crystal telling Niko to stay behind because she's human: this line felt so... strange to me the first time I watched the series. After thinking about it though, I couldn't help but compare it to Charles' line in the pilot episode right before they enter Esther's house. He tells Crystal that "She still has a life to lose" and they want to "Protect it while they can," and while the sentiment is the same, the dialogue feels vastly more natural and understandable being delivered from the mouth of a ghost - a dead 16 year old boy - to an alive 16 year old girl. On the contrary, Crystal citing Niko being a human when she is also alive and very much a human just as capable of dying as Niko is, feels out of place. There's simply no need for Crystal to clarify that Niko is a human as the audience has already assumed that and been given no reason to believe otherwise. It's a small detail, but the only way for this line to make any sense is if it serves an ulterior motive - perhaps with the intention of getting the audience's gears turning and/or serving as the framework for a future plotline. Again, if Niko is related to The Principal, this would make her half supernatural at least... so, ironically, less human that Crystal is and less likely to face a typical human death...

which also might explain the "Outlook not so good" on the Magic 8-Ball. It's not the worst response you can get, it's not a critical failure or natural 1 in DnD so to speak... but it's also not great. Niko's not alive, but she's likely not as she once was either (but that's an entirely different can of worms).

As far as explaining how The Principal would know what Tragic Mick told Niko, I feel like an infinite trans-dimensional being who works as a higher up in the afterlife's Lost and Found Department would have no issue accessing their own child's file. We know the Lost and Found Department is nothing if not rigid, specific, and detail-oriented, and the files they have include the details of every child's death - it isn't so far-fetched to believe that Niko's file (and all the files, really) would also include insight on what Niko's last day on Earth (interactions and such) were like. Not to mention the fact that The Principal tells the boys she can pretty much do "Whatever she likes..." so she's powerful, she has resources and abilities that might even surpass those of the Night Nurse (who can literally dig around in people's minds and choke people with a snap of her fingers). If she is Niko's mother and she just lost her child and husband in a short amount of time, it would make sense for her to allow Charles and Edwin to keep doing what they do because they are helping people like her daughter, and maybe they could help her daughter again.

Lastly, I can't help but acknowledge how there is some kind of recognition, spark, or tenderness on The Principal's end when she first appears before the boys. I've seen other people say they feel similarly, almost like she seems disappointed or a bit taken aback when they ask who she is. She especially lingers on Edwin for a beat, and we all know how important Edwin was to Niko! Again, this is all just my own theory, but if The Principal is Niko's mother, her sparing the boys of being taken by the Lost and Found Department with the tenderness she does - by using Tragic Mick's words, the ones offered alongside a good luck charm (the last kind act toward Niko before she died) at the boys who loved her daughter and saved her once and could very well save her again - feels tear-jerkingly poetic to me. The Principal seems choked up before she goes, almost as if she's repaying them a favor they didn't know they were owed - the boys saved Niko once, and now that good fortune is coming back around to them.

So what would that all mean for next season? Where might Niko be? Who knows for sure! Perhaps she is imbued with Dandelion Sprite magic, or is currently an "Undead," a zombie, like the kind mentioned in the Night Nurse's book in Episode 6... but whatever she is, I have a feeling the boys and Crystal will find her again.

But all this to say, whether The Principal is Niko's mother, a reincarnation of Niko's father, an estranged aunt or family member we haven't met yet, a complete rando with invested special interest in Niko's case, or shit - even Niko herself somehow - I can confidently say that episode 8 won't be the last time we see The Principal, and that we're meant to draw a connection between her and Niko.

Now we just need a season 2 so we can get some answers @netflix!!!!!

[queers-gambit]

Never Make War in Anger

prompt: ( requested ) after being separated on the battlefield, your husband cannot locate you among the carnage, so he comes to rely on Nenya.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 5.7k+

note: a little burnt out so this isn't much at all. my apologies.

warnings: accidental LOTR Merry quote, purposeful LOTR Aragorn quote. i don't think there's foul / explicit language but i'm blind to it. gaslighting, marital spats, small angst, some spoilers, probably more hurt and comfort, brief breaking of the Fourth Wall, some blood, minor injury, happy but brief / abrupt ending, adapted and edited Poppy s2e8 monologue.

Despite the light The Rings of Power brought back to Lindon, it had never felt so dark than in this moment. You stood in the middle of your chambers, tears in your eyes and few dribbling down your cheeks while facing your husband - who was equally as emotionally distraught.

"What're you saying?" You spat. "That you intend to seek new living arrangements?"

"I need time, my star."

"From me?"

"For now, yes. Until this matter with the Rings is resolved, we'll only prolong this hurtful cycle against one another."

"So, your solution is to separate?"

"For a time - "

"How can that be your decision!?"

"How can you be so delusional!? These Rings are not what we think - "

"'Delusional'!? Oh, the nerve of you!"

"A poor choice of wording, but - where are you going!?"

"To live my delusions! By all means, Elrond, take all the time and use all the space you should need!" You snarled at your husband, storming away from the shared bedchamber as tears of frustration threatened to blind you. Rushing down the golden halls of Lindon, you relied on mostly muscle memory before nearly colliding with Commander Galadriel - who startled at your (rare) emotional state.

"Commander - "

"My apologies, my Lady," you rushed, trying to skirt around her in an effort to seek solace. But her hand extended to snatch your elbow, bringing you to a halt.

"My friend... If there's something wrong, I would hope you know, you might confide in me?"

You nodded, "Yes, my friend, I know."

"Then what's the matter?"

You did not intend to sound so condescending, but your scoff was now unrestricted as you sneered, "You've eyes to see with and ears to hear, surely, it is not a riddle."

"The Rings?"

"What else does my husband feud with us over?"

Galadriel sighed, releasing your arm only to drop her hand to yours and give a supportive squeeze. "I am sorry for the turmoil you experience at my hand..."

"I was as much at fault," you shook your head, "defending you to the King - going against Elrond... Surely, it did not help when Lord Círdan echoed us. Must've felt like everyone was against him - you, me, the High King, his - "

"He doesn't think we are against him - "

"Oh, no, merely that we are delusional."

"Well, that seems a touch harsh...?" You offered her a pointed look, making her gasp slightly, "Do not tell me - he has weaponized his words against you?"

"He's much practice."

"I will speak to him - "

"You would get farther talking to a tree, Galadriel... Just leave it be..."

You shook off her hand to make your escape, escaping the palace grounds and seeking solace by a quiet stream. You stared at the fish in the clear water, swimming in circles that your mind raced in; envious of the seemingly peaceful life the gilled creatures lived. You felt overwhelming guilt, hating that you were at odds with your husband, but hating the impending doom over Middle-earth more. The threat to humanity wasn't something you could morally ignore, but it wasn't something your husband could either; being why he was so adamant the Rings of Power were influenced beyond the pale by Sauron.

You argued the good of Galadriel and Celebrimbor and even himself outweighed Sauron's - by comparison - minuscule hand. Sauron was but a drop in the vast ocean of creation; and not even Sea Worms could overshadow the waves of benefit offered.

Elrond said the Rings couldn't be trusted.

You thought he was becoming paranoid.

When you refused to consent to his side, he proposed separation - thinking distance would give you both time to calm down. After demanding to know how he could've come to that decision, he accused you of being delusional; and, well, you know the rest, Reader...

Well, the separation never truly stuck because in the following days, High King Gil-galad dispensed Elrond's company; which resulted in Galadriel's capture and both the formation and deployment of the Elvish armed forces. At the helm, your husband, and amongst the ranks, yourself; along with kin, neighbors, and friends.

You soon rode to devastation and loathed the idea of riding away on such silent terms with your husband. So, you sought him out under the support of your closest companion and usual second-in-command.

"Elrond," you tried to speak to him before the final leg to Eregion; both mounted on war horses of great height and muscle. He was stood gallantly under one of the several surrounding trees, looking ever bit of a Commander as you had been appointed as in the decades past.

"Are you all right?" He asked stiffly, making your defenses go up automatically. The bustle of the preparing army drowned your conversation.

"Yes, I just... I do not wish to depart on such tense terms, husband."

He nodded, sending several curls bouncing as he readjusted his stirrup leather for a more suitable length. "All is forgiven," he eased.

"I don't remember apologizing."

Elrond sighed through his nose, looking up to meet your eyes for the first time with his thin lips set in a straight grimace you were unaccustomed to seeing. "Have you come to prolong this fight or make amends?" He asked tersely.

"Make amends for a fight I did not start?"

"Doesn't matter who started it, what matters is the means of our argument! The content behind it! The morals now in question and the foundations we base ourselves upon!"

"I'd have to agree," you snapped. "I came to offer words of parting and tidings before we ride into combat, but should this be the time we need to argue, then please, let us take it." Your horse snorted as if in agreement, tossing its head defensively. "You and I stand on opposite sides of the Rings, we will not see eye-to-eye on that, yet you hurled such distasteful words at me. How do you think we should proceed?"

Elrond sighed deeply, sounding dismissive, "With respect, beloved, we're about to charge into the unknown, right now isn't the time for our marital woes."

You scoffed, nodding, "Noted."

"Wait, I did not - "

But you had already spun your horse and encouraged the stallion to trot away. You passed the High King, nodding with respect before moving to the helm of your legion - still Commander of the Southern Armies, just not the active leader of this particular united devision of Elves. You surveyed your company with a small smirk, nodding in impression as your second-in-command rode to your side.

"What news?"

You accepted the helmet he handed over, nodding in thanks as you sighed deeply, "We march for Eregion, Erthon, there's no other news of discussion."

"Did you speak to Elrond?"

"Barely," you chuckled. "Come, let us not fret over such trivial matters such as my marriage. We ride to war today, my friend."

"To war then, Commander," he smirked, offering his hand for you to clap - which you did before the King called all to attention. You listened to the rousing speech Elrond wrote, not a single syllable sticking as your brain was far too occupied with the frustratingly trivial matters of your heart. However, when the first brigade of horses started after their commanders, you quickly followed suit as the procession moved out of the safety of camp for Eregion's aid.

It was a hard ride, but at long last, you gathered in ranks and charged at the opposing army; only to halt and wait for negotiations conclude, then charging (again) through the Orcish camp at Elrond's command. Your advantage was the use of horses, able to cover distances and barrel through both structures and bodies of your enemies. Yet horses still fell to the marshes and jagged arrows, to blunt axes and the ammunition of trebuchets. To enemies. To mistakes. To war.

Carnage surrounded you, whether your own forces or the Orcs or the beasts used in battle, death swept through all. You fought for hours, sun chipping away through the sky; losing sight of loved ones and loyal soldiers. "Elrond!" You sobbed in relief upon locating him across the field. You called his name twice more, catching his attention finally.

When he saw you, he called your name and hacked his blade to any surrounding Orc so he could move through the mud for you. "My love," he panted, reaching to take hold of you, "I-I think we need to retreat?"

"Are you asking me?" You questioned, holding onto him for balance; wincing when blood soaked into your boots.

"I think?" He sniffled, "There's too many of us falling, my love, I don't think we can - or should, I don't think we should - "

"I know," you nodded, reaching for his cheek.

"I'm not - I don't think I can - "

"Hey, look at me, look at me!" You had to shake his shoulders, holding him by his curls in a nonthreatening grip. "I know. But Elrond, hey, you command our forces, you command this army. Remember why we marched, what we're fighting towards, what this is all for. So sound the retreat if that's what must happen, or keep your soldiers fighting, but only you get to make this decision, my love; you're our Commander, we will listen to any command you give."

He nodded, tears gathering in his honied eyes. "I wish you weren't here, amongst this carnage; but I'm so grateful that you're with me," he muttered, foreheads finding each other in a show of silent affection. He pulled back, "About earlier - "

"Earlier wasn't the time, now certainly isn't either, my sweet," you laughed with a nod. "You need to go rally the others, I've got Orcs to kill."

"Stay safe," he pleaded, hands squeezing each other as you started to move apart.

"Stay alive," you replied, forced apart several yards, turning slowly when your husband called your name.

"I love you," Elrond reminded, watching your mouth pull in a smirk, opening to reply... Before his eyes widened when he saw the horse too late. It barreled into your back, knocking you into a muddy pit of active fighting to the desperate sounds of him crying your name.

"Commander!" Elrond heard behind him, but couldn't answer. He was viciously fighting towards where you fell; horse galloping away, but your body lost to chaos. "Commander, no! Please!" Erthon caught his middle, yanking Elrond backwards several steps only to shove both hands to his chest. "No! No, hey! You're needed at the front, Commander, they need you at the wall - "

"My wife just - "

"I saw, I know where she fell - I'll look for her, Commander, I swear. Please, you're needed! Go!"

Elrond had no choice but to flee. Erthon searched the field in vain.

"Commander?"

From the last of the group who had snatched you from the battlefield, you hacked the Orc's head from his shoulders with a furrowed lip, discovering Arondir where the fallen enemy once stood. "My friend," you mused casually, transitioning fluidly to use your bow and fire three arrows at distant Orcs before they could rush you. "While it is a joy to see you, I wish it were under better circumstances. Are you injured?"

"No," he sniffled, "are you?"

"Good. No, no, I am well enough. Are you currently under direct command?"

"No, my Lady. What do you need of me?"

"The people of Eregion need out of the city, I know the tunnels to get them to safety in the woods, but first, I need you to cover my way in."

"You can depend on me, Commander."

"I know I can, Aronidr," you smiled, clapping his shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. Find Commander Elrond after this."

Together, you and Arondir searched for the easiest path into the city, using aerial advantages to clear out the Orcs best you could. When your quiver ran dry, you thanked the solider of Mirkwood and scaled into the city under the protection of his watchful eye, skillful aim, and quick hands. Once inside, you crept around paths and alleys thoughtfully to get around any surplus of Orcs, happy to take out any stray few; quiet and calm as you navigated the city.

Checking where you could, it was a hard feat to discover any surviving Elves through the rubble and destruction until closer to the main settlements. When you found a group of few survivors, you encouraged them to follow you to safety and lead them through secret tunnels with dripping black blades. Nearing the end of the tunnel, you paused the group in the shadows to let you step out first; glad for it when a company of Orcs tried to ambush you, only to meet their brutal end. Though out of breath with minor injuries from the band of enemies, you still stood, victorious.

"This way," you directed, limping to lead into the woods. "Here, this way... Up ahead... C'mon, stay together, almost there... Step carefully, stay together... Just up there... This way, here, just up here, good, come, quickly now."

Up a subtle path of a hill, you trekked through wild foliage.

"Who goes there!?" A voice cried out in terror, making you halt the others. After a brief investigation through tree limbs, you discovered a small gathering of other refugees; all quivering in fear, looking at you with the hopes of salvation. "Who are you!?" A young man asked.

"Southern Commander of High King Gil-galad's Army," you named, twirling your twin blades in hand that sent a splatter of black blood to spray on near-by leaves. "Who brought you here?" You ask in return, lungs pinched.

"The Lady Galadriel..."

"Good," you nodded, waving your pack forward. "Stay here, stay hidden, I'm going to go back for others. When I return, we're going to move deeper into the woods to accommodate however many can be saved."

"You're leaving us!?" One of the Elleth's squealed. "But we are undefended, vulnerable! You leave us here for slaughter?"

"I understand your worry," You nodded to the young lass, petting her bicep. "But Lady Galadriel and I have both brought you here because it's safe. Safer than in the city, safer than wondering around - aimless and blind. Where we are is off the known path; on high ground, so it's not to be stumbled upon; and see those slopes?" You pointed to where you wanted them to see, "This wee place is slightly sunken, so it's hidden for your protection. Huh? Yes?"

You waited until she nodded in return to squeeze her arm in encouragement before releasing. There was a collective agreement to listen to you, letting the survivors gather tightly together before rushing back for the mouth of the secret tunnel. You spent over an hour searching for other survivors, gathering as many as you could and giving them cover and moving them out of the city; killing as many Orcs as you could in the process. Again, you moved out of the tunnel, checking for any enemy, finding none, and ushering the group into the woods. When you arrived at the others, you took a couple of the healthier Elves with you on the path further up to a more suitable, larger, still hidden cove for them to seek refuge in. They agreed to lead the others while you went back for more.

You only managed a few other trips before the Orcs fully sacked the torched city. You couldn't go back, even sustaining a stabbed thigh and arrow to your shoulder on your last escape; but while you couldn't save more Elves, you could help the ones you did. So, you ushered them further from the city, hiking into the mountains carefully with consideration to location and position of the enemy. Over ridges and fallen trees, around bends and away from the beaten path, you finally settled in a naturally protective cove to await others while providing medical aid to those who needed it.

Day broke. Durin didn't come. The city burned. Your tears wouldn't fall.

There were no more words. Elrond was past defeated.

Before night fell, he lost sight of his beloved wife just seconds after declaring his love - haunted by the cruelty of her being robbed the opportunity to reciprocate. As the fighting progressed, he had attempted to search the carnage - but war demanded his attention elsewhere. The urge to entirely give up was great, but the desire to punish any and everyone responsible for this pain overrode him; hacking, clawing, fighting into the night. Yet soldiers fell to the left and right, in front of and behind him; older, younger than he, friends, kin, peers, superiors, strangers, comrades alike.

There was an inkling they might've stood a chance when the sun rose, yet hope diminished when his emissary, Vorohil, returned with sustained injury and the message that Durin shut the doors of the mountain. Their forces had been decimated already, a lesser-than match in numbers to begin with, but without Dwarven aid, the surviving Elves were eviscerated mercilessly. No help was coming, and the Orcs were charging across the bloody battlefield for the last of them.

In the fresh light of a new day, Elrond's throat was seized in Adar's vice grip; lifted from his feet; the fight extinguished like a blown-out flame from his soul as blood and mud dripped from swirling armor. Adar's lips quirked, "Your wife put up... Such a fight, Commander," his hand tightened, crushing Elrond's windpipe. "And here you are, surrendering... You would so willingly let her sacrifice... Be in vain?"

Tears leaked from the corners of Elrond's eyes, glaring at Adar silently - though, it wasn't as if he could respond if he tried. Spying Nenya on a chain around Elrond's neck, Adar quickly disposed of him back into the mud, where the half-Elf did not move again until Orcs were taking few prisoners of war. Few, meaning Elrond, the High King, and Mirkwood archer, Arondir; after their Dark Lord Sauron commanded the Elvish leaders be taken alive and the rest be slaughtered.

Before interrogations or bodily harm could be inflicted, the Orcs were caught off guard by a Dwarven invasion rushing into the fallen city; giving the Elves an opportunity to rebel. Elrond watched Gil-galad and Arondir fight in tandem, debating for several moments if he cared enough to join their efforts, thinking all he had left to fight for was gone from these shores. Yet watching the Dwarves stream into the city posed as the kindling to light the fire Elrond needed under his ass to rise to his feet and defend his brethren and self; noticing what he thought to be a familiar Dwarf. Durin had not come, but still sent his forces as promised (but late); Elrond being informed the Prince was "in mourning", further confirming Sauron's dark hand had crept to different corners of the continent.

There was no victory. No celebration. No true relief, not even for survivors - the toll too heavy.

On his knees in the mud, watching Adar advance, mourning his wife and refusing to accept his Dwarven ally had abandoned him, Elrond bowed his head and silently demoted himself. Gil-galad saw this, could recognize the agony of defeat; neither saying a word as he assumed command, like a good king would. Now, Gil-galad ushered his people from the crumbling city just in time for a new wave of Orcs to begin razing it to the ground. Using the same hidden tunnels, the Elves found themselves isolated in the woods. Arondir had to keep personal hold on Elrond, who wanted to return to the city and search for his wife's remains for a proper funeral. He was assured you'd be recovered with the rest of the fallen forces, but it sent him into further distress.

The King and Arondir had witnessed Galadriel's fall from the cliff, being where they first thought to go. It was there Elrond found Nenya, holding it in hand as if weighing the weight of the world; and to him, he was. The Ring twinkled and chimed, begging him to be used; his sad, defeated eyes glancing at his fallen friend, debating what was morally correct. Did he turn and run to find the other half of his very being, a presumed corpse, or did he stay and heal Galadriel, who still, before him, had a fighting chance?

"We're losing her," Arondir worried to the King.

"The darkness is too powerful," Gil-galad worried. "I cannot save her."

"I can," Elrond announced quietly, sure of his decision, but feeling disappointed in himself. His eyes lifted to Gil-galad's, declaring, "We can."

Elrond pushed Nenya definitively onto his finger and knelt to the King's side. They worked together to withdraw Sauron's poison festering black and bubbling in Galadriel's open shoulder wound, Arondir watching with wide, tear-filled eyes in sheer awe. It was a strange sort of process, Elrond never having wielded such a powerful token before; doing his best to focus on the optimal outcome as Gil-galad chanted in both Sindarin and Quenya. Elrond's eyes shut, keeping his emotions at bay; hand trembling in exertion until the King decided enough was done for now and it was up to Galadriel to come back to the light. The half-Elf dropped back to the dirt, deflated and exhausted, looking to the two other Elves.

"What now?" He pondered. "Where do we go from here?"

Gil-galad had no answer, but Arondir's brows furrowed in concentration. "My Lords?" He asked from the other side of Galadriel's unconscious body. When the King and his Herald looked up, the archer nodded, "Is the Ring supposed to do that?"

On Elrond's hand, Nenya seemed to pulse like a beating heart. "My King?" Elrond asked, moving his hand closer, which made the light twitch. He jerked back, the light changing again; confusing the three. "It's... It's communicating, I think," Elrond whispered in wonder.

"Listen to it," the King encouraged softly, watching Elrond closely in fascination.

Slowly, Elrond lifted to his feet, hearing something distant that grew louder by a single degree. "It's twinkling," he narrated, the light steady now that he was stable. "I think it wants us to do something." It took a bit of assessment, but eventually, Elrond was able to decipher, "The light glows brighter when I hold it to this path, I think we're meant to follow."

"To safety, perhaps," Gil-galad agreed. "Arondir, how fairs your health? Are you able to carry Commander Galadriel?"

"Of course, my King."

"And Commander Elrond, you will lead us," the King directed, leaving no room for argument. He paused to help Arondir lift the injured Elleth, Elrond just having enough time to confirm their path before they were following after him.

It felt supernatural: depending on Nenya after leading such a hardcore smear campaign against the piece of jewelry. Yet even Elrond could not deny the drench of light he felt flood through him as he began to understand the Ring's language; now, effortlessly navigating the woods. Over ridges and fallen trees, around bends and away from the beaten path, Elrond pushed the branches from view to discover a protected cove dotted with injured, but surviving Elves of Eregion.

It was incredible, the sheer number of survivors, and few more milled about; obviously in better shape to offer aid and comfort to those not quite as put together.

From meters away, Elrond saw a flash of familiar armor and froze. He heard Gil-galad speak his name, yet could not react or respond as surely, his eyes played some devious trick. He stuttered your name in earnest confusion, wondering if by some stroke of fate, by doing good and choosing to save Galadriel, the Ring of Power then lead them here... To their people... Lead him back to you.

"The Valar are blessed," he told Elrond when he noted you in the slight distance, watching his Herald stumble forward with another call of your name.

This time, you heard him; springing up as if waiting for his return. In reality, you absolutely were.

Tears sprung to even the most stoic of dry Elvish eyes, witnessing such a reunion as one between two spouses after battle after-after a petty marital feud. You hadn't shoved anyone from your path, per se, but you hadn't exactly been polite in getting around them to sprint at full speed across the distance until there was simply no choice but to barrel into your husband's arms. There was just enough time to fit together like dirty puzzle pieces, where your arms magnetized around his neck, his around your waist, before crashing into the dirt.

You both helplessly sobbed, holding onto the other in suffocating fashions; an issue, if you both weren't so overwhelmed with post-war fantasia. Elrond sat up first, yet did not dare relinquish his hold on you for a fraction; maneuvering to fit you on his lap for a mutually easier hold. Your noses nuzzled ears, cheeks, and each other; hands caressing both unblemished and torn, bloodied flesh; hearts beat erratically, but in sync.

Nenya gleamed in approval with steady light.

"You're alive," Elrond gaped, at last finding his ability to speak.

"So are you," you breathed with sorrowful relief. "I was so worried, love, I - "

"You!? My star, y-you - you went down in front of me, I-I-I thought you were dead, injured at the very least. I tried searching; at different intervals, even, I tired searching for you. I sent Erthon after you, too, but you were - you were just gone! I could not find you - how? How did you - How did you escape? How did you survive?"

"My love," you breathed, foreheads kept together by either hand on his cheek, "I will answer you, but remember: we are alive, we are reunited, we are together. I need you to breathe."

"No, no," he refused, tears drowning him, this time lifting his hand to hold your cheek in anchor, "please, my star, do not try to pacify me now, I will have my moment, I am beyond the bounds of relief. I thought you died, my wife, I watched you go down and could not reach you, could not find you. All I managed to think of all night was my Rúmil, how we rode to war in such anger and were separated. We had all this missed time, spent being angry, and losing you on the field, I thought it was forever. Relief does not describe what I feel now, to hold you in my arms. I'm so sorry, my star, please - "

"I forgive you, for everything, anything, and nothing at once. So long as you extend me the same curtesy?"

He sniffled and nodded against you, quieting to just exist together as one. To recharge. To apologize without the words that are sure to come later. To relish in each other's still-warm flesh and understand that in order to vanquish this accursed evil from the land, there could be no more division, only solidarity. Softly, you answered Elrond's inquiries, explaining to him what happened to you; how you had spent the latter half of your fight tunneling survivors from the city, laying in wait when the city was sacked.

"And then, my love," you hushed, "there was-was-was this procession of-of Dwarves! A whole entire legion, all in formation, moving with incredible speed, if I may say myself."

He half-smirked in return, "Durin sent a company to our aid. Though, I wish it came sooner."

"It came not a moment before it was supposed to. Tell me, how is it you found us? Did Erthon find you first? We sent spare soldiers out to scour for survivors, few have straggled in." Elrond shook his head, retracting his arm to display his trembling hand between you. You gasped softly, admiring, "Nenya." Then, realization hit you, looking to Elrond with wide, bewildered eyes, "You used the Ring?"

"To heal Galadriel, then to find you," he nodded, tears returning. "We can argue about it later - "

"There's nothing to argue over, Elrond," you promised, catching his cheek to softly caress his skin with your thumb. "Thank the Valar you found it. Thank you for finding us... For finding me."

"In every lifetime, I would find you," he promised in Sindarin, foreheads naturally falling together again.

"Now," you sniffled, pulling back to survey the group, "our people grow by the minute... We cannot linger, we'll be found. We should move along, away from the city; by nightfall, these hills will be swarming with Orcs. But - " You cut yourself off, staring at Elrond with brows lowered in concern.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Your husband worried, but you only pinched his chin and directed his attention to the side.

"You're cut."

"Oh, uh, it's nothing - "

"No, it's not nothing, it's a cut. It's a cut, Elrond!"

"It's just a scrape."

"It still weeps!"

"There are greater injuries to those around us."

"That may be, but you are of the greatest importance to me, and therefor, should receive - "

"My love - "

"This will scar!"

"Then it scars," now Elrond chuckled patiently at your usual fretting, relieved for the familiar heat of endearment to his veins. "Let me a moment longer to bask in the glory that is my wife, I have missed her gravely," he begged quietly, taking both of your hands in his and bringing you close for a long awaited kiss; still sat in the dirt of the beaten path you would soon trudge to find salvation.

While usually a hopeless romantic, Gil-galad was forced to step forward, "I hate to break apart this moment." He waited until Elrond turned to meet his eyes, "But we need to move on, it's not safe to dwell here. We need refuge."

"We'll push on," you agreed softly, the King agreeing. You waited for Elrond to stand before offering your hands, making him snicker. When you stumbled from your stab wound, Elrond caught you quickly - all traces of humor wiped away.

"What happened?" He demanded, seeing your torn tunic used as gauze around your thigh.

"Got hit on the way out of the city, my love, nothing severe," you promised. "The Orc died - painfully - and I had it looked at already, it's bound for now. It will be cleaned when we can make camp."

"Good, all right," your husband accepted with a sniffle, looking around as the King was rousing his people to stand and begin their trek. "Where do we go from here? Where are we leading these people? Their salvation or doom?"

You were close to shrugging when your eyes caught sight of softly blinding twinkling light, pulling Elrond's hand to display. "I think we follow you, my love," you whispered with a smirk, sounding definitive, "to salvation."

Together, you aided refugees to their feet and down the southern path Nenya seemed to agree with. Eventually, your people streamed from the hillsides on their own, allowing Elrond to seek you out among the traffic and wrap his arm around your waist.

"Let me help you," he insisted when you tried to wriggle away.

"I'm not broken, my love."

"No, just stabbed."

You were ready to argue, but a particularly gusty puff of wind blew the unmistakeable scent of char into your nostrils; the trees clearing on a small, passing overlook to reveal billows of black soot. Plumes of smoke. The source of sprinkling ashes. You did not say anything, no words able to ever fill this mournful space; pausing to stare at the devastation and destruction you had both escaped. You held your husband's hand and leaned gently to his shoulder, mourning one of the greatest losses all of Elvendom would ever know.

With dejection, Elrond rounded from the sight and asked, "What're we to do now, my star? Where do we lead these people? How can we fix this?"

You swallowed thickly and shifted so you stood side-on, squeezing Elrond's hand. "You know, I don't think I've ever told you about when I was a child, after I lost my family... Before we met," you smiled gently, his intrigue piquing, turning to face you, "for a time, I was under the care of an Elf named, Faithor."

"What?" He asked in shock. "You mean, the warrior?"

"Hm," you nodded, "the very same. He was everything you've ever heard of and more, but that's not the point, the point is, when my family first perished, I struggled with acceptance. This made me... A devilish child, I'll admit," you shared a smirk, "but Faithor was patient, dedicated, and pragmatic. He told me that this world is so much bigger than any of us that sometimes, we lose sight of perspective; that the wind is always gonna blow against us, and sometimes, it'll simply be too strong and we just have to accept it. There's no changing the wind. That no matter how hard we fight, how much it hurts, what we wish and want and pine for, how much our hearts yearn," your head shook and voice teetered to a hush, "some things that break, cannot be fixed; what's lost, is lost forever. To put back together that which shatters," you gestured towards Eregion, both heads turning to watch Celebrimbor and Durin's tower topple, "cannot ever be made whole again. Cracks, even in porcelain, will leak, so... In these moments..." One hand held Elrond's, the other lifted to caress his cheek and encourage his attention back to you, "The best any of us can do is try and build something new."

Your husband's lips twitched slightly, offering a soft huff through his nose in appreciation. "C'mere," he mumbled almost inaudibly, tugging you closer while simultaneously stepping into your space. His arms came around you, taking a moment to bask together before he pulled back and nodded, the tears in his eyes never receding. "All right, starlight," he whispered, "let's go try to build something new."

"Together," you agreed, dropping a quick wink before latching back onto his waist and rejoining the thin stream of refugees marching the unknown path. You were stable enough that you and Elrond could walk at a slightly quickened pace alongside your people; encouraging some who lagged behind and assisting those who needed it along the way. Despite his good nature and inability to refuse to help others, Elrond never strayed (far) from your side the entire hike; the separation finally officially concluded - as if it never happened to begin with.

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Big Mom Pirates Incorrect Quotes

Imagine being so unpredictable and random that not even Katakuri's observation haki works on you 💀

Katakuri: Stop thinking whatever you're thinking. You: Huh? Katakuri: You always make that face when you're about to say something stupid just to piss me off. So cut it out- You: I love you. Katakuri: You: You: Also, cereal qualifies as a soup. Katakuri: I KNEW IT!!

You: It's not like I try to blow things up, exactly. It just sort of happens. You've got to admit though, fire is fascinating.

You: I hate you with every inch of my body! Katakuri: That’s not a lot of inches.

Big Mom: That’s the key slice of truth we need to complete the entire truth pie. You: Ooh, can we get some actual pie? Big Mom: I like the way you think.

Brûlée: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it. You: I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out. Brûlée: Th-that's not how that works-

Pudding: How the hell are you still alive? You: Honestly, I’m just as confused as you are.

Katakuri: Would it be discrimination to only hire employees at my doughnut shop who have the same name? You: Legally, I don't believe that breaches any discrimination laws. Morally though... I don't know. Katakuri: I believe god is on my side when it comes to Duncans' Doughnuts.

You: Can I ask a dumb question? Katakuri: Better than anyone I know.

Pudding: My expectations are low, but they can always go lower.

You: What’s up? I’m back. Katakuri: I literally saw you die. You died. You were dead You: Death is a social construct.

You: Why don't humans have a specific noise that means "there are bees here, let's leave immediately." Why are elephants more advanced than us. Perospero: We do have a specific noise for it. It sounds like this: Perospero: "There are bees here, let's leave immediately."

You: How many vampires do you think have been hit by a car backing up in a parking lot because the driver couldn’t see their reflection? Big Mom: I’ve never considered it but you’re really shining light on what’s probably a very serious issue.

[ravens-two]

Mini-PAC: Your Person's Love Language

This one is a smaller reading, and it has no extended version. It includes your person's love language and how they express their love/feelings/emotions.

Disclaimer: this is just for entertainment purposes, and as a pick-a-card reading it may not resonate for everyone.

TIPS | BOOK A READING WITH ME | PATREON | LINKTREE | SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC

Pile 1

Five of Pentacles, Two of Wands, Gratitude

"All that I am and all that I'll be, forever in gratitude I'll eternally be."

Words of Affirmation/Acts of Service

Hi, pile 1, this person has been through a lot and knows that life can be incredibly hard. That's why they do their best to make it easier for you. That's their love language, making life easier for you. They are quick to show their support and to offer help whenever you need it. They don't have any problems with saying thank you or apologizing when they're wrong. They might have in the past or they might still struggle in other relationships (with people they aren't as close with), not with you though.

They know what it's like to not have anything, including support from others, and they never want to see you there. They could have become the type of person that tells you to get it together and pull yourself by your bootstraps, but they're not. Again, this comes from a deep sense of empathy. (It actually reminds me of that Doctor Who quote "All that pain and misery, and loneliness, and it just made him kind".)

They're the type of person to do the whole "I love you, no I love you more" game. I also see them telling you that they love you as soon as they wake up or before falling asleep. They just really like to say it. They have no problems with expressing their feelings, although I'm getting that they're also private people (this side of them is just for you). I also see them being like "do you need me to listen or do you need advice?" whenever you have problem. They are quite selfless when it comes to you.

Pile 2

Seven of Cups, Judgment, Bear Medicine

"There is no tomorrow without the healing of the past for in stillness you shall find yourself right where you are."

Acts of Service/Quality Time

Understanding is the word I keep getting for your person, pile 2. I get the feeling that your person is quite silent. They remind me of a cat actually, they love spending time in the same room as you while each one does their own thing. They enjoy just reaching out a hand to you and hold hands while doing something else. In general though, I see a lot of silence. This is a comfortable silence, though, there's no awkwardness here. I also think that they're deep thinkers, so when they share their thoughts with you you'll know that it's something important for them. I don't think that saying "I love you" comes easy for them, but you'll know that they really mean it when it comes out.

A bit similar to pile 1, is that when you have a problem your person is ready to step in and help however they can. They're the type to silently act, instead of talking about what they would do. Where I really see the Acts of Service thing though, is them just doing things for you without you having to ask. Like offhandedly mentioning that you need to change your tires, they'll just do it without even saying anything (always respecting your boundaries of course). Or you might mention that you really like a certain brand of chocolate so they always keep that brand at their house so that you can have some. Your person is really thoughtful and they pay a lot of attention to what you say - and what you don't say too.

I get the feeling that they like to be left alone whenever something's wrong, so I feel like they'll do the same for you. Instead of asking what's wrong or try to cheer you up, they'll just sit beside you and keep you company.

Pile 3

Tower, Ace of Pentacles, Cardinal Medicine

"Thy self bleeds of sacredness, an honor fit for the Gods. You are worth all the seas and all the skies and all the desires you hold inside."

Gift-giving/Quality Time

Your person wants to give you the world, pile 3. Their love language is definitively gift-giving, but it's not just about big gifts or luxury (although it could be the case for some of you). For most of you I just see your person being like "look at this cool rock I found today" or "I saw these flowers and they reminded me of you". They just love giving you little trinkets. Especially things that they find unique or special in some way. They think that you deserve something that no one else can possibly have. This can even include commissioning art work or jewelry just for you.

On a more day to day level I also see them just buying your favorite treats. They just want to get home with something special for you, be it your favorite meal or candy. They are very giving in general, and if you say you want something they won't hesitate to buy it for you. Also, I get the vibe that they're incredible gift-givers. Your birthday presents are always incredibly thoughtful.

They might also enjoy creating things for you or singing/playing music for you. They like to have a good time, so having enjoyable experiences is also a love language for them. This could be a dedicated date night where you try new stuff (food, places, activities), going on vacation to new places (just the two of you), or even going to the cinema to watch a new movie. They want to spend time with you while you both do something that you enjoy.

Pile 4

Three of Wands, Emperor, Ringing the Bells

"Ring thy bell to cast them out, ring thy bell and dance about. Swirl the sounds amidst the winds, nowhere to hide, for all will ring."

Physical Touch/Words of Affirmation

Right away I can tell that this is a physical touch kind of person, pile 4. They are very fiery and might get too handsy at times, but it's not just about that for them. They just love to feel your body against theirs. They love to hold hands, wrap their arms around you, and for some of you they love biting (gentle and playful bites on your hands, arms or shoulders). They're not embarrassed by other people and just really love PDA. They like to be touching any part of you all of the time, I feel like it gives them a feeling of safety and comfort. For some of them, they were a bit touch starved for a long time, and now they're making up for it.

I also get the feeling that this person gives the best hugs! It's probably their go-to to comfort you. They'll have no problems telling you that they love and how much you mean to them (although I feel that they crave more to hear you say it, rather than saying it themselves), but their way of showing you how they feel is through touch. They might kiss you to show you that they love you or to communicate their anger or frustration with a problem. This also means that for them sex is also a way of showing you how they feel. They expect you to pay attention to the way they behave during sex to know how they're truly feeling.

When it comes to Words of Affirmation, again I don't think that they struggle to tell you that they love you - in fact I think that they say it rather often - it's more that they struggle with expressing their emotions. Again, they also prefer to receive love this way. They want to hear you say that you want/love them.

[luckykiwiii101]

FEEL LIKE OVER-CONSUMING?

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(Remind yourself of these facts whenever you feel doubtful, frustrated, stressed or like over consuming)

💕Do NOT focus on the 3D. Just focus on the 4D

💖The 3D is just the old state/assumptions manifested

💗I KNOW that I have everything I want no matter what the 3D shows

💞I Fulfil myself every time I think of my desire (surrender to the 4D)

💓I NEVER identify with the 3D unless it’s desired

🌸I KNOW that i’m not waiting for the 3D to conform. I am only making my desire natural to me. I am getting used to always having it.

🌺I am only REMINDING myself that I have what I want.

🌷Logic doesn’t exist

🎀I am NOT lying to myself!!!

💄NOTHING can “ruin” my manifestation

💐I Only see/hear what l want to see/hear

🩰I Only focus on the FEELING of having what I want, I return back to that feeling every time I think of my desire. I satisfy myself until i no longer need the feeling of satisfaction.

💗I don’t need to affirm or visualise etc all day.

🍬I only look for confirmation in the 4D. NEVER the 3D.

💘Creation is finished. It’s done.

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

Quotes from @loasuccessarchive from anons who manifested their dream lives:

💗 “I've manifested so much physical changes when i stopped thinking about how the 3d needs to change. i focused on how i feel (state of already having your desires) and sustained that feeling.”

💓 “I did absolutely nothing but focus on my desires/the 4D. I was delusional, I was detached from whatever bullshit was happening in my 3D and I was basically in love with my 4D.”

💞 “the only reason why you fail, is because you haven’t accepted that imagination is the only reality, everything stems from imagination. the longer you focus on getting it in the physical world, the more stress you’ll have. you only want the feeling such desire brings you, so give it to your inner man.”

💕”All i did was fulfill myself in my imagination, and stopped looking for confirmation in the outer world, whenever i felt the urge to “look for it in the 3D” i would close my eyes and see it in my imagination. That’s all i did, the first days i felt a little anxious but then everything was okay, and i was EXTREMELY calm.”

💖 “I started focusing on the feeling of having everything I wanted, without being specific because my subconscious/ god knows what it is, it’s when things started happening, and let me tell you it’s was so quick.”

“I didn’t work on my self concept, I didn’t do methods (however I tried SATs and it did work for me once but I stopped since I got lazy) I didn’t focus on time or logic, I didn’t do anything but focus on what was happening in my imagination.”

🎀 💋 “your only job in here is to think from the perspective that you already have it baby. don't stress yourself, everything will change because if it is in your imagination and you accept that it will reflect in the 3d, thats literally everything everything and everything . you don't need to change your thoughts, only your state, you want to get into the void this night? imagine however you want that you are waking up with everything you wanted, it is not a desire, it is the reality. you want proof? go to your imagination. everything is there.”

💋”the wish fulfilled isn’t something over exciting (although it may be at first) its just a natural and normal.” —> https://www.tumblr.com/etherealkissed88/737821647378284544/the-state-of-the-wish-fulfilled

P.S Ily 💗 XOXO

- gossip girl