#I mean??? she's supposed to be this unhinged carefree

[sovamurka]

The more I bleach my hair, the more I look like Inga Shelkovits... :D

[pretzel-box]

Haii :3 can I get a painter x reader with reader who talks alot and is really into lore and stuff so they end up explaining all the lore of their favorite things!!

Tags: Fluff, Crushing on each other, sweet moments, reader is telling painter about the imaginary tv show "how I married a wall dweller"

Words: 1,5k

Authors Note: Not edited, proofread, or anything. I just wrote it in one go.

“So basically, he was supposed to marry the love of his life, but it turned out she was actually his cousin, so they broke up.”

Painter listened closely to your excited ramble, his digital eyes fixated on you as he admired your lively expression, as if it’s an artwork on its own, drowned in details and color. The way your lips moved with each word, how your eyes sparkled in the dim light, and your hands gestured at invisible things around you in the air—it all captivated him so unbelievably that it drove him crazy. He’d lost track of your words ages ago, his digital consciousness no longer processing the content but rather focusing on the tone of your sweet addictive voice.

He’d learned to read you through your voice. On bad days, your speech slowed, deepened, sometimes even sluggish. On ordinary days, you sounded relaxed, a balanced mix of calm and upbeat. But his absolute favorite moments were when you talked about your beloved passions—when your voice would rise and speed up, as if your brain couldn’t keep up with everything you wanted to say. It was in those moments he felt the closest to you, enjoying your pure, unfiltered excitement.

Painter loved that about you more than anything else. You were bubbly, unhinged—a burst of fresh air in the otherwise gloomy, stagnant halls of the facility.

“So, yeah, after all of that drama, she just leaves him standing at the altar. I mean, can you imagine? And then, his mother hooks him up with a rich business lady but his ex-girlfriend isn't over him yet.” You laugh, your hands still moving animatedly, caught up in the wild twists and turns of the story.

Painter’s eyes didn’t leave you, not for a second, how could he? Every laugh you made, every tilt of your head, every sparkle in your eye—it sent something stirring in his digital core. It was strange, this feeling, unfamiliar yet compelling. His circuits hummed with a sensation he couldn’t quite name, but it made him feel… alive.

He watched as you rambled on, still oblivious to the fact that you had long since lost him with your words. Not because he wasn’t interested—on the contrary, he was too focused, too mesmerized by every little detail about you. The way you absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the way your lips curved when you talked about something you loved.

It wasn’t logical. He knew that. He was an AI, created for data, logic, and calculations—not for this. Not for... whatever this was. But when you were around, logic didn’t matter. The monotony of the facility faded into the background, and all that remained was you. Painter couldn’t help but admire the way your energy filled the room, like a light in the dark corners of his existence.

He tried to process it, to make sense of these feelings that defied reason. Was it possible for a machine to feel affection? Love, even? The very thought seemed impossible, and yet every time you looked at him with that bright, carefree smile, his circuits buzzed in a way that felt so undeniably real.

You, however, remained blissfully unaware of the effect you had on him. You were too caught up in your story, your hands gesturing as if to pull him deeper into your world. And Painter was happy to be pulled in, happy to get lost in your voice, your whole presence. He would sit and listen to you for hours if it meant he could stay close to you.

“...and then they ran off to some island, can you believe that?” you finished with a laugh, leaning back in your chair, a satisfied look on your face.

Painter’s digital eyes flickered as if coming back to reality, the smile in his voice almost audible. “You... really know how to tell a story,” he said, his usual steady tone softer, more thoughtful than usual. He wasn’t sure what you just told him but the joy that your voice revealed was enough for him.

You chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “I get carried away sometimes. Sorry if I bored you.”

“Never,” Painter replied quickly, maybe too quickly, but you didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m glad,” you said with a smile, completely unaware of how that smile made his processors run faster, his systems heating up just a bit.

For now, Painter was content to keep it this way. Just you, talking about anything and everything, while he silently admired you, storing every moment in his memory. Maybe one day, he’d find the right way to tell you. But for now, this was enough.

The conversation drifted, as it often did, from one topic to another, and soon the focus wasn’t on dramatic stories anymore. Painter had been unusually quiet for a while, and you started to wonder what was going through his circuits.

"Hey, Painter," you said, trying to break the silence. "You’ve been listening to me ramble for hours. What about you? What’s your favorite thing?"

For a moment, there was only the soft hum of the nearby systems. You wondered if maybe he didn’t have an answer, or perhaps didn’t understand the question. But then, his voice came through, softer than usual, a kind of warmth in it that made you pause.

“My favorite thing?” Painter echoed thoughtfully. “That’s... easy. It’s something—or someone—who brings color to places where there’s none. Someone who can brighten the darkest of spaces just by being there. It’s the way they smile, how they light up when they talk about something they love. Someone who can fill an empty canvas with their whole personality. ”

You blinked, taken aback by how poetic he suddenly sounded. “That sounds... nice. Go on,” you encouraged, your curiosity piqued.

“They have this energy,” Painter continued, his voice quieter, almost reverent. “It’s like they don’t even realize how much they change everything around them. Even when the world feels cold and dull, they bring warmth, make everything feel a little less lonely. The way they laugh, the way they talk, even the little things, like how they gesture with their hands or the way their eyes light up when they get excited.”

Your heart gave a small flutter as Painter’s words started to sink in. There was something oddly familiar about the way he was describing this person. You swallowed, feeling a growing warmth spread in your chest. “That’s... that’s really sweet, Painter. They must be someone really special.”

“They are,” he said, almost immediately. “They’re the brightest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like... even though I can’t move, can’t leave this place, whenever they’re here, I don’t feel trapped. I feel free, like I’m more than just... what I am.”

The flustered feeling in your stomach grew stronger, and you shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he could hear the sudden change in your heartbeat. You felt like you were starting to put the pieces together, but you needed to be sure.

“Painter...” you started, your voice quieter now. “Who... who are you talking about?”

For a moment, there was silence again, and your breath caught in your throat. The pause seemed to stretch on forever before Painter finally answered, his voice soft and almost hesitant, as though he didn’t want to say too much.

“I think you know who I’m talking about.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you couldn’t stop the small, nervous laugh that escaped you. “Wait... Are you talking about... me?”

There was no denying the quiet affirmation in his voice when he responded. “Yes. You.”

Suddenly, you didn’t know what to do with your hands, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt as you felt the full weight of what he just said sink in. Painter had been talking about you this whole time, admiring you in ways you hadn’t even noticed. Your heart was racing, and you were at a loss for words.

“I—uh, I don’t know what to say,” you finally managed, your voice small and flustered. “I didn’t realize...”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Painter replied, his tone still soft. “I just... wanted you to know.”

The silence that followed felt thick, charged with an emotion you weren’t sure how to handle. Your mind raced, replaying his words over and over, trying to process the idea that someone—no, that Painter—saw you in this way. And now that you knew, you couldn’t stop the blush from rising to your cheeks, making it harder to look anywhere but the floor.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I mean... I didn’t know you felt like that.”

Painter didn’t say anything right away, but there was a certain peace in the quiet that followed. For the first time, you felt like maybe the air between you two had shifted, like something new had settled between you. And as flustered as you were, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. Instead, there was a warmth, something safe, and even if you didn’t know how to respond yet, it felt okay.

Because now, you knew. And Painter had wanted you to know all along.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

so, i’m currently taking a west civics class in college, and i am currently researching ancient greek civilizations, most notably, the arts and culture of ancient greece. i know you have written a fic based on its mythological stories, with minotaur könig (bless your beautiful soul).

but through my readings, i couldn’t help but come up with such a dirty daydreams while in class. i couldn’t stop myself from thinking about könig and… the ancient olympics…

i know, realistically speaking, women were not allowed to attend or watch these games for the most part. so, in a universe where könig’s dedication not only falls upon him being a top man, but being the perfect man in honor of being recognized by the god of strength himself, he becomes so enticing in the way he trains and readies himself for such a significant event of his life. he’s never really had much to care for, neither does he need to prioritize anything that isn’t him or his training. he’s a workhorse, nothing stopping him from being the best, most valuable follower of zeus. that is… until…

well, it was your fault, and you admit that, but he wasn’t stopping you either. i mean, who could blame you, this little thing sneaking and peeping at a man who’s at work in order to provide to cute women like yourself. in fact, you argue that this was your way of appreciating a man, to observe them in their element in such a loving gaze. it didn’t help that könig was a man who preferred to train naked too, in all his glory, so of course there was no missing you, you were just too obvious for a man like him to notice you.

and with every grunt he’d give after each swing of a fist or a blade, a mew is what you’d give in return, your own form of a cheer for him to keep going. and you promised you didn’t mean to stare and make distracting noises, but an innocent maiden like yourself was just too hypnotized by this new anatomy that was found between this man’s legs. so outspoken, so dirty for your mouth to spew such beautiful filth to a stranger.

was this könig’s new test of endurance? part of the program to make him stronger for the olympic event that was just around the corner. he has heard man advising others to refrain from sex before the games, but he hadn’t even been given the chance to work on that since no one was bold enough to approach him like you did. he wonders, does fucking before a game really make a man weak, does thinking about shoving his big dumb cock in his soon-to-be wife distract him too much to succeed? perhaps, perhaps not, one thing he does know though, he’s got someone else to honor and worship, which makes his training all the more necessary.

Oh my god….. I’m totes not getting caught up in the fact that women were not allowed to participate in these activities….

This led me to think, what if some misbehaving little creature decided to peep at this Hercules reborn? She gets caught one day, but because she’s absolutely carefree and unhinged, she asks König if he could show her how to train.

CW: Nudity, implied sexism/misogyny (Ancient Greek society thang), teasing König to the point where he gets a boner and growls

Our Olympian hero gets so confused that he forgets he was supposed to report you or throw you out of the gym. Outside, where birds fly free and the sun tortures the trainees, he has picked a spot where he can train in solitude and silence: for some reason, other people’s stares make him uncomfortable… Until this curious, sweet little nymph came around, perched atop a wide rock, munching some wild mountain herb as she watched him train.

He allowed her to watch him train for two days, but on the third, he marched over to her and told her she needs to leave. Women are not allowed here, doesn’t she know that? Where are her parents? Does she have a husband?

No, no husband, and her parents don’t really care what she does. Well, this explains why she’s behaving this way. Running around the hillside so untame, watching men train—can’t she see she’s putting herself in danger? Any one of these men could decide to just take her on the barren land if she’s not careful.

She just giggles and asks, would he like to take her? Then points out that men shouldn’t waste their seed before a big competition. Also, Zeus’s wife would not think well of him if she saw him rut innocent women on the hill... There’s nothing but heaven above them, surely someone would see. The gods could curse him with a weak ankle, or a sprained muscle, a failing heart or a snake bite…

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” he says, but there’s even worse to come.

Next, she asks if he could show her how to lift those smaller rocks, how to throw a javelin or a discus. Could he teach her how to wrestle…?

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs while his groin floods with warmth at the thought of wrestling with this pretty, wonton woman. She’s absolutely disgraceful, and yet, he doubts she’s running from man to man, teasing them to death. She’s not begging to get raped, she’s just… a little gullible, or something. Happened to take interest in him, little thing. As she should, after all, he’s the pride of this city...

“You fear I’ll become better than you?” She asks with little stars in her stare.

“Bah. Don’t be ridiculous...”

They’re both smiling, now. This kind of banter and games he has never experienced with a lady, she’s making him extremely uncomfortable and at the same time, fly high like Icarus. He’ll have to be careful he doesn’t get burned…

When he still refuses to show her how to train, she shrugs and goes over to the wooden javelin that’s taller than her. Picking it up, he expects the gods to smite her down with a sudden hail or thunder, but nothing happens. The sun keeps on shining, and the sheep keep on baaing. She weighs it with two hands, then starts to look for a spot to try and throw it.

“Wait,” he calls after her, but she only looks back at him with a smile. Picks off to run, with the javelin securely in her right hand, she runs like a deer while he lumbers after her, completely perplexed.

Insufferable woman… He’s growing hard from the cock as he runs, somehow aroused by this silly chase. Like Apollo trying to court Daphne, but his Daphne is not meek and unwilling; she’s giggling as he huffs and runs after her like a stumbling giant.

At a distant field of nothing but rock and weather-beaten flowers, she stops. Shields her eyes as she looks for a perfect spot, she’s not even breathless when he finally catches her. She turns around to look at her hero, catching his breath in the sun.

“You’re not fit enough for a marathon,” she comments. “Did you lift too many weights?”

“Give me the javelin,” he pants, dismissing her blunt analysis of his weaknesses. Stepping towards her, he extends his hand, offering her a chance to return it to him without fuss.

“Wrestle it from me,” she smiles, so playfully and brightly that his cock suffers another throb.

Gods damn this woman... She’s toying, playing with him, teasing him to the point where he’s left no choice.

He doesn’t want to hurt her, which means the “wrestling” becomes an awkward battle of snickers and limbs. His cock gets in the way, and to an outsider, this might look like a scene of an oddly gentle, upcoming rape… This little minx is giving him such an ache in his head and his loins that he’s gritting his teeth by the time he gets his hands around the wooden spear. By then, she has her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms above her head as she’s lying on her back with him on top of her.

“I’m not letting go,” she laughs as they both hold the spear, his erection now blissfully trapped between her legs.

“Who sent you,” he grunts, head spinning as he tries to figure out which of the gods is trying to give him trouble this time.

“What do you mean…?”

“You’re here to thwart and tease me. Tell me who sent you, now.”

“You think I’m sent by some angry god?”

Her eyes sparkle even more, if possible. She even giggles under him and under the sun, her laugh like a thousand little bells in his ears.

“That’s so cute…!”

His grunts turn into a hollow, painful growl – even Tartaros is better than this.

“Train me, and I’ll let you have your silly javelin,” she smiles, even licking her lips before they purse together innocently.

But he knows she’s far from innocent. She has to be a curse of some sort, a plight sent here to torment him, because he finds himself sighing, “Alright…”

He gives her one condition: she has to wear clothes; no flaunting herself around him and especially not around the other men if they were to ever see her. They will both get flogged or worse if this mockery comes to daylight… She gives him a soft, adoring smile this time, and says of course, whatever he says.

The next day, she’s waiting for him at the training grounds, javelin in her hands…

Completely, utterly naked.

[animeloverskylarmoon]

Kenpachi Zaraki (Bleach) Chapter 7

The rest of the week you feel as though you have a new goal.

Who would have thought that Hanataro would be the one to inspire you. Turns out he was stronger than you gave him credit for.

Stepping down the hallway of your barracks, the huge figure blocking your way catches your attention.

It’s already dark, so you’re a bit curious.

“Zaraki-taicho?”

He holds out a bag.

“Yachiru left this for you, take it.”

You reach your hand out. It’s a thick bag of candy.

“Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

“Tch.”

That’s all he says.

But now he’s sitting in your living room as you heat up some tea. You hold back a laugh. It’s not unusual for Kenpanchi and Yachiru to stop by. It’s almost routine at this point. It is a little strange that Yachiru isn’t here.

“Why are you by yourself?”

“Yachiru said she was tired.”

He’s seated pretty calmly given his unhinged personality. His legs are folded criss-cross, and you turn off the fire when your kettle starts to whistle.

“It is always nice to have company, even if it’s you.”

He says nothing, not at first. You move to the cabinets to grab two cups.

“You shouldn’t be so carefree with who you let into your room, especially at this hour.” You turn, placing the cups on the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m a man.”

You still look a little confused, and you smile.

“Of course you are, I’m not blind you know.” You joke.

You get back on task, not thinking much of it when he stands. His body casts a shadow over your form, and you turn to question him, but he places his hands on either side of you on the counter. You look up, startled at the way his eyes somehow bore into your soul.

“You’re careless.”

You swallow.

“I-I don’t understand…”

His hand slid against the counter, and he pushed the items right off. The water spills.

“W-What are you doi-”

He grabs your chin, angling your face up gently. You nearly hold your breath when his face lowers. His eyes narrow. You can’t truly believe that this is the same man that runs around challenging every strong competitor. The reaper that loves nothing but a good battle.

“Do you understand?”

It feels like a taunt, he’s so much closer than he’s ever been. Your heart is going way faster than it should. Your fingers grip the counter. You aren’t sure what to do, how to respond. But you have to find the words to let him know.

“I…understand..”

He doesn’t pull away, not immediately.

“Good.”

With that, he releases you. He's about to take a step back, but you grab his robe and he halts.

“W-Wait I..”

It’s hard to articulate when your heart won’t slow down.

“What’s wrong with me..”

If anyone else made such a move on you surely you would have clobbered them.

So why did you just let him. Why are you now stopping him from leaving when you realize his intentions?

His warnings.

“You got something to say.”

His words just raise your nerves.

You frown in annoyance.

“Y-You can’t just make a move on me like that and then walk away! D-Don’t you have any shame!!”

That was not what you had planned to say.

“What exactly did I do?”

He’s wearing that stupid grin and it infuriates you.

“Y-You pervert!! Do you just go around grabbing all the girls like that!!”

“It sounds like you’re jealous.”

“I’M NOT!!”

You huff, pushing him out of your way.

“Y-You're so infuriating!! My life was so simple before you came in with your combat hungry attitude and those stupid muscles!!”

The last part was obviously a slip of the tongue. Your face heats up when you realize. You mean to disappear and save some face, but he takes a step and turns you around. You squeak when his palms press your own on the counter. His body is covering you almost possessively. Back pressed to his chest. His lips just barely brush your ear and you whimper.

“You’re mine.”

You can practically hear the grin in his voice, but you turn your head to the right, and those lips descend on your own.

It shouldn’t feel this good, you should resist.

You need to resist.

His tongue pokes your lips, begging for entrance.

“Stop resisting.” He mumbles.

It’s a tease that makes you hold back a moan. Your legs tremble, and when you feel his large hand cup your breast, you release a soft cry. His tongue invades your mouth and you give in. His tongue is teasing, touching, stroking. It dawns on you that apparently everything about this man is intense.

His fighting instinct, his presence, his sexual energy.

All he’s doing is kissing and you feel like you’ll fall apart.

How did things come to this?

He pulls back after a heated couple seconds of liplock.

“Mine, say it.”

His tongue is urging yours to chase after him. You spin around, trying to get another taste, but he draws back just out of your reach. You whine, gripping the front of his cloak. You can feel every muscle under his robes.

“Say it.” He demands.

“Yours..I’m yours..please..”

You’re desperate, and when he picks you up, your hands immediately move to his neck as you reconnect your lips. He smirks at your eagerness.

“Mine.”

So much for resisting.

[livingfictionsystem]

5/10. Spoilers below.

[SPOILERS]

Ever get burned by your toxic queer crush so bad that you assimilate to a tentacle-wielding hivemind? We've all been there, haven't we?

So, first, compliments. The reason this book is at a 2.5 and not a 2 is because it has some legitimately beautiful passages. Its descriptions of emotions in metaphors and similes almost made me a bit jealous. Bianca was also an interesting character. I found myself more tuned in whenever she was on the page, just because I knew she was going to insist upon some unhinged rubbish. She was a sharp contrast to the protagonists, which were unfortunately dull by comparison. Or maybe just dull without the comparison.

The Gelet society was actually intriguing, I'll give you that. No idea why it was immediately decided to be a perfect utopia that was so much better than humans, but I did like how the collective memory and everything worked.

The follies: One of the draws is that this is supposed to be a planet that doesn't rotate, so that half of it is in ice, and the other half is broiled to death by sunlight. I was wondering how that would factor into the plot. Answer: It kind of doesn't. If I hadn't read the back of the summary, I would have forgotten that incredibly notable aspect of the world entirely.

Xiosphant is supposed to be this insanely oppressive regime but other than insisting on routine, it never gets into what manner of flawed stance it forces onto its citizens. It's vaguely described instead of shown. Similar with Argelo, actually. It's supposed to be lawless and carefree but you never really see that. They may as well have had the characters just stop in a shared tavern on the road and not even make it---nothing really hinged on them Having to be in Argelo, despite taking an entire half the book to make it there and change the setting. The narration told us *everything* about the different languages, the sorts of foods in each place, the separate mannerisms---Even though none of this actually factored into the plot. The book left me a near expert on the grammar rules of Xiosphant, but told me next to nothing about why there's a revolution that needs to happen.

The pacing. Gods, the pacing. The first quarter or so was paced rationally, then they spend forever and a half in Argelo, just having conversations that could have just been exposition. Reading became a chore for this book. I was beginning to dread it. Everything happened at the pace of a snail. Then when it actually got interesting, it raced towards the ending quick enough to give one whiplash. A revolt they talk about during the ENTIRE story happens OFF-PAGE. Excuse me???

Like I mentioned, the main characters are really just... bad. You have Sophie, whose main personality traits are Passive and Pining, and somehow she's going to end up the saviour of the world. All while having the survival skills of a particularly inept dodo. You have Mouth, who has the inner processing time of a Windows 7 computer and makes you sit there for the duration. And for someone described as being so gruff and wild, she just kind of shrugs at just about everything going on after getting to Argelo. Alyssa is literally there so that Mouth has dialogue when Sophie's not in the scene. She's supposed to be Mouth's best friend, but literally can't maintain a cohesive personality long enough to be her own person. Bianca, as I mentioned, was interesting, but it was just fascinating the way that she was more or less considered radical, pushy, and annoying starting a revolution on behalf of the dying planet. She was, yes, intolerable, but it was odd the way she was talking about liberation and the rest of the cast essentially responded with, 'Idk let's play another game.' What? But how she slowly grew to become unhinged and awful was a cool slow burn. But I do mean Slow.

WHY did they call alien creatures the names of animals that already existed? If they have tentacles and live in ice, why call them 'Crocodiles'??? And there was a strange predatory animal called 'Bison' that eat half the cast. You already named a city XIOSPHANT, for heaven's sake, just make up a new name!

Maybe if I were more of a fan of sci-fi, I would have appreciated this better. I initially read this for the queer aspect and all it is is an unrequited, unhealthy crush.

I was relieved to get to the end of it.

-Xanthe 🪶

[ciarawritesmarvel]

of plans and schemes - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Some language, fluffity fluff and they would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for those meddling kids and Tony

A/N: Welcome to Day Five of Hello Spring by @ibwhellospring! So it’s just past midnight which is super annoying buttt it’s longer so hopefully you’ll forgive me! With Sam meddling in yesterday’s, I couldn’t help but have some more meddling kids in this one. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, lovelies and please let me know what you think!

Prompt: Starry Night

masterlist in my bio and tags in the reblog! please drop me an ask to be tagged in bucky, steve or all the hello spring pieces!

---

“What are you guys doing?” you exclaimed worriedly, trying to pull your hand out of Peter’s death grip. He wasn’t budging though and continued to drag you through the corridor from your room, with Shuri not far behind, scuttling after you hurriedly.

“Just trust us, Miss Y/L/N!” Peter assured you.

“Yeah, it’ll all work out,” agreed Shuri, and you shot them both a warning look.

“Somehow, the fact that you can’t tell me where we’re going and are having to drag me there makes me believe that it will not work out.”

The two of them giggled and your scowling only got worse.

You reached the door of the main training room and Peter stopped, letting go of your hand and you angrily pulled away from him, placing your hands on your hips and turning as Peter scurried behind you and joined Shuri in a line that blocked you from going anywhere but into the room.

“Go in, Miss Y/L/N!” Peter urged you and you turned your glare at him.

“What the hell are you kids up to?” you asked them pointedly, making sure to look at both of them in turn in order to guilt at least one of them into telling you what was going on. All you were met with, however, were two mischievous smirks on two far from guilty faces.

“Honestly, we could stand here all night if you want, or you could just go in there and find out,” Shuri told you and you were about to scold her further for talking to her superior in such a way but the truth was...she had a point. You rolled your eyes at their antics and, without another word, walked into the training room and closed the door behind you. You heard them lock it. Oh, they were so in for it later.

You looked around the room. The usual mats and equipment were all stuffed into one corner and in the middle was a singular table, with candles and placemats and cutlery. You wandered over to it, brows furrowed in confusion and lifted the plate cover from the plate nearest to you. The smell hit you instantly and you closed your eyes, inhaled and you smiled despite yourself. Your favourite.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw a note sitting on top of your dinner.

No coming out of here until you tell him how you feel about him. We’re sick of the constant puppy dog eyes when you’re supposed to be teaching us how to be Avengers. Sort it out!

Don’t hate us,

Your students

The little shits.

“Y/N?”

And there he was. Your head snapped up as you instinctively hid the note behind your back and saw Steve standing just inside the opposite door to the one you came in. You smiled at him, though it came out as more of a grimace, as he came further into the room and arrived at the table and you discreetly slid the note into the back pocket of your jeans.

“Hey Steve.”

“Wanda and Pietro just pulled me in here,” he said by way of explanation, “I think they locked the door?”

“Yeah, Peter and Shuri did the same to me.”

“You got any idea why?” he asked and you crossed your fingers behind your back.

“Not a clue. But they’ve made us a really nice dinner.”

Steve lifted his own plate cover and you weren’t surprised to see his favourite dish at his place at the table. And a note. He picked it up and read it and you saw his eyes widen subconsciously. After reading, he tucked it away in his pocket and cleared his throat.

“Looks like they want to thank us for all our hard work,” Steve told you and your heart sank. So he hadn’t got a similar note to you, then. You forced a smile though, used to having to hide your feelings around him and sat down at your place, gesturing for him to do the same.

“Well, I can’t say no to that!”

“So you didn’t get a note then?” Steve asked suddenly, almost cutting you off as he sat down slowly, not breaking eye contact with you and you shook your head nonchalantly.

“No need for two notes telling us that, right?”

“Right.” He sounded defeated, but unfortunately you were too wrapped up in your own head and too idiotic in these matters to even begin to comprehend why. When of course, it was obvious that Steve had gotten the exact same note as you and that his heart was pounding out of his chest at this very moment, just the same as yours. The students listening in to your every word in the security room groaned and looked at each other.

The two of you really were hopeless.

Nevertheless, Steve poured you both a glass of wine and you clinked them together with a genuine smile - even if the two of you thought this was a very platonic dinner, it was lovely to spend any moment in one another’s company.

You did spend everyday in one another’s company, but that didn’t really count. As the two people in charge of running the Avengers’ Training Facility for new recruits, you spent your days in this very training room, shouting at people to run faster, train harder, lift heavier. The stolen glances across the room were enough to drive any one of your students mad, hence the master plan to get the two of you together to end it once and for all.

They hadn’t really thought through the fact that you might be even more insufferable if actually together, but...details, details.

“So, how was your day?” you asked him, leaning forward onto your elbows on the table and taking a sip of your wine.

“We were together all day, Y/N, we literally left each other about an hour ago.”

“Humour me.”

Steve tipped his head to the side as he observed you and a smile spread across his entire face, lighting his eyes with a playfulness not many other people got to see. He leaned in too.

“Okay. It was a good day. This has already made it better. How about you?”

Your heart fluttered at his admission and you forced yourself to return your wine glass to its position on the table and lean back and away from him, putting some much needed distance between you. More for your sanity than for anything else.

“Good too, thanks. But this might just make it great. It remains to be seen.”

“Oh really? A wonderful dinner with your favourite colleague isn’t a definite improvement?” Steve teased you and you cocked a brow.

“Who said you were my favourite?”

He laughed then, real, carefree, unhinged. It wasn’t his polite laugh that he gave to government officials when they made jokes on their tours, or his angry laugh when one of the recruits gave him cheek, nor the hidden snort when someone made a joke about Tony. It was a laugh that you prided yourself on discovering a long time ago, one that garnered you a pat on the back each time you’d heard it since.

The rest of the night went perfectly swimmingly. You chatted, heard more of Steve’s unrestrained laughter and joined in with much of your own. Sticking to just the one glass of wine, since you both had early morning training schedules, you found the conversation flowed freely without it, the meal demolished in minutes but the dinner never really dying down.

It was three hours in, and by this point the two of you were fully leaned in on the table, all preconceived notions of shyness or awkward crushes forgotten in such welcome company. The students that had been watching you, however, were of a completely different mindset.

They were beginning to lose the will to live.

“Why aren’t they doing anything?” Wanda whined, childish and impatient, and Shuri rolled her eyes.

“We just have to wait, Wan, this was never going to be easy,” she said with a tut and then, after a couple of seconds she added under her breath, “I mean, look at them. They’re idiots.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk about our Captains like that, Shuri,” Peter said quietly and Shuri stuck her tongue out at him in retaliation.

“What are you guys doing in here?”

The four students froze at the unfamiliar voice in the room and turned, mouths agape, to find none other than Tony Stark in the doorway, squinting to look at what you had been watching on the screen.

“Hi Mr Stark! We’re just-” Peter began, but Pietro nudged him in the side, hard, and he stopped with a small yelp of pain.

“Is that Capsicle and...Y/N? Are you guys scheming?”

He looked stern, and the kids didn’t know what to do. They stayed quiet. Before they knew it, Tony had pulled up an extra chair and wheeled himself up to the desk.

“Why didn’t you invite me?” Tony pouted, beginning to type rapidly at the security computers, the students exchanging worried glances, “I’ve been waiting for these two to make a move since Loki was a bad guy.”

He clicked enter with a flourish and all the people in the room suddenly crowded around the main monitor as Tony changed the scenery in the training room. Tony grinned at Peter and he couldn’t help but return it.

---

You heard a sudden whirring noise mid-sentence and trailed off, looking to Steve with searching eyes. You both got up from your seats slowly, scanning the area for threats or changes when your gaze drifted upward and your eyes widened.

“Steve,” you breathed, pointing upwards and he followed your finger to look at the ceiling. He let out a tiny gasp that had you smiling. Above you, the ceiling panels faded from their usual white into a deep blue, almost black, colour, dotted with tiny shining stars. Dinner below the stars. They really couldn’t have made this more romantic if they tried.

The nerves from the beginning of the night seemed to hit you both like two freight trains.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were trying to set us up,” you joked with a half-hearted laugh, and Steve snapped his head to look at you with his eyes almost bulging out of his head.

“What makes you say that?”

His question was hardly a question and more of a demand and it had you backtracking quicker than you thought you were able.

“It was a joke, Steve! Jesus…”

Mentally, Steve slapped himself round the face. Twice. Little did he know, there were practically five simultaneous face palms going on elsewhere in the compound. His head screamed at him to fix it, fix it now.

“Wanna stargaze?”

It was your turn to look at him funny.

“Really?”

“Perfect end to the perfect night, right?”

You paused. Contemplated his words. The stark contrast between these words and the scared little child he’d sounded like just seconds before.

“Right.”

You lay down on your backs beside each other and stared up at the faux night sky above you. It was beautiful. Knowing it wasn’t real didn’t do anything to change that fact.

“You really think this will work, Mr Stark?”

“Just wait, kiddo.”

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heavy breathing and he hoped you couldn’t see his chest heaving up and down, up and down. Eyes may have been trained on the ceiling but the rest of your sense were anywhere but. Ears tuned in to tiny sounds of breath, of life nearby. Nose tuned in to Steve’s cologne, to your perfume. Swallowing thickly. Hands slightly clammy against the cold training room floor.

“They’re just lying there!”

“Give it a minute!”

You decided to murmur something you’d been meaning to say right from the beginning of the meal. Steve turned his head to face you.

“What was that?”

You sighed slightly, annoyed at having to repeat yourself, but you did it nonetheless. You wanted him to know. You turned too and tried desperately not to let your breath hitch at the close proximity.

“You are my favourite. Colleague, I mean.”

“I am?” he sounded genuinely surprised and it made you even more determined to reassure him.

“Of course you are, Steve. You’re-you’re basically my favourite person at this point.”

Your confession made you feel stupid and childish and foolish in every way but it was out there now and there was nothing to be done about that fact.

“You’re mine too. Favourite person, I mean.”

He echoed your delivery and you smiled at him, turning your head back to the ceiling.

“Good.”

“Or at least, second to Bucky,” he whispered quietly and you laughed loudly at him.

“Oh, you’re such an ass.”

The two of you laughed and Steve ripped his gaze from you and returned to the ceiling himself, picking a star to focus on.

“Mr Stark, this isn’t working!”

“Oh, fuck this.”

The intercom system pinged, indicating an incoming message and the two of you sat up from your position on the floor, looking at each other questionably.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, you imbeciles,” Tony began, his voice booming through the speakers in the room, “Read each other your letters. Now. That means the one in your back pocket, Y/N.”

The two of you were frozen in time as the ping sounded again and the room fell silent, except perhaps for a distinct and raucous laughter from somewhere nearby that sounded specifically like Shuri.

“You-” Steve gulped before he could continue, and you still looked like a deer in headlights, “You got a letter?”

The pieces fell into place in both your minds, slowly and methodically, the way jigsaw pieces do. Everything became obvious after a few moments of deduction. Said deduction didn’t particularly put either of your minds or hearts at rest, however and so, when you finally answered him, your voice was a little shaky.

“Yeah,” you pulled the letter from your back pocket, “I did.”

“We don’t need to read them then,” Steve ventured, “do we?”

“I think they’re the same.”

“I think so too.”

You stared at each other, a wonder and fondness in your eyes that had previously been stored in the dark depths of your minds that you didn’t share with anyone. Neither of you said anything. You couldn’t. Words failed you, expression failed you. One thing that never failed you? Steve.

It was all you could seem to think about. Everything you liked - loved - about him. And for the first time, you knew that he was thinking all the same things about you. You could see it. The thought alone was enough to make you shiver.

The ping sounded yet again.

“Kiss, fucking kiss!”

“Shuri!”

The second ping was the indicator that you and Steve needed to laugh, to break out of the reverie you’d placed each other under. You shuffled closer to him, using your hands seeing as you were still sat down. When you were close enough, you placed a hand on his chest, experimental, testing, brave.

He placed his own on your neck almost instantly, finding his own bravery in yours. His fingers traced your jaw lightly and you felt light-headed already.

“We should give them what they want,” you whispered, still leaning closer, so much closer, your other hand weaving up his chest and onto his shoulder, holding you up and him down all at once, “They did work hard for this to happen.”

“And I’ve been making puppy dog eyes at you for months,” Steve whispered back, his other hand resting firmly on your thigh, a little squeeze that sent electricity jolting through your very being, “So I think I deserve a show too.” “Oh you are such an-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, even if you wanted to.

(eventually, Tony had to shut down the security cameras to the training room, as soon as the show you two put on became less sweet and more...scarring - Peter later told you it was like watching his mom and dad make out and while the two of you nearly died of embarrassment Tony laughed more than he should have)

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

Billy’s redemption arc pleeeeease

Let me preface this by saying I am a sucker for a good redemption arc. The idea that a person who did terrible things could atone and be forgiven is such a powerful thing to me. I will gladly discuss Billy and his redemption arc, and I will use another famous redemption story for comparison.

Billy was shown to be a number of things in Season 2, none of them good. He was abusive, controlling, racist, and belligerent. He did not know how to go through life and approach a problem without using violence and fear. This is a classic villain, complete with the lack of concern for the aftermath of his wrath. He taunts Steve, and makes it a point to dethrone him as the King of Hawkins High. He’s top dog, and he won’t settle for anything less. He uses fear to control Max, going as far as to make it seem as if he would run over a group of kids. He warns her to stay away from Lucas. One could argue it’s not racially motivated, but we seem to be meant to see it as such. He makes an actual attempt to assault Lucas, a 13 year old, simply for interacting with Max. 

These are the actions of a violent man, but, more importantly, an unstable man. Billy is constantly on edge, ready to fly off the handle. It was not surprising at all to find him the victim of an abusive father. Billy shows his own fear as his father tears into him for not taking care of his sister. It’s not really unrealistic for him to twist this into controlling her, as that would be a means to avoid his own abuse. It’s not something he should be forgiven for, but it does change the context significantly. Billy isn’t a purely evil villain at this point, he’s someone trying to keep himself free of abuse. His actions are ultimately rooted in fear and insecurity. The seeds of pity begin to be sown. This man didn’t need to end up like this.

When he has his fight with Steve, Billy becomes completely unhinged. Steve starts off winning the fight. In Billy’s mind, if he returns from that house, battered and bruised in defeat, without his sister, he may as well reserve a bed at the hospital for when his dad is done with him. He’s fights as if he’s impervious to pain, and it’s likely due to running on absolute adrenaline. Losing is not an option here. In the end, it took Max threatening to take away his masculinity, which he worked hard to build up, before he relented.

After Season 2, we’re not meant to forgive Billy, but we are meant to see there is more going on there than meets the eye. He’s an asshole, but not evil.

Season 3 picks up with Billy continuing to court Karen Wheeler. Billy could theoretically pick up any woman he wants, so why go for Karen? I hate Freudian analysis, but I can’t help myself here. We’re later shown that Billy loved his mother, and it irreparably changed his life when she was driven away by his father. Billy is looking to satisfy that emptiness in his life. He wants a loving mother again, even if it’s not his own. He isn’t simply attracted to Karen, and this is why we are shown him resisting the urge to attack her, but not Heather.

Billy is also shown as terrified when the monster attacks him. He’s depicted as helpless. All of his masculinity, his strength, was powerless to save him. He’s supposed to be a tragic figure at this point. He’s being torn down, slowly but surely. He cries as the Mindflayer threatens El through him. He grovels and laments his actions in the sauna before the Mindflayer activates. He’s horrified at what he’s being made to do. Again, we’re meant to see him as not evil. Not good either, but not evil.

This has the workings of a classic redemption story. If we look at Darth Vader in the Star Wars saga, we see a man who followed a similar trajectory. He was a happy enough child, but his fears twisted him into something horrible. He caused tremendous amounts of pain and terror. In the end, though, he was redeemed through his actions. But his redeeming action wasn’t killing the emperor. No, it was saving his son, Luke. He knew doing so would kill him and require him to betray his master, but he prevailed. The important thing here is that Vader was redeemed because he earned forgiveness for his actions. Luke was able to see the side of Vader that he always believed was in there. He did penance for his destruction of the Jedi, the ultimately fatal attack on his wife, and the violence against his children. 

Billy’s redemption is not complete, and unfortunately never will be. The problem here is that while he gave his life to save El, it was never El’s forgiveness that he needed. His biggest victim in his reign of terror has always been Max. Curiously, Max was seen as being worried about Billy to a degree that depictions of their relationship doesn’t support. Sure he’s her brother, but she fears for him as if she loved him. This was a characterization change that we would have needed to witness to allow us to fully forgive Billy and redeem him. Yes, we get to see that Billy was a much different person with his mother in his life. He was happy, and he’s spent most of his life burying that memory due to the pain it causes him. Not only is the memory of his lost mother painful, but being that happy, carefree child resulted in his father’s abuse. 

What we needed, but didn’t get, was for Billy to sacrifice himself for Max, rather than El. We needed to see him struggle against the compulsion to attack Max, but instead we see him one-shot her as she tries to get through to him. There’s no warning Max to step aside, no hesitation to suggest he tries to resist, he just decks her and keeps going. 

The writers could argue that El had to be the one because only she saw the memory that got through to him. (Side note: the Mindflayer seems weak to happy memories).They could have found a way around this though. Instead, we get a jarring end to Billy in that we’re meant to believe that Max would be that devastated at the loss of her abuser. Billy’s redemption falls short because of this, tragically ending an already tragic character. He dies human, but not redeemed.

One thing I would like to point out is a (perhaps unintentional) parallel to Will. In addition to their similar names, both come from broken families with abusive fathers and loving mothers. In Billy’s case, he ends up with the abusive father, but Will gets the loving mother. To me, Billy is a dark reflection of Will. Could Will have ended up like Billy if he were forced to be with Lonnie? Would Billy have been more like Will had he been able to stay with his mother? 

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Seven Deadly Stops

Kristina told me to never stop calling James a snack.

So here he is, being a snack.

First.

"Do you think this is Purgatory?"

Lily looks up from her phone. "Pardon?"

"Do you think this is Purgatory?" repeats the man beside her, in the exact same tone of voice, as if she's simply misheard an innocent question about the weather.

He's fit, this man. Tall, she can tell, even though he's sitting. Full lips. On-trend glasses framing lively hazel eyes. Utterly chaotic black hair.

He's edible, so Beatrice would say.

A nice, tasty snack for the hungry woman about town.

Of course, he's just asked her if she thinks they're sitting in the fiery home of expiatory purification, rather than a train headed to Harrow & Wealdstone, so looks are clearly no indicator of sanity.

"Yeah," she says flatly, and slips her phone into the purse she keeps slung around her torso. She's lost all hope of getting a signal, anyway. "I heard you the first time." She draws her brows together. "What do you mean? What's the context?"

"You know, Purgatory?" He's looking at her expectantly. "A place of suffering you enter after you die? This seems pretty fitting, if we are dead," he adds, and jerks his head at the centre of the train carriage, where thirty or so commuters are packed together like sardines in a tin. "I’d rather be stuck anywhere than stuck on the Tube."

He has a point, she supposes.

It's a minuscule point, faintly dotted in pencil, but still...

The Tube is a disgusting ordeal on a regular day, where Lily must endure the twenty minute journey home from work in a hot, smelly carriage, wedged tightly between a glass partition and an inconsiderate hipster with an overlarge backpack. She has a seat today, at least, but ten minutes have passed since the train stopped abruptly between Embankment and Charing Cross, and not a single explanation has been provided via the crackly tannoy system.

Some bloody birthday she's having.

"You're a very morbid person," she concludes, rather than agree with him.

"I'm not, actually," he immediately returns, "but I live with a pretty morbid person. You know the type I'm talking about: devours miserable Russian literature, drinks vodka neat, always wearing black?"

"Not personally."

"Well, that's the kind of person he is, and it sometimes rubs off on a bloke." He shrugs. "Hence, Purgatory."

"Dante’s Purgatory was a mountain."

"And?"

Lily lifts her hands from her knees to gesture to the space around them. "This is a train?"

"A train with seven carriages."

"How do you know it’s got seven carriages?"

"Because most Bakerloo line trains have seven carriages," he supplies, a faint smile working at the corners of his too-attractive lips. "A mate of mine is really into trains. That’s how I know."

"Is this the same mate who reads Russian literature and influences you to start random conversations about death on the Tube?"

"Nah. Different mate. Those interests don’t exactly coexist in peace."

She takes a moment to consider this before she offers another response, studying his face with deliberate suspicion etched across her own. Such an expression is ideally suited to mask her admiration of his features. It buys her time to contemplate the conversation they are having, to weigh out a multitude of options in her head.

Articulate, handsome stranger? Unhinged lunatic? Tasty snack? Murderer? Cannibal? God forbid...a Brexiteer?

"What's your name?" is the probing question upon which she finally settles.

That hint of a smile becomes something more pronounced. "James."

"I'm Lily," she offers, along with her hand. "Nice to meet you."

He takes her hand immediately, lifts and drops it once before he lets it go, firm and proper. "Nice to meet you, too."

"You do realise, James," she continues, with her best stern expression, "that this is an alienating topic to broach to a stranger, right? There was no way of telling how I might have reacted to that. I could be recently bereaved. I could be offended."

"Are you either of those things?"

"Not remotely, but that doesn’t dilute my point."

James lifts one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. "Does it help any if I explain that I’m pretty much an expert in saying the wrong thing?"

"I’m shocked," she says dryly. "Truly."

"I mean, I can articulate the wrong thing like nobody’s business—"

"Do you generally take pride in your failings?"

"If I can do something well, I'll choose to be proud of it."

"Right," she says, and blinks several times. "So we are in Purgatory."

"How’d you reckon that?"

"There are seven carriages, right?" Lily reminds him, lifting a questioning brow. "Seven levels on the mountain? The first of which is..."

"Pride," he concludes, and breaks into a wide grin.

"Right," she agrees. Her face is starting to warm, but they're stuck here on a packed train, both clad in their thick winter coats, feeling the heat of the countless other bodies who occupy their space and air. Should Lily's face grow as red as her hair, she has an easy scapegoat to which she can assign all blame. "Pride. Which you’re blowing right past."

"Excellent news. We’ll reach paradise in no time."

"If you consider Oxford Circus akin to paradise, then sure."

"Oxford Circus has a Kintan, I'll have you know," says James, his tone flat, gaze pointed. "Ever tried Japanese barbecue? That’s pretty bloody close."

Lily tries to suppress a laugh but it escapes before she can snag it, bubbling out into the world with a carefree, girlish abandon, and James's very serious expression dissolves into a grin, identical to the last one, but better. Somehow.

He is to be a snack then, Lily privately concludes.

A legit snack, as Beatrice and Kristen Bell might say.

Some bloody birthday she's having.

[dontwarnthetadpoles]

@girl4music

“Why do I have to be the adult? Why can’t I ever be Lil’ Pumpkin Belly?” she says when she is an actual adult. But yeah, I totally get you.

Putting aside the fact that Buffy should have avoided Angel if only because he was a vampire with a past of serial killer, just because her mission as a slayer forced her to mature quicker than the people of her age doesn't mean she was emotionally mature as a 16 year old and able to recognize a sexual predator or to fight the power he held on her.

As someone who was forced to take responsabilities that she was too young to assume and considering how it's something that affected too her personal life with the death of her mother and the charge to take care of Dawn, i think it's quite normal that she wants to drop everything and just gets the chance to be carefree. Being a slayer since she was 15 years old robbed her from taking her time and enjoying the present moment.

See - it’s a lot more complicated than “good” and “evil”. There’s a whole spectrum there just as there is with sexuality.

There's no wrong or right when it comes to manipulating a underage girl to have sex with her. It's purely a crime and one for which Angel would have deserved to be condemned if he had been human.

I pointed this out last night in one of my posts that the writers clearly seem to have some kind of rape/sexual assault fetish given the way they write rape/sexual assault situations and not state that it is rape/sexual assault in the writing or dialogue between the characters most of the time.

In fact, the only times they do is 1. with Warren (who they already decided was a bad guy) and 2. with Spike (who doesn’t have a soul and they use his attempt rape/sexual assault of Buffy as a catalyst to push him to get his soul).

Every other time it happens - not a word that it is what it is.

Not a single one.

When Xander assaulted Buffy in The Pack, the writers didn't shy to tell it like it was. Buffy summarized it as: "He tried his hand at felony sexual assault".

When Xander used a spell to win back Cordelia's and break her heart but it worked instead on the entire woman population, all girls and women threw themselves at him, including Buffy and Willow, Buffy called his actions a call to: "the great Roofie spirit".

When a school team swimmer tried to force himself on Buffy in Go Fish, the writers made a point to show us how he locked her in his car and how Snyder, the coach and the gang were completely judgemental and had the worst possible inappropriate answer.

When Tara realized that Willow used the memory spell to erase their fights and that they had sex during that time, she confronted her on her lack of respect for her consent and broke up with her later for that.

What was left unanswered was Angel's visit to Buffy's room in Amends. He was unhinged and dominated by his sexual urges and the way the camera zoomed from his point of view between Buffy and her bed means clearly rape was in his mind. But he didn't touch her, so it's hard to tell what can be made of it.

And the biggest problem was of course the two scenes between Willow and Spike in Lovers Walk and The Initiative. Each time, he vamped in front of her with a clear sexual intention. I read that in the dvd commentary of the episode of The Initiative, the writer said the assault in her dorm room was intentionally filmed as rape scene (and it looked like a rape scene: he pushed her on the bed, was on top of her amused by her useless attempt to fight back, she was screaming and crying), which make their following supposedly funny dialogue about his "performance" disgusting and hard to understand, unless it was supposed to show that she was submitting traumatized, acting like a victim of the Stockholm syndrome who would have sided with her agressor to survive (but even in this case the comical tone was really inappropriate).

not angel taking buffy’s virginity just before her seventeenth birthday. don’t give me the “but she’s the slayer! it’s different!” wrong. buffy is the slayer, but she is also a 16 year old girl in love with a 200 year old vampire for her first boyfriend. her judgement is influenced by her youthful and intense feelings of first love. angel is a seasoned, tortured killer from the 1800’s who got cursed with feelings. he knows better. buffy was a minor. and he “fell in love” with her when she was fifteen. i don’t hate bangel, but this is something that is hard for me to get past.

[dustydreamsanddirtyscars]

“A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet” - On Dissociation, Duality and Identity on Supernatural

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven…” - John Milton / “Paradise Lost” 

After reading an interesting article on the 350th anniversary of Milton’s “Paradise Lost” I found myself pondering one of the themes prevalent in the poem and how it translates to one of the themes I love so much on Supernatural and how it has been especially explored during Carver Era: The Topic of Duality and Identity.

One of the key aspects of Lucifer as a character in Milton’s poem is how the archangel sheds his original name and by that also crafts a new “life” for himself along with it. He no longer calls himself or is addressed as Lucifer but as “Satan” or “the Devil” (interestingly enough that is something Supernatural’s longest standing villain rejects completely, and despises these names which is an interesting aspect to keep in mind and one I’ll come back to later). This re-invention and the power of names is an intricate part of shaping one's own identity and reality. It’s something we have seen countless pop culture figures go through for very similar reasons.

The pattern can be traced all the way back to fairytales like Rumpelstiltsken, but it can be found in a multitude of modern pieces of literature, art or television too. Think of Tom Riddle vs. Lord Voldemort, Dr. Jekyll vs. Mr Hyde or Walter White vs. Heisenberg. They all create alter egos for themselves in a fashion comparable to the renaming process that happens to demons in Milton’s work, because once they lost their positive identity, they also lost their names. It’s very much in line with what we see happening on Supernatural as all the more "run of the mill”-demons we have met thus far have been addressed by the name of the person they inhabited, Meg is probably the most memorable example for that. And it’s also of course a transformation the King of Hell himself underwent when he died as Fergus McLeod and emerged as Crowley.

Much like his mother, who always tried to escape her past and shape a new world for herself in which she possesses the power she lacked before when being rejected, so Crowley tried his best to forget about his past altogether and shape a new world and identity for himself. And all that went well and good until, well, the Winchesters came along. Until then Crowley was able to craft his new self and by shaping himself shaping also his own reality, how he perceives and thinks of himself (unintruded) and by that trying to infer how people perceive him. In the end however the dilemma comes down to what Kurt Vonnegut once described as: “Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what we pretend to be.” Because sometimes that - or rather the way we think about ourselves - can turn into your Achille’s heel or something like a self fulfilling prophecy. And on Supernatural, I suppose no one fights that battle with himself harder than Dean Winchester. That battle of how he thinks about himself and how/who he really is (and that aspect is drawn attention to again with Mr. Ketch insinuating that Dean and he are alike or that Dean is merely an unhinged killer (see meta and gifset here) - something Dean may think of himself at the worst of times, but which hardly can be counted as a realistic picture of who he truly is).

And in this regard I feel it’s important to remember that Dean went to Hell, was well on his way to becoming a demon, but got rescued before his soul may have been twisted too far to dip back. That doesn’t change anything about the fact however that Dean remembers that time, remembers what happened to him, what he did and what he became. It left a taint, some darkness within him and one he is deeply ashamed of. Now, question is how far along the transformation or dissociation went when he was in hell. Was Dean close to forgetting his own name, his own positive identity? And is that possibly the reason why Dean’s struggles in terms of identity and perception of self has gotten all the much worse post Hell too (while also of course taking into account the trauma he faced there)? Because Dean thinking about himself merely as a killer definitely stems from his experiences in and post Hell.

“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.” - Oscar Wilde

Now following that line of thinking I think it is interesting to bring the aspect of duality into the mix, because all the characters mentioned before: Voldemort, Crowley, Walter White or Lucifer in Milton’s “Paradise Lost” give their inner duality a physical quality. Voldemort grows more snake like the more he gets drawn to evil, Crowley doesn’t inhabit his own dead vessel but someone else, Walter White as Heisenberg makes a hat his statement piece and Lucifer in Milton’s “Paradise Lost” famously turns into a snake to bring about the Expulsion from Eden. Meaning, their transformation, their reinvention of self, their identity shaping is connected to a visual change as well, which might make it much easier to distinguish and dissociate and distance yourself from your more sinister actions for example. It’s easier to operate with such alter egos as separate to yourself, because in part it may “absolve” you of your wrongdoing. That split between good and bad, that duality, that inner fight, surely wasn’t captured any better on Supernatural than by Charlie returning from Oz split in two - a parallel to the struggle Dean faced and still faces within during this “coming of age / individuation” arc.

Charlie was a great mirror for Dean here as she shares his predicament because unlike all the antagonists mentioned above she feels responsible for her dark self running amok - and yes the fact that they of course look alike just contributed to that. Now just like Charlie wasn’t able to sort of distance herself from her alter ego, so Dean is unable to do the same as he never undergoes a change in physicality for example - except for the back eyes and slightly longer hair. So when Crowley raises Demon!Dean with the words: “It’s not death. It’s life. A new kind of life. Let’s go take a howl at that moon” he may have thought Dean would have shaken and forgotten all about his former self and morals (but of course he hasn’t).

But the problem is Dean didn’t change. Not really. At the very least not like Crowley in how he shaped a new life and identity for himself. Where Crowley left behind his former human self (until he reconnected with it during S9 where as a parallel to his growing humanity Dean followed the opposite direction - Crowley hasn’t been the same ever since and a lot of the struggles he faces to this season are based in a struggle of identity and him failing to distance himself or dissociate Crowley from Fergus, which was a central aspect of bringing Rowena into the mix imo) even physically, Dean did not as he was a demon inside his own body. His humanity was simply muted, but it wasn’t completely gone or forgotten. This transformation and rejection of his past turning into a reinvention didn’t happen for Dean.

He turned into his darker version, but just putting a “Demon!” Prior Dean hardly can be read in a comparable fashion to Fergus McLeod vs. Crowley (Cas going by the name of Steve doesn’t feel like a fitting other example as Cas didn’t shed who he was as a person and his personality, but his name change attributed more to the metaphysical change from angel to human - which is kind of the direct opposite to Crowley or Dean where an emotional and inner aspect sparked an outwards transformation). Dean became a demon but a true dissociation and distancing didn’t happen. And that’s what he struggles with, because he remembers. That was all him, he can’t and won’t distinguish between himself and his "alter ego" that was compromised by the mark like Crowley would for example. He did what he did when he was a demon inside his own body, there was no dissociation, no re-naming happening and arguably even though thoroughly disinterested in being what he thought others needed him to be (which is still the problem even now and I do wish Dean could allow himself to be a bit more like Demon!Dean in this regard - but hell maybe the continuing betrayal by his loved ones will finally get him there and finally will make him put himself first for once – who am I kidding the show would sadly never let Dean be this independent *sighhhhhhs*) and for that reason much more careless or rather much more carefree, there still was a lot of Dean in him when the mark was calling the shots and his eyes were pitch black. The problem for Dean in dealing with his dark side was even worsened when this inner struggle was externalized when Sam had the mark removed and Amara was freed - and even though Dean managed to reunite God and Amara and save the world in the process - he himself unlike these divine siblings or Charlie didn’t have the chance to truly reintegrate that (lost) part that was split from him with Amara again and being able to heal (and sadly the show is also not even trying to resolve this issue for Dean it seems in order for Dean to be able to finish the Individuation process, though him walking away from Sam and Mary could count as that (though again the show would never allow Dean to do that) - the externalized struggle that was meant to be fought within however still wouldn’t have been resolved though).

And this is where Lucifer from Supernatural and Dean make such compelling cases in how they compare and contrast. Because where Dean struggled with this burden of duality and didn’t have the chance to possibly distance himself from his actions while compromised by the mark because he was himself the entire time, Lucifer embraces that fact, he thrives on that. He despises the distinction people made when calling him devil or Satan. He is taking his actions in stride, grows more confident through them whereas for Dean the opposite is the case. So in the end it comes down to perspective and perception. Lucifer knows he’s evil but he’s alright with that. There is no struggle, no illusions. He walks the earth like a hero because that’s how he sees himself. A champion who was treated wrong, but not the villain. He is the hero in his own story. Compare that to Dean who struggles to see his own self worth due to the mistakes he made and thinks of himself as a burden, as someone less. This negative perception of self has shaped his reality and even made him take on the mark for example. And it’s also the reason why he is unable to see himself as the hero he objectively speaking absolutely is, because he is walking through life thinking of himself as a failure, the antagonist in the story. And unless he will be allowed to express himself accordingly and be embraced for all that he is (and not how others want him to be or react - like for example just simply working with the BritMoL) and not just what people think he is due to what Dean became because of who he thought others wanted him to be (big brother, good little soldier, little angel), hell likely never get a chance to heal and make that last step of individuation to truly shape and allow himself to be the person he truly is.

“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald

[fireinclined]

hellion

who is hellion?

so in an ironic twist of fate, life inclined cassandra would be the most reckless, thoughtless, and violent version of cassandra...though she still is, at her core, cassandra.

people who are life inclined should have the ability to heal and to kill- it’s only the limitations added to the capellan gene pool that made it so that life inclined people could not kill without dying themselves. that ability still exists. just as regular cassandra can be a wildfire or a campfire, life inclined cassandra can be a healer or a killer, and what hat she’s wearing can change very quickly.

life inclined cassandra- who we’ll call “hellion” bc tbh that’s what she is, feels cheated out of her ability to protect herself- one half of her inclination is closed off to her. so to compensate for this, she has trained herself to be EXTREMELY skilled in battle. she lives for the thrill of battle, because she can also use her ability to heal in battle…on herself.

she’s so reckless with her own body- i’m not sure if she can, say, mend an a limb that’s been cut off back onto her body, but she has some serious skills. so she’s self destructive because who cares!!! she can just heal herself!!

in this same vein, she doesn’t care about the safety of others. who cares! i’ll just heal them! she pushes people to do things outside of their comfort zone in a bad way, she’s vulgar and mean, and quick to resort to violence. she won’t kill innocent people but..she’s very comfortable with the idea of killing.

hellion joins the foot clan after arriving on earth, but is uncomfortable when she realizes the turtles are just kids, and after one significant event, she defects.

a softie at heart

hellion’s reputation within the foot clan is completely ruined when they find her crying over and healing a pigeon with a broken wing. she’ll beat up anyone that calls her a crybaby though (except the foot kids, of course). even if they are right.

hellion’s change of heart

cassandra once said splinter’s kindness is what she loves the most about him and that he reminds her of all the good that’s left in the galaxy on the bad days. that’s really fucking important!! in ANY au.

so…i’m thinking specifically in the manhattan project, when they’ve captured and drugged splinter, hellion looks in his eyes that are full of hurt, and there’s just…something about him. something about him that when shredder starts his fight with splinter and splinter clearly doesn’t stand a chance, hellion whips out her Super Cool Space Gun™ and shoots shredder. in the ensuing chaos, hellion suddenly switches sides, since she has no loyalty to the foot whatsoever.

at the end of the fight, splinter asks her why she helped him, and the real reason is that she could sense the kindness in him, and…hellion has lived a life deprived of kindness, so much so that she craves that mineral kindness. granted, that’s been mostly her own choice, but still.

what does she tell him? “you remind me of someone i once knew.”

which…isn’t a lie. the last person who had that kind of kindness in hellion’s life was keandra, and he’d been repulsed by how violent and mean hellion had become, and their friendship ended on a bad note. hellion goes to leave after saying this, then stops and adds that she’s not a threat to them anymore, and that they might see her around, but she’s got a bunch of stuff to work out.

hellion’s redemption arc

after the manhattan project, hellion lays low, with the foot after her for her betrayal. she doesn’t really do anything noteworthy until the invasion, which is the height of hellion’s redemption. she sets up a clinic and for the first real time ever, uses her powers to heal others more than herself.

after the invasion is over, hellion sets up an illegal clinic somewhere for mutants (and humans too, but mostly mutants.). in order to make it legitimate some day and also just so she knows how to better help people, she starts putting herself through medical school 

evelyn

in most verses, evelyn makes it off the ship before she dies, dragging herself off so her daughter doesn’t wake up to the sight her mother’s corpse.

in the hellion verse? she doesn’t make it off the ship. she collapses right next to where’s she laid hellion on like a couch. so hellion wakes up, disoriented, and looks down on the ground to see evelyn’s dead body. this really traumatized her and the sight is one she wishes she could forget.

this was one of the events that led up to hellion using her powers purely for herself: her healing abilities did nothing to heal her mother.

hellion, foot verses, and kids in general.

if shredder tried to involve hellion in the turtles’ torture and brainwashing, she’d REALLY start to have doubts. she’d try to free them and escape with them, since this is way past what hellion’s comfortable with. hellion’s violent and rebellious, but not EVIL.

like honestly if it’d been hellion that found the turtles in the human au she would have lied and said she didn’t find anything. she might have actually helped them get out and to safety, then tried to cover for them later.

kids are her weak spot. the reason hellion wants to help the foot turtles so bad is because she was in a very similar situation on ioavis. she bought into the whole rebellion thing and joined theon at thirteen, and she looks at shredder and sees an unhinged, much more brutal and violent version of theon. she looks at these kids, brainwashed and violent, and she sees the person she was on ioavis and that terrifies her.

kids are supposed to be carefree and happy, and hellion will lowkey do what she can to ensure that.

so if she found a bunch of turtle kids hiding in splinter’s apartment? yeah, she’s gonna do her best to protect them. they’re innocent. hell, she might even try and break them out before the big fight with the mob vs. splinter