#a deep misunderstanding

[noxcheshire]

I think I’d be really funny, if Bruce was a reincarnated Vlad.

This is going to be based off of a prompt I saw (I will find you) where Bruce suddenly remembered his past life as Vlad.

HOWEVER, my take on that is the de-aged Ellie and Dan because the amount of ANGST and self hate that Bruce will go through thinking his past self was not only a villain, but also that sort of person?

It will eat him alive.

It will eat that man alive every time he goes to sleep and another burst of memories pass underneath his eyelids.

It burns him when he wakes up with the phantom touch of a body underneath his hands, of a boy just as young as Damian and thinner too, struggling to escape a grip of a man whose hold was too possessive, and too cruel.

It feels like acid swishing down his throat when he wakes with the taste of oily words filled with threat and something more whispered over the form of a boy. A young boy whose blue eyes blazed furiously back and yet tried to hide the quiet bursts of fear underneath.

It feels like Bruce cannot scrub the man he had been right out of him, even when his skin blisters red until it bleeds. Vladimir Masters had woken spitting and screaming, burrowed like a cold sore underneath everything that is Bruce.

Bruce hates it.

Hates the monster he had once been and still is — because despite the fact Vlad is now Bruce, living and breathing and existing here in Gotham — Vladimir Masters still exists.

He is out there right now in a little place called Amity Park, pulling weight and blood just to get what he wants.

A man who has used and abused for far too long…

Perhaps it was time to see to it, that however and whatever way that Bruce came to be, that it began with Vlad’s unfortunate circumstances back into the Ghost Zone.

[twig-tea]

Saw the director of Addicted Heroin Thailand had posted this on his Facebook account:

This man looked at the show that was the tipping point of the first big anti-gay censorship wave in China in the 2010s, and decided to remake it and intentionally self-censor, just to see if he could attract the "Chinese BL is superior because it doesn't rely on kisses or NC scenes to show the emotions" audience to Thai BL?

I am so mad about this.

[bonefall]

Clear Sky threw his son in front of a fox?!

YES!! He SHOVED him in front of a fox! It's in fury from the fact Thunder refused to kill Frost. This entire section is VERY poorly paced and glances over it in two paragraphs, so most people don't fully register it.

Clear Sky dragged Thunder down off the stump and shoves him at it, blaming him for bringing the fox to camp with his loud disobedience.

He then leaves Thunder to fight this fox on his own. Leaf and Falling Feather jump in to help him of their own accord. Clear Sky then tries to praise him for being strong and Thunder tells him to shove off for the first and last time.

It's not the last baby of his he knowingly and consciously endangers to prove a point. In Moth Flight's Vision, he refuses to allow Acorn Fur to get medical help for Tiny Branch's fox-inflicted injuries until his condition worsened, bellowing, "SkyClan does NOT ask for help unless there's no choice." AND didn't allow her to complete her training after he caused Micah's death.

Clear Sky is a serial child abuser. He is willfully neglectful, emotionally abusive, and physically violent.

[witchofthesouls]

I love the "humans into Cybertronians" trope, so we should have more work about the weirdness that's humanity, especially as an animal, and how it translates into their Cybertronian frame.

I mean, Earth is very much a Death Planet/Space Australia goes really well with the "Unicron is Earth" subplot. Might as well lean really into it.

Like tolerance to toxins and disease, so it's not just a wider range of possible substances to consume but even capable of figuring out how to prepare toxic ingredients into edible dishes that won't kill other Cybertronians as well as greater resistance towards certain pathogens as infectious disease a massive driving force when it comes to evolution. I think it would be fascinating to explore the effects of the genetic mutations transferring over, like how the very genes that increased survival with bubonic plague (Black Death) is capable of withstanding of the Cybertronian-equivalent, Rust Plague or Cosmic Rust. Funny enough, those mutations that allow that resistance to plague are also associated with developing autoimmune diseases such as Crohn's disease and rheumatoid arthritis.

So now, more potential storylines for disabilities and how they're perceived between humans and Cybertronians, especially how each side approaches it.

Transformation capabilities are incredibly important to them. It's deeply entwined in their cultural/societal framework, so a cyberformed!human with no T-cog is the disability to them.

Look at the massive difference between Ultra Magnus losing a hand versus Starscream and Bumblebee losing their T-cogs; physical disabilities have workarounds or even straight-up fixes as long there are enough resources (Breakdown's eyepatch and Ultra Magnus' claw).

It doesn't matter the training or capabilities. Agent Fowler's military record and June Darby's medical experience would be considered secondary as they're severely handicapped and more vulnerable compared to them. Then there are other angles to utilize of the biological and cultural differences, especially with the popular fandom idea of sparklings and canon Functionism, so would it really be a huge surprise if those cyberformed!humans were coddled or infantilized since humans barely last a single year in a Cybertronian lifetime? That has to be beyond frustrating on so many levels.

And vice versa, like imagine a humanized Megatron gets taken out by celiac disease or being severely lactose intolerant?

[raileurta]

Miko's wings

Have a good idea for a au. Miko when she first arrived in the US sees someone with a keychain tail, she thinks it's really interesting and asks about it. The stranger kindly explained to her how they bought it and why. This greatly interests Miko so researches it online; while looking so sees people even make horns, wigs, all types of stuff but the thing that catches her attention is people wearing wings. She really liked the aesthetic appeal of it so she decided to make own.

They are bat inspired and sewn onto a sleeveless jacket. She treats them like they are actually a part of her body and feels wrong if she doesn't wear them. (Can relate)

If someone were to make a comment about how it's not really attached she will try to gaslight them into believing her.

The bots not really knowing a lot about humans assume Miko wings are real and treat it as such. So one day after Miko sneaked onto another mission she obviously got caught in the crossfire and an attack from starscream meant for an autobot grazed her back. Besides from some minor burns she is pretty much injured but for some reason the autobots are looking at her like she just killed their puppy. Then she notices that she doesn't feel the familiar flap of weight turning on her back. When she takes a look behind her she sees that her wings are obligated. Bulkhead is beyond furious as a flyer himself he never thought starscream sink so low to take lanother's wings.

Among Cybertronians or more generally flyers it's considered abhorrent to permanently take away the ability of flight from someone especially a sparkling. Even Megatron would be hard pressed to do this. A flyer that can't take to the skies will slowly go insane before they just break.

A bot can fix a destroy wing easily so it doesn't matter if another bot targets them in battle but a human can't. They can't regenerate a limb and with our "primitive technology" no tech replacement will allow someone to truly fly again.

Bulkhead curses out starscream for doing something so horrible to his sparkling charge. Starscream is beyond mortified with himself, he didn't know the little organic had wings! He flies off into the sky not knowing what to do with himself.

Miko is immediately rushed back to base afterwards to address her injuries. While she's bummed about her wings Miko notices that bots are taking it harder than her. She quickly figures what's going on so she tries to rectify the situation. "Don't be sad guys can't fly with them so I'm not missing out on anything." This translates in the bots' minds that Miko was so young she couldn't have the chance to fly yet. Needless to say this just makes them feel worse.

Starscream also has this misunderstanding so obviously he feels like shit. He feels so guilty in fact he builds Miko a new set of wings for her. They would attach to her spine/nervous system so she could feel and move them as they were a part of her. She loves them of course. When Miko gets the hang of them she'll be feared by all decepticons as she quickly becomes a flying menace.

[puppetmaster13u]

Well Shit I'm Actually Writing This-

So have Art & a WIP of one of the ideas <3 ------------------------------------------------------------

   “What the fuck.” 

   The fish-snake-whale-man seemed to go through several expressions within a few moments, finally ending on one that Danny could only describe as, this may as well happen but still what the Fuck. And then he was being picked up, which he should not be that small, but the not-ghost was also huge- 

   “That- this is a whole ass child,” the fish-man seemed to be going back to hysterical, the emotion practically dripping in the air. “Holy shit you’re a whole ass child- y-you’re what, five?” 

   Danny let out an angry noise at being called so tiny, even as he inwardly acknowledged the fact that he was incredibly small at the moment. Stupid zone and stupid ghost bullshit. He could be back home sleeping but noo, when would he ever get to actually sleep on a school night. 

   They made another hysterical-sounding noise, head falling back against the wall. “Oh fuck you’re an actual full on child- why is a child down here-” they took a deep breath, lure dimming as they closed their eyes. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-" 

   That was a lot of cursing, and honestly Danny couldn’t help the judgment that crossed over his face as he tried to squirm free from their hold. Maybe he’d gotten used to the whole wish-cursed situation that was in Amity, but really he didn’t think that much cussing was required. 

   Then again, he didn’t exactly have a good idea about what this place even was- but he’d been in far more dangerous places! Probably. He thinks at least? Look, he’d already established there was something wacky going on with his head, so it wasn’t his fault if this turned out as dangerous as some of his worse incidents. 

   Well, it couldn’t be as dangerous as opening an interdimensional portal right on top of himself, so.

Who knows if I'll finish enough of this to actually post it as a full story on AO3 lol, but lemme know if u have ideas or wanna be tagged

Also for those who want Lore: Here's Sebastian's Wiki Page

[afewproblems]

Season 2 Halloween Party AU Part Two

You can read part one here!

***

Eddie can't help but steal glances at his passenger as he starts the engine while Steve buckles himself in. 

A streetlight flickers overhead bathing the front seat in strobing gold light; it's so distracting Eddie nearly misses the way Steve's hands tighten around the seatbelt, a slight tremor running through them.

The other man looks exhausted but incredibly on edge, his back straight and shoulders stiff. Eddie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes as Steve scans the dark street ahead of them. 

If he's so embarrassed to be seen with the town freak, he can just get out and walk home.

Eddie almost says as much, but shakes the words off and flicks the small Snoopy bobblehead on the dash, before reaching for the edge of the passenger seat.

He feels Steve flinch at the sudden movement as Eddie braces himself on the seat to look out the rearview window. 

Eddie tamps down the flicker of irritation that burns in his chest, he hadnt taken Harrington for a Bible thumping asshole that would believe the rumours circling Eddie, but then again, Eddie didn't really know Steve. 

Eddie backs out of the space slowly, no need to wreck the paint even more by hitting some suburban moms stationwagon after all. He shifts into drive and pulls away from the street and the flashing lights of Tina's party behind them.

Steve is quiet as they drive, and as the sound of the dull throbbing bass and party goers begins to fade into the background, Steve slowly begins to curls inwards, tugging his arms around himself.

Eddie's eyes flick between Steve and the road, he's still not looking at Eddie, just out the window with a blank expression. It's the most quiet he's ever seen King-Steve, it's unsettling.

But, the more Eddie thinks about it, that really isn't true.

King-Steve hasn't been King of anything for awhile now, Tommy Hagan has seen to that. 

Steve has been keeping to himself more and more, preferring to hang out with Wheeler and,  surprisingly, Byers of all people. 

Eddie isn't sure he'd ever be able to comfortably sit at a cafeteria table with someone who cleaned his clock, but Steve makes it look easy.

Eddie sneaks another glance and startles to find that Steve is already looking at him. He's chewing his lip, his eyebrows pinched and Eddie can't help but feel as though he's being evaluated somehow.

Great.

"Actually, you know what," Steve says after they've turned down yet another subdivision, just one street shy before the main road, "you can just drop me off up here, my house is close".

"You sure?" Eddie asks, ignoring the frustration that rises in his chest once more, "I can drive you the rest of the way, it's not like we don't all know where the King's Domaine is".

Eddie watches as Steve's expression turns stony for the barest of moments before it shutters.

"Okay". 

Eddie nods with a grimace. He isn't even sure what he wanted to happen tonight, but it wasn’t this. 

Eddie makes a left and another right before pulling into the long drive of the Harrington house.

It used to make him scoff whenever he dealt here. The huge house, the lavish furnishings and fixtures. For fucks sake, the master bath had two sinks and the closet was almost as big as his own bedroom. 

But now as the engine dies and a strange silence falls on the pair, Eddie can't help but notice just how dark the house is. 

"Your parents here?" Eddie says, craning his neck to see the upstairs windows, he doesn't even notice Steve has unclicked himself from the passenger seat until the door is open and he's halfway out of the van. 

"Woah--"

"Thanks for the ride," Steve calls over his shoulder, "see you around Munson".

Eddie barely has time to open his mouth in protest before Steve is unlocking his door and slamming it behind him, leaving Eddie in the van alone. 

He sits for a second before sighing and turning the key once more, coaxing the engine back to life. Eddie turns again, bracing his hand on the passenger seat, debating if he should head back to the party, before he spots something on the floor shining in the glow of the streetlights.

A pair of large black sunglasses, and there's no doubt who they belong to.

"Well shit," Eddie hums thoughtfully as he bends forward to grab the glasses from the floor, "guess I'll be seeing you sooner than we thought".

***

The first bell rings as Eddie closes his locker, he looks out across the sea of teenagers making their way to homeroom before the second bell and smirks. 

Eddie should also be hurrying, considering how far his locker is from his first period class, but there's something about the way the teachers glare as he saunters in late that just fuels him.

Eddie smirks as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, the metal lunchbox inside clangs against something and Eddie winces at the sound. Shit.

He moves the pack off his shoulder and unzips the top, reaching inside to grab the sunglasses from where they've become trapped beneath his lunchbox. 

They aren't broken thankfully, Eddie's sure that Harrington wouldn't appreciate his gesture nearly as much if they came back cracked or bent. 

The thought makes Eddie stop for just a moment before he opens his locker again to place the sunglasses on the top shelf. Why is he even doing this? It's not as though King-Steve would appreciate this, he probably doesn't even know the glasses are missing. 

What does Eddie care about some asshole jock? 

An image of Steve with his head in his hands, his hazel eyes wet and wide as he looks up at Eddie has him slamming his locker shut, mortified by the unbidden thought. 

It's a complete betrayal of his own God damned doctrine, and worse, Steve is straight. All Eddie is doing is hurting himself in the long run with all his pointless pining.

Especially over someone that didn't want to be seen getting into his van last night. 

Eddie leans his head onto his locker and knocks it harshly against the metal, stupid.

The second bell rings and the last of the stragglers leave him alone in the hallway. Eddie taps his fingers on the locker and pushes himself away as he makes his way to the main door, throwing his backpack over his shoulder once more. 

He needs a smoke, and definitely doesn't need Mrs. McBrayden telling him off for not handing in yet another essay today. 

Whatever, it isn't as though Eddie hasn't read Macbeth, he knows that stupid play backwards and forwards --the witches speech is absolutely full of kickass creepy language and was perfect for this one campaign he ran a few years ago. 

Eddie could tell you all the major themes and conflicts no problem, it was writing it in such a way that his teacher would believe he actually wrote it that was the issue.

The last time Eddie actually tried on one of his assignments, he had been immediately accused of plagiarizing someone else's work. 

So, why bother. 

Eddie's already got a cigarette between his lips as he pushes the door open and makes his way to his favorite picnic table by the treeline when he hears a familiar voice behind the gym.

"Tell me--"

"Tell you what?" another voice scoffs, a woman's this time.

Eddie pokes his head tentatively around the corner, spotting the man he had driven home just the night before and his girlfriend alone, clearly fighting.

"Tell me," Steve says firmly, even as his voice waivers, "you love me".

Wheeler stands there, her arms wrapped tightly around her books, "really?"

The word comes out, wrapped in a smile, like it's a joke. 

Steve doesn't move, he doesn't laugh, he doesn't make a sound. 

Nancy's mouth opens and closes as her blue eyes search Steve's face for a long time. She tries for a laugh again, but her smile cracks as Steve continues to stand there expectantly.

Eddie can't see Steve's face from where he's standing but he does hear the low curse he lets out eventually before turning abruptly, swinging a towel over his shoulder as he jogs back to the field to join the rest of the class.

Well shit.

Eddie watches Nancy as she remains rooted to the spot, her face tipped down to the gravel. She breathes out a long sigh and raises one hand to brush through her hair before it drops heavily at her side. 

Eddie can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy as he slowly turns away, shaking his head as he continues to the picnic table. 

He lights the cigarette as he takes a seat facing the school, letting the edge of the table dig into his back. He pulls a long drag from the cigarette and breathes out, watching as the smoke billows away in the cool November air.

If it wasn't officially over last night, it definitely was now. The priss and the jock were no more, and knowing Hawkins?

It would be all over the school by lunch.

Part Three up!

Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @strangersteddierthings @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads

[joejhang]

no cos if casual by chappell roan was ever gonna be used for andreil it would be from andrew's pov NOT neil's do you understand because andrew never even said it was casual between them (much as i think neil is really smart he was pretty blind to andrew's feelings for him during their little nothing) it was always neil who thought it was casual between them (lbr it NEVER was). if u recall he justified the relationship to himself because he thought andrew felt nothing for him and so it wouldn't really mean anything to either of them, and it wasn't until after baltimore when neil realised it was more than that. andrew knew that his feelings for neil were more than just physical attraction since their little confrontation in exites before they went to the hemmicks' house, but neil (i think purposefully) remained blind to it. you said we're not together, so now when we kiss i have anger issues is so much more of an andrew line than it is for neil cos neil was always under the impression that it was casual and was fine with it (until he wasn't) but andrew knew it wasn't casual and didn't bother to correct neil but HOW WAS HE FEELING.

[marciaillust]

mom come pick me up people related to my personal posts too much

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Sasha using the title "Lord" in RiAAU after taking over Toad Tower and presumably killing Grime and stealing Barrel's Warhammer from him, and other political and military leaders assuming she's a man because, well, Sasha is a gender neutral name, so they hear Lord Sasha and assume they're talking about an adult male toad warrior. The second most powerful person in the known world and only real threat to the Leviathan reign!

Cue princess Marcy fleeing Newtopia and her father seeking refuge with his worst enemy hoping to offer information and political levarage in exchange for protection, perhaps even offering herself in marriage to transfer eventual inheritances and whatnot, and she finds out that Lord Sasha is not, indeed, a dark and domineering toad warlord, but a beautiful, terrifying girl her age that looks like her and oh god her poor little lesbian heart can barely take it.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Zirin u Uzbad

Chapter 41 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Link to Series Masterlist. Also find it on A03!

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Translation(s): Zirin u Uzbad: Iron of Kings

~~

This is the first new chapter I've written of ADM in SO long. It feels so odd to be getting back into it, but so right at the same time.

~~

As evening fell, word spread through our company of our plan to raid the armory.  Nori disappeared to go do reconnaissance on the location, leaving the rest of us to stay and plan.

Thorin was adamant that we strike quickly and leave that night; an opinion that was unanimously shared by everyone else.  I was slightly more skeptical on exactly how that would work.

I didn’t want to stay in this place any longer than the rest of them, but I didn’t think we could pull off such a scheme.  There were just too many of us not to be noticed. 

Dwarves weren’t exactly the quietest bunch either. 

“Once Nori comes back, we can finalize our plan.  No use in trying to figure out the details when we don’t even know where the place is.”  Gloin offered the words of wisdom.  Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group of dwarrows.

I glanced over at them from my spot in the windowsill.  Whether on purpose or not, I’d been excluded from the discussion.  Or, at least, never invited to participate. 

Not that that was important.  I had no experience to offer them, so it made sense for me not to be asked my thoughts on the matter.  Even if they had, they wouldn’t have liked anything I had to say.  Part of being a voice of reason, I assumed.

Blue eyes rose to meet mine as Thorin raised his head from their plotting.  He jerked his head minutely, silently motioning for me to join him. 

I complied, weaving around Fili and Dwalin to stand by at Thorin’s side.  He placed a broad hand on my back, drawing me flush against his side.

“What?”  I asked softly, fidgeting with the laces of my shirt as I peered over at the sheet of paper they’d begun sketching a layout on.  “You need a woman’s touch or something to whatever chicken scratch that is?”  I motioned to the mostly unintelligible lines.

Thorin grinned, shaking his head.  “No,” he murmured, leaning down slightly so only I could hear, “I just wanted to have you next to me.”

“Ah,” I nodded, laying my head against his shoulder.  “That’s an acceptable excuse too.” 

He chuckled, dropping his hand from my back in order to intertwine our fingers.  “I’m glad I’m not intolerable to you.”  The smile vanished as his face became serious.  “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to be around lately.  We’re so close to Erebor…Closer than I thought we would ever get.  And the hardest part is yet to come still.”

I squeezed Thorin’s hand.  The closer we had gotten to Erebor on this journey, the more Thorin’s moods turned dark.  A shadow of something I didn’t recognize, but knew deep down I didn’t like, would flicker across his face. 

I had heard the whispers around the fire at night.  Of gold-sickness and the Arkenstone.  The madness that afflicted Thorin’s family, and was almost certainly the reason why Erebor had been lost. 

He worried over it.  Was determined not to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather.  But feared that he would fall just the same. And that trial had not yet come to pass.  It loomed in front of him now that we were in Laketown. 

“I will always be by your side, Thorin.  You’re stronger than your past, amrâlimê.”  I promised, trying to reassure this dwarrow who already had enough burdens to bear.  “I trust you.” 

A shadow of a smile appeared on his face as he looked at me.  “Mahal forbid I do anything to break your trust.” 

~~~

Nori’s arrival back brought a flood of new intel.  Apparently, the armory was housed in the local jail, and the only access point that wasn’t in full view was a single small window on the second story.

“Are there any guards around it?”  Thorin inquired, his hand still grasping mine.  “Where is it located?”

“Far as I could see, there aren’t any guards in the place.  It’s off a ways from the main bits of this floating slag heap, but the window’s on one of the canals.  Doesn’t seem te get used much though.”  Nori traced a finger down the map, delineating the canal in question.

Dwalin nodded silently, arms crossed over his chest.  “How are ye suggestin’ we get in this place then?”

The grin that Nori wore sent chills down my spine. 

“Oh, nothing difficult you know.  Just a running start and a strong hand.”  He shrugged, “for what I have in mind, you’ll need to be on the bottom.” 

The murderous look Dwalin sent Nori’s way had the rest of us cracking up into stifled giggles.  Nori being Nori, he had worded the sentence into an innuendo.

“Thorin,” Dwalin hissed, leaning over me to murmur in Thorin’s ear.  “Ye canna be serious ‘bout lettin’ ‘im plan this.” 

I looked over at the dark haired dwarrow beside me who wasn’t doing a thing to hide his smirk. 

“Out of all of us, he has the most experience breaking into places.  We need that iron, Dwalin.” 

Dwalin sighed heavily.  “Ah know we do…” 

Thorin clapped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder.  “There is a reason why each dwarf is here with us.  Nori’s talents have a use, no matter how he happened to come by them.  Now,” he turned to the rest of the gathered dwarrows.  “We leave here at nightfall.  Then once we have the weapons, we head for Erebor.” 

Erebor.  The word echoed through the group.  The shining star at the end of this long journey. 

~~~~

Miraculously, fourteen dwarves and a hobbit went unnoticed in the streets of Laketown as we made our way to the armory. 

A fog was rising from the dank canals and spreading over the city, which helped our cause somewhat. 

But nothing could stifle our heavy footfalls and mutters. 

“Shh, keep it down.”  Dwalin hissed at Bombur as we hid along the side of the armory while waiting for the pair of guards to wander away on the other side of the canal.

“As soon as we have the weapons, we’ll make straight for the mountain.  We cannot delay any longer.”  Thorin muttered, giving Nori the nod as the guards disappeared from sight.  “Go, go, go.” 

The dwarf clambered up the backs of the company, using them as human stairs to get high enough to slip through the window.  And, just as he’d told us earlier, Dwalin was on the bottom, giving Fili a boost to act as the last stair.

Once he was through, Thorin nodded to Bilbo.  “Next.” 

The hobbit repeated the maneuver, awkwardly springboarding off the dwarrows to haul himself through the window. 

“Bofur.  Then Kili.  Then me.”  Thorin directed, then turned to me.  “You stay down here with the rest.  Keep an eye out for the guards.” 

“Okay,” I nodded, “but are you sure about Kili?  He’s got a wounded leg, remember?”  I watched as Kili practically crawled up the last ‘step’ and had his brother practically shove him through the window.  Thorin didn’t even turn around to see it. 

“He’s fine, Estel.  Kili’s gotten himself scraped up more times than I can count.  He’s perfectly capable for this.”  Thorin brushed my concerns off with a nostalgic smile and a shake of his head before he made his own ascent and forced himself through the small window.

Well, I couldn’t say I didn’t warn the dwarrow, but regardless, I hoped he was right. 

With Thorin safely inside the armory, the rest of the company disentangled themselves and stood warily alongside the building. 

“Did Nori mention the best way out of here?”  I voiced the thought that struck me suddenly.  “I know he said they were coming out that door at the bottom, but where are we going from there?” 

I looked around at the rest of the dwarrows.  It wasn’t like we were going to be inconspicuous with our newfound weaponry. 

“To the mountain, of course.”  Dori whispered, and I tried not to roll my eyes. 

“Yes, I know that part.  I was talking about how fourteen dwarves all carrying swords are going to sneak through Laketown without being noticed.” 

“We’ll manage.  It won’t be the first time for---”  Balin’s calm reassurance was interrupted by an ear-splitting crash from within the armory. 

We all stared at each other in horror for a moment before the sound of approaching footsteps sent us scrambling. 

Thorin.  I had a split second to worry before all hell broke loose.

“Run!”  Dori yelped, only to stop short when a guard came around the corner and put a pike to his throat. 

“Halt!”  He barked, motioning over his shoulder and drawing more guards over to us. 

“Keep yer head down an’ stay close.”  Dwalin hissed under his breath to me as we were pushed forward. 

I nodded once, watching as Fili maneuvered himself to flank me as the guards marched us around the corner and past the wagon we had all hidden behind a few minutes ago.  The armory door was ajar and the guards stopped us from going any further. 

One left us, peering through the door.  “We’ve got a group of the dwarves here, Davrel.  I assume they’re the companions of yours.” 

I rose up on my toes, trying to see past him into the building.  There had been no noise of a struggle once we had been apprehended, so I assumed there had been no choice but peaceful surrender. 

“Git down.”  Dwalin growled, catching sight of me trying to peer around him.  He twisted slightly so he could grab my shoulder and shove me back down. 

“Keep quiet!  Another word and I’ll be seeing which of you can swim.”  One of the other men who surrounded us threatened, looking directly at me. 

I looked away quickly, trying to subtly hide myself behind one of the larger dwarrows as my heart began to pound. 

Almost instantly, I found my mind wandering to what would happen if they found out I was a woman.  What they would do differently to me. 

The existence of dwarrowdames was a very closely guarded secret.  It had become apparent to me very quickly that they—I should say we—were rare.  And then Thorin had explained further the status given to their womenfolk because of that.  That we were treasured and were to be protected at all costs.

So for a human man to learn what I was….I had heard too many stories about the curiosity of men about women. 

A shudder went down my spine, and I suddenly found myself grateful that I’d had the foresight to change back into my original outfit before we left Bard’s house.  The skirt would have been a dead give-away as to my sex.  Not that there weren’t other obvious things about me that screamed ’female’.

While lost in my thoughts, I didn’t see the quick, subtle hand motions Dwalin made to the rest of the group, catching the eyes of those who didn’t see to make sure they did. 

Don’t let them know E. is woman.

A commotion in the armory had us all watching as the rest of our group was led out at swordpoint.  I restrained myself from trying to catch the first glimpse of Thorin, allowing myself to be shielded behind Dwalin as they were herded into our midst.

“Think that’s all of them?”  The last man out of the building asked to the guard who was leaning against the doorframe. 

He shrugged his shoulders, spitting onto the wooden walkway.  “Looks to be.  Sure are plenty of them.”

“Aye.  Won’t make the Master happy at all…”  He dropped his voice, the rest of his sentence unintelligible.  The other one grimaced, straightening up and grabbing hold of his pike.  “Move along, now!”  He ordered, and we were funneled down the boardwalk.

Dwalin was almost immediately grabbed by one of the guards, who kept a tight hold on his arm as if they expected him to make a fuss.  I drew back, trying to keep hidden in the middle of the crush. 

Fili had moved up in the group, arm wrapped around Kili, who was limping.  Obviously, his wound wasn’t just a mere scrape like Thorin had tried to play it off as. 

The further into the city we went, the more people were gathered.  Whispers followed us as we were led straight into the heart of the floating city.  Speculations as to who we were and what we were doing. 

And then, we were shoved through the crowd and before a towering building that loomed imposingly over the town and its occupants.

I was given a push that sent me stumbling, almost tripping over the uneven planks.  Strong hands caught me, steadying me against a familiar broad figure.  But just as quickly, Thorin released me, shooting a glare over at a man who I guessed had pushed me. 

“Thorin—”  I whispered, but he shook his head. 

“They cannot know what you are.  Stay silent and beside anyone but me.”  He murmured quickly, taking a step away from me and allowing Dwalin to take his place. 

I shivered as his warmth retreated.  Snowflakes were falling gently from the sky, heralding the beginnings of winter.  I didn’t fully understand why I couldn’t be associated with Thorin.  He was obviously trying to keep my sex hidden from our audience, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t stand at his side.

The place where I felt the safest in this town.

“What is the meaning of this?”  A new, irritated voice called out, and all eyes were drawn to the pair of men emerging from the building before us. 

“We caught ‘em stealing weapons, Sire.”  One of the guards spoke.

So this was the Master….This bloated, overfed man who so obviously rung this town dry of anything it could produce. 

“Ah!  Enemies of the state, huh?”  He peered out at us, pulling his fur-trimmed robe closer around him as a gust of wind blew through the square.

“A desperate bunch of mercenaries, if ever there was, Sire.”  The second man spoke in a drawl, prowling out from behind the Master like a cat.

Dwalin bristled.  “Hold your tongue!”  He strode forward, drawing all eyes onto him.  “You do not know to whom you speak.  This is no common criminal.  This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!”  He introduced his friend as though we had reclaimed Erebor and ruled from it.  The names of Thorin’s forefathers rang in the crisp air.

Murmurs erupted from the crowd as Dwalin said the last one.

As I stood, watching Dwalin defend my husband, Thorin stepped past me, coming to join him in the middle of the circle.  Passing by his friend, Thorin inclined his head, exchanging a look before facing the Master. 

“We are the dwarves of Erebor.  We have come to reclaim our homeland.”  His deep baritone thrummed through the square, prompting a whole new round of excited mutters from the crowd.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach upon hearing those words spoken aloud for the first time.  Suddenly, everything seemed…real.  Like until this moment, this entire journey—and what we were planning to accomplish—didn’t exist. 

Thorin began walking, locking eyes with members of the crowd.  “I remember this town in the great days of old.  Fleets of boats lay at harbour, filled with silks and fine gems.  This was no forsaken town on a lake.  This was the center of all trade in the north!

“I would see those days return.  I would relight the great forges of the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!”

The crowd cheered around us, and I watched as the Master exchanged a look with his black-robed companion.  But they were forgotten by all as Thorin gave the crowd hope for their future.

This.  This was who he was meant to be.  It was so easy for me to see how comfortable Thorin was in this situation.  The ease with which he spoke to these people who struggled to eke out their existence. 

He was no princeling brought up on tales of grandeur and riches.  He had fought tooth and nail to earn his position and do right by his people.  He had walked miles in the same shoes as these folk.  Thorin had always chosen the hard path over the easy. 

That is what earned the respect of these people around us.  Why they so easily warmed to him.  They recognized the kindred soul who understood their hardships.  Who was so different from their current leader who leeched off their hard labour for his gain.

Thorin met my eyes as I watched him from behind Gloin.  He smiled minutely, not giving away any hints to those around us who might be watching.

“Death!  That is what you’ll bring upon us!”  Bard’s voice rang through the air, and he shoved his way through the crowd, passing by me and stopping in front of Thorin.  “Dragonfire and ruin.  If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all.”

Thorin stared him down for a heartbeat before he turned slowly back to the crowd.  “You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this; if we succeed all will share in the wealth of the mountain.” 

He was unruffled; confident in the crowd’s reaction to his words.  But there was still the oliphant in the room.

If.  The word we treaded so carefully upon.

“You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!”  Thorin boomed, and the crowd erupted again into cheers.

Balin leaned over to whisper in my ear, unable to keep from smiling.  “Laddie’s in his element now.”

“It’s in his blood.”  I murmured back.

Bard turned to look at the crowd, casting his gaze over them with furrowed brow.  Like he didn’t understand why Thorin’s promises were so well received. 

How could they not?  This was something straight out of a fairy tale—a king returning to reclaim his stronghold and the riches within.  I was willing to bet this was the first glimpse of hope these people had seen in a long while.

“All of you!”  Bard entreated.  “Listen to me, you must listen!  Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?  Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm?  And for what purpose?” 

Women began to shake their heads, gazes cast down to the ground.  The men looked staunchly ahead; reliving the tales that had been passed down from their fathers.

Bard swung about to look back at Thorin.  “The blind ambition of a Mountain King, so driven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!” 

Thorin’s sapphire eyes turned ice cold; his jaw set as if he couldn’t trust himself not to speak out. 

The Master cleared his throat, reminding us all that he still existed and was watching this whole exchange.  “Now, now.  We must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame.”  He shook his finger like he was telling off a naughty child.  “Let us not forget, that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast!” 

“That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black, right there.”  Gloin muttered to Dori, who nodded. 

“Aye, he’s just as much at fault.”

Beside the Master, his lackey nodded sagely.  “It’s true, Sire.  We all know the story.  Arrow after arrow, he shot.  Each one missing its mark.”  He tsked sadly, managing to not look sorry at all while doing so.

“You have no right.  No right to enter that mountain.”  Bard’s voice was quiet as he looked down on Thorin.

Mutters ran through the dwarves.  I bit my lip, silently disagreeing with his words.  He did not understand what we had all gone through in order to reach this point.  What we had fought or outrun.  What demons we had battled in our minds.

And that was only on this quest.  What I knew about the fall of Erebor and all that happened afterwards only scratched the surface of what really went down.  The struggles that each and every one of these dwarves had faced.  How they had suffered and struggled to make a living hundreds of miles from where they had been born and raised.  I could never truly understand, having not been there that day.

Thorin met his gaze easily.  “I have the only right.”  He murmured, turning away from the man to address the Master.  “I speak to the Master of the men of the lake.  Will you see the prophecy fulfilled?  Will you share in the great wealth of our people?”

I fully expected the greed of the man to present itself instantly.  How could he turn away such riches?  But he hesitated, and my heart dipped in my chest. 

Thorin asked him again, voice deepening into a command.  “What say you?”

“I say, unto you….”  The Master swallowed hard before throwing his hands out wide, “welcome!  Welcome and rise!  Welcome, King Under the Mountain!” 

The crowd erupted into cheers.  Bard was the only person who seemed disappointed that the Master approved of Thorin.  He stood with his back to me so I couldn’t see his expression, but he certainly wasn’t cheering with the rest of the townsfolk. 

“Come!  Join me in celebrating your return and continued success on your journey!”  The Master invited, grinning broadly.  “Dine at my table before you set out for the mountain.” 

We all exchanged looks.  Balin shrugged.  “I’ve never been one to turn down a good meal, particularly now.”

“Probably a good bit of ale, too.”  Bofur chimed in, and with that, we filed up the stairs and into the Master’s house.

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[stiffyck]

people hating a character because they very clearly misunderstand them is forever going to make me so mad

[garmgeyr]

ENIGMATA: The Path of Storytellers, Skeptics, Poets, and Possibilities

Enigmata is - and will likely remain - a poorly understood path. Its philosophy, after all, defies the concept of “certainty” in favor of endless possibilities, so to understand it fully would be to eliminate Enigmata itself. So far the only factions we know of are the History Fictionologists, who embellish the past with fiction in order to inspire future possibilities, and the Riddlers, who use metaphors, riddles, and other circuitous language to forge multiple meanings in communication. This is not simply “the path of liars and misinformation,” as the fandom has taken to believing. That would be better fit for Elation. Enigmata is instead the path of “what if,” and sits in direct opposition to the cold, systematic omniscience of Erudition.

Defying Erudition does not mean that Enigmata necessarily aims to destroy knowledge or knowing. I would argue that “theory” is an acceptable concept within this philosophy because “theory” itself is innately uncertain. A theory is a theory because there exists the possibility for it to be proven wrong, given enough evidence, the right tools, and time. Instead, Enigmata reminds Erudition that nothing can ever truly be 100% known, and that science is filtered through biases, variables, imperfection, and misattribution. On top of that, reality is created on the individual level, and every single creature in this world experiences it differently. To the Enigmata pathstrider, it is in fact impossible to explain the world with generalizations.

Giving up certainty does not come at the expense of intellect, however. “To stop questioning is to ask pouring rain to relinquish its faith in the glittering stars” is the quote for Enigmata in the data bank, written by a poet who presumably follows the path. The quote itself obscures its meaning with metaphor and leaves its interpretation up to the reader, but also highlights the act of questioning, which by itself creates the unknown and opens the door to speculation. Enigmata is therefore the path of skeptics. Don’t take words at face value, it says. Even Gallagher, one of our only examples of an Enigmata pathstrider at the moment, is described at least once as being skeptical, and frequently warns the Trailblazer not to believe what they see. This is not the path of brainlessness, even if Mythus is represented as a jellyfish, but is ironically cerebral. If there is nothing left to question, doubt, or wonder about, then there is no Enigmata.

Like all the paths though, whether or not you find the followers of Enigmata “good” or “bad” is a matter of perspective. Altering historical records might be offensive to a Candelographo, while writing a story that embellishes the past would otherwise be seen as a work of art. As stated above, Enigmata is not merely a path of lies, insofar as fiction is not foremost labeled as a lie. This is, after all, a path of poets and storytellers, and most of us don’t throw away books because they veer from what we know of reality or truth. Historical fiction presents to us both fact and fiction simultaneously, and asks questions like “what if 17th century Europe had dragons?” Engaging with fantasy in this way allows us to indulge in a whole plethora of alternate worlds that are paradoxically real and fake.

For this reason, there is no better way to introduce Enigmata to us than with Penacony’s dreamscape, which represents dreams, imagination, and memory. All of these things leave real impacts on us, even if they don’t reside in the part of the world we call reality. While just about all of us would agree that dreams and imagination are inherently full of possibilities, what about memory? The path of Remembrance governs memory, and believes that it can be captured and preserved 1:1. Mythus was born from the aeon of Remembrance, however, and represents one of the ways in which memory fails: when we forget details, our brain naturally plugs holes up with fabrications. Enigmata’s corrosion (and it is indeed called such in game) is usually harmless to memory in small quantities, but larger holes lend themselves to more impactful fiction. There is a famous psychological study conducted by Loftus and Palmer in the 1970s that revealed how leading questions and false information can affect eyewitness accounts of car crashes. New information has the potential to overwrite memory - a green car suddenly becomes red in testimony - and Dr. Blues’ quest line illustrates this phenomenon: a person whose body has been “forgotten” by the dreamscape becomes an origami bird with Enigmata’s (Gallagher’s) help. Unlike its defiance of Erudition, Enigmata is a facet, rather than an enemy of Remembrance.

This whole post was actually inspired by the Otherworldly Delights readable, which I haven’t even touched on yet and probably won’t spend much time going over it anyway. This readable describes how one of the Luofu’s storytellers acquired a parrot from a mysterious fan, and how the parrot learned to recite and eventually create stories of its own. This parrot was Youci (the Pure Fiction bird), and while not outright stated to be related to Enigmata, its penchant for reinventing the past all but confirms it to be some sort of History Fictionologist, even though its owner doesn’t believe it has the capability of thought and imagination that humans possess. This story and the description on the Jade Feather (tl;dr : a Candelographo was discovered to have fabricated all of the history she’d recorded since creating a quill from the feathers of her dead parrot) have something notable in common beyond just the parrot: a writer or storyteller acquires some kind of muse that coincides with when they begin creating fiction, but the writer themselves is never attributed as a History Fictionologist.

Mikhail was a prolific storyteller and most of his work was based on his own history. Despite everything he created being clearly fiction, he’s never described as a History Fictionologist. Gallagher is though, and is frequently represented as the statue of a hound. Mikhail even calls him "[his] hound." So I had to wonder — might he have been Mikhail’s “parrot?” Gallagher's purpose would have been to reinvent Penacony’s history, and he does that twice that we know of (first in turning the planet into the “Planet of Festivities,” and second in freeing it from the Order). As we see in Otherworldly Delights, Youci becomes a storyteller itself by first mimicking its master, and then observing the world around it. This echoes Gallagher’s character stories, which shows through a series of notes how he’s created his persona by observing people in Penacony. If he’s not the History Fictionologist himself, then he was a gift from one to Mikhail during the War of Independence. Under this theory, Mikhail - and likely Micah - both knew what Gallagher was, and relied on him for the power his stories held within the dreamscape.

This has gone on too long now, and I still have other theories to write out at some point, but all this is to say that Gallagher continues to be a phenomenal representation of the path of Enigmata: who and what he is remains full of endless possibilities in the face of so much information.

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[witchofthesouls]

Humans not only from viruses can get sick but from stress alone too

Try to to do something about invisible threat (poor bots)

Funnily enough, they do understand stress-related illness and injury, especially with education on the line, but there's still a huge cultural clash (and arising misunderstandings).

On Cybertron, medical-related frames are regulated to a mid-to-higher caste in the system as Golden Age Cybertron highly values them and those fields. It stems from the Quintesson Occupation since their conquerors greatly valued intellectual pursuits (and ways to control Cybertronian biology and keep the population docile to their leverage).

That doesn't jive well with American business practices. To the Autobots, June Darby is their equivalent of a highly skilled medical practitioner, especially since she's acting as a trainer or as a head of a specialty unit. On Cybertron, she would be afforded more privileges in accordance with her rank and responsibilities: greater pay, final say on her core staff or floats, better access to fuel grades and a greater vareity of flavorings, off-premise housing on a discount, vacation pay, emergency/sick pay, access to parks, libraries, and more places dedicated to pure recreation (like amusement parks or plays), an allowance to decorate her hab to her preference, greater priority if she wanted to mentor a newframe or a sparkling from the Well (granted it had to share her own medical-frame), seating on public transport, discounted/free items and services through the hospital and university networks, and priority on networking and trade within the system.

Shoot, it's how Ratchet kept his clinic in the Underground alive for that long. He utilized all the privileges afforded to him as one of the best of the best until it couldn't be overlooked. Even then, Ratchet was afforded a heads-up about the raid long before it happened so he could clear out and wrap up any illegal treatment or training.

If Ratchet found out how poor the state of medical care in the U.S., especially the mockery it was twisted by insurance and private equity, the mech would be so infuriated that he would skip English and go back into Neocybex to the point all of his 'strongly worded letters' to many local, state, and federal committees would be in Cybertronian.

Plus, Ratchet is incredibly salty, bitter, and frustrated at the current state of the war... so he'll channel those emotions into the political and social scene on bettering healthcare and patient outcomes by coordinating many advocacy groups... and curating ties to organizations and individuals that have beef to pick over the state of things or have no qualms in upsetting social polite fictions.

Bottom line, Cybertronians are very familiar with stress-related injuries and illnesses, but they're absolutely astounded on how Earth (let's be honest, the U.S. since the Autobots seems to only sole ties to them) can be so forward, yet incredibly backward on things.

[heartbeatbookclub]

I was looking at a few posts about autism (as one does) and it just suddenly clicked into place a fundamental thing about Yuri's character that I'd been grasping at, but hadn't really been able to adequately identify. I still have a much longer and more thorough analysis going through a whole lot of my thoughts on Yuri's character and her experience of autism that i'm working on (of which this will likely be a component), but I thought I'd share this separately just to emphasize.

Post I saw which made this click for me was making fun of the fact that most media depicting impaired empathy in autistic characters explicitly depicts them with this unflappable confidence of never having been rejected by people they love. The crux of this is that in actual reality, autistic people almost always have that experience at some point, for some behavior, for reasons they don't really understand. "There is an invisible line where people will get sick of you, and you have no warning of when you're about to cross it." So frequently, autistic people attempt to ride a razor thin edge, walking on constant eggshells to desperately attempt to avoid crossing that line.

Very often autistic people will attempt to avoid doing anything at all which could be considered weird, or off-putting, and will try their absolute hardest to do things in a way that is acceptable to other people, sometimes to the point of outright suppressing their emotions, because they are afraid that they'll say something just wrong enough that the people they care about will push them away, and they don't understand WHY it happened, but they know it's THEIR fault. Sometimes masking is fighting to appear aloof all the time because you can't regulate your emotions in a way that is acceptable to other people.

And holy fucking Jesus, that fits the exact mold of what I've been trying to talk about with the particular way Yuri's anxieties manifest.

It really feels to me like Yuri has this constant fear of breaking the "rules" of socializing, despite not really understanding what those rules even are. She's constantly afraid of saying something wrong, when she doesn't even know what wrong would be, she's just sure everyone ELSE will know it when they hear it. I think a huge part of her social anxiety comes from her own understanding of herself as a very weird person who doesn't really get a lot of how to socialize, and it seems to me like she's probably dealt with her fair share of social rejection and isolation based on those traits. She then felt she had to take responsibility for those traits, probably because it's the one thing she can change, and she is the one common denominator in all of these bad situations (This is something which is pretty common, actually! "Everyone else can socialize just fine, and I have so much difficulty with it! I must just be broken in some way. I have to try super hard to be normal to make friends!")

I think a big part of why it's so apparent in the Literature Club is because she really thinks she's found a place where she can make friends in spite of all of her issues, so when she starts...being herself, and receives even the smallest HINT of pushback, she overcorrects and tries to rein all of herself in to fix her "mistake", because she really wants to make friends here, and doesn't want them to reject her as well.

She's had this experience of others pushing her away for being weird so often that, coupled with her acknowledged trouble for reading situations, when anybody responds poorly to something and she recognizes it, she immediately overcorrects out of fear of being an annoying burden to everyone around her, and that "correction" consists of suppressing herself into being "normal" (or at least "less weird"), because she believes nobody could actually like her just for being who she is. There's something wrong with her fundamentally, and to make friends, for people to like her and want to be around her, she has to "fix" herself.

it's just, like...

it's really hard for me to interpret Yuri's character that doesn't involve her being somewhere on the spectrum, bros. she's written with such delicately constructed autistic coding, despite the appearance of just being a hackneyed weird girl visual novel trope. she deserves the world.......