#a subconscious kind of tug of war

[backtothefanfiction]

Sleep Talking | Joaquin Torres

Summary; Joaquin could never keep a secret.

Warnings: none, this is all fluff

A/N: I couldn’t sleep until I’d put something out so yeah, this is just a real quick short before bed kind of story. I’ll get back on my asks/wips/part 2s of stuff tomorrow. For now, enjoy this. Also sorry I haven’t done tags it’s late and I’m tired so hope this finds you fine.

You woke unable to breathe. “Ouch, Joaquin,” you grumbled as your mind and body slowly dragged itself from sleep.

“Huh?” He grumbled sleepily.

“Baby, you’re squishing me.”

“What?” he groaned, but you could tell he was only half awake.

“Roll over. You’re squishing me. And you’re making me feel like I’m sleeping with a freaking radiator. Jeez.” you moaned as he shifted slightly and you truly felt how stifling it had become under the covers.

“It’s not me. It’s you,” he sleepily grumbled. You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he grumbled another response. “No.” he said with a sigh as he rolled back over onto his back on his pillow. “It was you. I know you ate my sandwich.” he mumbled.

Sandwich? What was he- ohhh, he’s sleep talking.

You chuckled to yourself as you rolled over onto your side to watch him sleep. Every now and again his lips would silently move to talk again, but it was mostly silent. You were just about to close your eyes and go back to sleep when you heard the words, “Because I’m going to marry her.”

There was a pause as if he was listening to someone else speak before he said, “What do you mean who? Y/N who else. I’ve already got the ring. I’ve been keeping it in my underwear drawer for weeks now.”

You were suddenly wide awake. You didn’t know if it was just the dream or if there was some actual truth to it and his subconscious was bleeding through. But there was one thing for sure, you weren’t going back to sleep until you knew for sure.

You tried to be as quiet as you possibly could as you crept out of bed, reaching for your phone and turning on the torch. Your feet padded quietly across the floor as Joaquin continued to let out small little murmurs. Every tiny shift you made to open the drawer sounded like thunder in your ears and you desperately hoped he wouldn’t wake up and catch you in the act. You gave one last quick tug on the old dresser drawer and there it was. Barely concealed by a pair of underpants, a square blue box.

You stood frozen in agony as you warred with yourself over what to do. Did you look and ruin the surprise completely or did you pretend you didn’t know it was there and climb back into bed. But you couldn’t help it. Now you knew of its existence, it was going to be burning a hole in the back of your head. You just wanted to be sure he picked a good ring, you tried to reason with yourself. You could be a good actress. You could still look surprised. You tried to rationalise as your fingers pulled out the velvet box. I mean he’s asleep, he’s not gonna know. You thought.

“Baby? What are you doing?” Joaquin asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. You looked at him guiltily. This was no sleep talking, he was well and truly awake now, sitting upright in bed as his eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the light of your torch in the dim room. That’s when he looked at your hands. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed. “Baby, I- wait, how did you-“ he paused as you continued to stand at the end of the bed frozen. Then he realised. “I was sleep talking.”

“Yes.” you finally said softly.

He groaned in frustration. “My mom said I could never keep a secret. I just wished for once I could have kept this one.”

“It’s alright,” you said.

“Did you look?” he asked.

“Not yet.” you replied. Your answer brought a soft smile to his face and he silently beckoned you over to sit with him.

“You know, I was waiting to do this on that trip to New York we were gonna take in a couple of weeks.” he began to explain, “but I guess this is good too.” Although it was dark in the room, you could tell he was beginning to blush as he took the box from your fingers.

“Y/N,” he said as his fingers deftly removed the ring from the box before he set it to one side. He tucked the ring into his fingers so you couldn’t see it just yet before he shuffled closer to you to continue his speech. “I have been in love with you from the minute I laid eyes on you. You can ask any of the boys, the second I saw you I said, that’s her, that’s the girl I’m going to marry. And of course they didn’t believe me, but I knew. You’ve been there with me for everything. Every hard day. Every promotion. You were always there to be my light and cheer me on.” he said, his voice shaking slightly with nerves. “You make every single day of my life, so much brighter and I don’t ever want to think of a day when you don’t wake up by my side. Y/N, will you do me, the greatest honour of my whole life,” he said, finally holding out the ring to you. “Will you marry me?”

It may have been 4am. It may have been in the dark of the night and extremely unconventional, but it was Joaquin. And you were always going to say yes to Joaquin.

[hoiststowline]

ultra magnus x reader

I think that in any new relationship, romantic or otherwise, magnus would have an immediate reaction to hauling his guard up more than ever. he’s standoffish and withdrawn, not really displaying all that well that he wants to be in your presence. his reasoning, come to find, is he is unable to truly refine how he feels or dig deep enough to discover what he genuinely wants.

he wants to get it right, but doesn’t necessarily articulate that well, at least vocally.

that phase doesn’t last very long, because he finds himself unexplainably entranced by your mere company. it’s laughable to outsiders, but your ‘shadow’ rarely goes where you do not. and when his feelings shift and develop into a little more than just very good friends, that protectiveness escalates tenfold. if anything were to happen to you on his watch, it’s an unforgivable action, something he could not bounce back from.

his walls are high, but they aren’t impossible to climb over. and while he feels a twinge of guilt that he isn’t as outgoing or affectionate as others may be, you always meet him in the middle with utmost benevolence and compassion.

so as long as you’re there, magnus is highly content with doing just about anything, ranging from nothing to everything. yet, he very rarely allows himself a chance to fully relax, processor thinking of at least eight different things that simultaneously need to be done.

more often than not, he can be found multitasking, but always puts whatever he’s working on to the side when conversing with you. listening intently, he’d memorize every word you said if he could, hanging onto each syllable, but the only inkling he offers is leaning just a bit forward.

imagine, you’re curled up watching a documentary you’d think he’d enjoy, but he’s across the room at his desk. softly, you call his name, wondering what he was up to, and immediately he’s all yours. just like that, not a second of hesitation nor ‘hold on, one moment’.

when you ask if he’s drowning in work, he pauses, briefly enough that you can’t catch it, but an inner tug of war does begin. he has things to complete, paperwork to be signed and letters to be read, but it also isn’t very often that you inquire him to stop.

not that you really did, quietly asking if he was busy and if he could use a break. but to him, any time you ask, no, he isn’t busy. never for you.

so carefully, magnus peels himself away from his work and moves across the room. his movements are languid yet purposeful, your heart fluttering within it’s cage as he lowers himself to the floor, just beside you on his berth.

you almost whine, telling him it’s no good to sit on the floor, but he shakes his helm. here, you’re almost at eye level, as his left arm comes to drape behind you atop the metal slab. he likes it this way, digits ghosting over your pajama pants as the soft cotton beckons subconscious touches.

and when you press play, it isn’t long before you begin stealing glances his way, entranced by his softening stare. over time, his head slowly droops, not out of boredom, but because he is candidly at peace. unbeknownst to you, but he’s at his most vulnerable in this very moment.

he falls into recharge beside you, as you’ve come to discover he’s skipped just one rest too many. when he awakes, magnus feels downright terrible that he’d slept through the movie, but you don’t care, not in the slightest.

“you need your rest,” you’d mumbled, fingers running over his face-plate only to deposit a kiss on his cheek. “it’s okay, we can finish it another time.”

while he never really thought he requested much, any feasible time he can, he seeks your companionship. he finds you to be his major weakness, and that is a dangerous yet damn near impossible feat.

your kindness knows no bounds, and can’t help but wordlessly praise you for allowing himself to expose his vulnerabilities. magnus has been hurt but has been unable to express it in the past, so shedding his ‘armor’ around you is not only healing, but unraveling a whole side of him that few have had the pleasure of meeting.

[sincerely-astra]

Hii, I was wondering if you could write a Mischa Bachinski x gn!reader fic where they're on a choir field trip and they're jokingly flirting with each other and one thing leads to another and they're making out, then one of the other choir members (preferably Noel or Ocean) walks in on them to tell them that they have to go somewhere?

Sorry that that was such a long request with little to no details

☁️Mischa x Reader: Caught Making Out☁️

Hello! No need to apologize, I just hope this fic is to your liking. ^^;

You and Mischa Bachinski definitely had a... special kind of relationship.

In the most technical sense of the word, you two weren't dating. There was never a moment where you two looked into each other's eyes and whispered those sacred words, "I love you."

But you both were a little too close to be just friends..., that much was evident with the several longing gazes, playful words, and bright smiles, which all only seemed to grow as the days passed on. Mischa was fun, exciting, and so incredibly passionate in everything he does. Although you two never crossed that boundary between friends and lovers, it would be quite easy to mistake you two as such with how lovingly he speaks of you. Every word is filled with so much adoration and love that it almost becomes too much to bear, saccharine in the best of ways.

So of course, with this strange, yet oddly comfortable relationship you both found yourselves in, it isn't at all uncommon to see you two mercilessly flirting with one another. Nor, was it uncommon for you two to make a sort of competition out of it.

You and Mischa are sat in the deteriorating leather seats of Constance's parent's minivan, the off-grey coloring a testament to how old the vehicle likely was. The van's metal doors shielded you both from the chilly fall air that flowed outside, its harsh bite even colder due to how early it was, 7:30 AM to be exact.

There was only one reason you two would be out here this early and that was that it was time for yet another choir performance, something Mischa was clearly not that enthused about. Really, who would want to get up this early in the cold to go sing to some old people at the nursery home?

...Okay, maybe Ocean, but she doesn't count.

It was only you two in the van as the rest talked outside about god knows what, it could be about Noel forgetting his sheet music even though we all know he just lost it because he didn't want to perform or it could be Ocean giving some monologue on staying positive and doing your very best, whatever it was, they were taking forever to get into the freaking van.

An exhausted sigh escapes your lips at the scenario you were stuck in, your eyes drifting away from the skies beyond the window to your favorite Ukrainian, Mischa Bachinski. Suddenly, as you watch him scrolling mindlessly on his phone, a thought pops up in your brain, one that has the potential to hopefully cure the seemingly neverending boredom you are feeling at the moment.

You lean in a little closer to him, a smirk tugging on your lips. "Oh, Mischa~" The words came out in a singsongy tone causing the boy's eyebrow to raise as he directed his attention from his phone to you, his hand subconsciously flipping the phone over so the screen faces in thigh. "Yes?" Mischa was undoubtedly a little confused about why you have that cute stupid grin on your face, but there wasn't much he could do other than just play along for now.

Fully aware of his confusion, you lean in a little more to say, "Have I ever told you that you have pretty eyes?" There was no ounce of shame or embarrassment in your voice as you spoke, the sudden compliment making Mischa's eyes widen slightly in surprise before his neutral expression slowly twisted into an amused one. He knows what you are doing here and although he definitely doesn't mind it, he isn't gonna let you go so easily.

This means war.

Mischa makes no effort to lean away despite how close you are, yet he doesn't lean in either. It's almost like he's daring you to come closer. "Really? Have I told you that I adore the way your hair shines in the sun?" To which you reply with, "I don't believe so..., but there's no way I haven't at least told you once that you're way too attractive for your own good." The tension that was growing between you two was palpable, only growing more with each flirty remark you would throw each other's way.

Deciding to poke the bear, so to speak, your body shifts ever so slightly closer to Mischa, your hand inching towards his in a teasing manner. This new change in position leaves Mischa to narrow his eyes slightly, "...Are you asking me to hold your hand or something?" You tilt your head coyly in response, making Mischa roll his eyes with mirth. "Do you want to hold my hand?" "You know I don't mind holding it and you if that's what you're asking for, кохана (my love)." Your hand inches closer and closer to his, your eyes not tearing away from his for a second... Well, that last part wasn't true, your eyes definitely were focused on one other thing, which was the soft pair of pink lips that lay on his face.

It would be so easy to just lean in a little closer and kiss him, dessolving all the tension that just sprang up from your little war into a heartfelt, passionate kiss.

All you'd have to do is lean in.

...

Mischa, as if thinking the same thing you were, starts leaning in as you do, his hand finally engufling yours as your fingers entagle one another. His eyes stare so longingly into yours as the fire you started is so desprately asking to be tended to, to keep banking it until you can't anymore.

Yet just as your lips were almost touching his, the sounds of the choir slowly opening the van doors caused you both to jump back to your respective seats. It seems everyone was ready to head out to Uranium's one nursing home as Constance takes the wheel, Ocean in the passenger seat, Ricky and Noel sitting side by side in the second row, and leaving you and Mischa in the back.

And as much you wanted to keep going, despite what you know was common manners, you also really didn't want to get scolded by Ocean today and were sure Mischa didn't either.

So you two settle for glancing in each others directions once in a while, the grin you both had never leaving your faces.

-

Honestly, with how close everything in Uranium is to each other, you really wonder if you needed to drive to the nursing home at all or if walking could've got you there just fine...

It really didn't take long for the van to stop at an ancient-looking nursing home, which was surprisingly still allowed to operate despite its rundown appearance.

Ocean quickly ushered everyone out of their seats and into the nursing home, muttering something about being late even though Constance assured her you had made it on time. Everyone did make it in though, going over to the small area they had cleared out for your performance, and you all were just mingling as you awaited the elders.

You and Mischa were off to the side, like usual, though this time, Mischa seemed to have something up his sleeve...

Apparently, not having had enough of your flirting earlier, Mischa suddenly comments out of the blue, "You look like a dweeb." His words, although sounding like an insult, were said in a playful tone so it was hard to mistake it as such. You roll your eyes and shoot back, "And you look like a dork." Gaining a snort from Mischa who lightly bumped his shoulder into you. "It's all for you babe," The word babe made your face scrunch up, the fake way he said getting a kick out of you as well, your hand moving to your mouth to hide your giggling.

However, as soon as your hand started going up to cover your smile, Mischa's expression dropped slightly. The Ukrainian gently took your hand away from your face, a small frown on his lips but a smirk still tugging upward on it. He mumbles to you, "Don't do that..." Confused and slightly concerned at this turn in behavior, you ask, "Uhm, why?" Your voice dropped its playful act as it grew slightly serious.

However, that turns out to be unwarrented as Mischa, being as sly as ever, replies with, "The world needs to be graced with a smile as beautiful as yours." The corniness of it all made you groan, acting frustrated, though the way your face lights up gives you away. You shake your head at him, pulling away from his grasp. "...That was so cheesy, never say that again you dork." You were kind of serious about that too, you weren't sure how many more cheesy pick-up lines you could take before you would have to kiss his stupid face. Mischa, not believing your words for one second, is quick to once again grab your hand. "Come on! This is flirting in Canada, no? Cheesy and corny?" He's seen a few romance movies set here and in the States and this is just the kind of flirting that they do, which usually isn't his cup of tea at all but he can't say no to getting a chance at teasing you. You're adorable when you're annoyed at him. Reciprocating his touches, you squeeze his hands tighter and sigh, "No, that's just you being you, loverboy." As always when you speak to him, a grin makes its way to Mishca's features. "Whatever you say Мила (Sweetheart)."

As you two stared at each other for a moment, eyes locking in a look of fondness, both of your attention was soon taken over by the sound of footsteps, which while looking over to where the sound was, happened to be the group of elders you were performing for. With a small breath, you let go of Mischa's hand to get into your place, as did Mischa.

Hopefully, this performance goes well... If you had to be here, might as well have a good time doing it, right?

As the empty seats in front of you were quickly filled to the brim with all different types of people, Constance stepped up and started speaking, "Hello everyone! ...Uhm, we are the St. Cassian High School chamber choir and we are here to perform a song written by-"

-

In an act of mercy placed onto you by some god above, the performance finally ended after a good 30-45 minutes! You were immensely glad it was over..., you weren't even sure if any of those people had blinked the whole performance through but you were sure that they could not care less that you guys were there. You guessed that old people so close to death probably had a lot more things to worry about than a group of teenagers singing with zero enthusiasm for them at 8 AM, but you digress.

Packing was pretty easy and you soon made your way to the nursing home lobby where now Ocean was chatting with the receptionist despite Noel's obviously annoyed expression and attempts to drag her out of there. You were practically dragging your feet from the area of the performance to the lobby, your bag feeling heavy in your hands. You had only stopped from hearing a soft chuckle beside you, which when you looked up to see who it was, it turned out to be from Mischa.

Rolling your eyes at him from finding your exhaustion amusing, you groan out, "I am so glad that's over..., I don't think I could've stood another moment of those dead-eyed stares in the crowd." You're sure you'll have trouble sleeping tonight just remembering how dead those people looked... Mischa seemed to agree as well, his face lighting up slightly as he nodded, "That's what I'm saying!"

Straightening your back, your hand reaches up to rub the back of your neck. "I mean, I guess it could've ended up worse, but I still would've preferred to spend my Saturday morning doing anything else." This throwaway comment, despite not it being your intention to, interested Mischa in a way you knew was trouble... He tilts his head, crossing his arms as he asks, "Yeah, like what?" You've been playing this game all day though, meaning you knew exactly what he was trying to pull here and you knew you had to beat him to it before he goes off yapping something embarrassing again.

"Oh you know..., sleeping in, reading a good book, scrolling on my phone, texting this one handsome guy I happen to know very well..." Elongating the last few words to show your intent, Mischa played off of your words with, "Well of course, he would be emotionally devastated if you didn't." He places his left hand on his chest where his heart is, an amused look on his face all the while. Shrugging off his fake hurt, you placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "I'm sure he would be."

A silence was then put between you both for a moment as Mischa thought of something to say, his heart for some reason beating a little more quickly like it has been every time he's been around you today. He swears he might get a heart attack from you being all touchy like this... Taking a deep breath to slow his rapid heartbeats, he speaks earnestly, a big contrast to the playful atmosphere you two had created by flirting all day.

"...I think he would be glad that today happened though." Your head tilts in small surprise at the shift in his tone, though you swiftly reply with, "Oh really? Why's that?" A genuine curiosity lies in your tone as you wonder the reason for this mood shift, one that you can only hope to mean good things.

Mischa just shrugs, a genuine, heartfelt smile replacing his usual smirk as he drops the "he" mentions. "Because I got to spend time today with my favorite person on the planet." Like his words, his hand gently moves up from his side to your hair as he runs his fingers through it, pushing some behind your ear endearingly. It was safe to say you were definitely a little shocked at the sudden sweetness coming from him, though that only made butterflies soar through you as you made a small hum of acknowledgment, your body leaning over to be closer to his. "Hm..., well, I suppose then that I also wouldn't mind doing this over and over if it meant I got to spend more time with you." You try to match his fond words with your own, hoping that it makes him feel the tremendous adoration you carry for him. He deserves it after all.

And maybe he did feel it as he nods his head slowly, his fingers never once stop twirling your locks into coils. Trying to bring some light back into the conversation, Mischa chuckles, "Good because have you looked at the choir calendar lately?" That question brings you out of your sappy mood and into one of growing dread. You mutter back, "...No, but now I'm kind of afraid to."

The male shakes his head, "It was scarring."

-

After Ocean somehow took a good 20 minutes talking with the receptionist and two other elderly patients who walked by, Noel finally got her to come with everyone else to the van. This was quite unfortunate timing as you and Mischa both needed to use the restroom at this point...

You could hear the frustration in Noel's voice as he said, "Be quick, I don't want to wait out here more than I already had to."

At first, it really wasn't anything special, you both ran off to the nursing home bathrooms and did what you needed to. It really was just gonna be a short trip!

...

But then when you came out, saw Mischa, and noticed you both had a moment alone...

Well, all the flirting and lingering touches that happened today just kind of made you both come to your breaking point.

Like, you couldn't keep your hands off of each other as you slipped into the girl's restroom while you both practically ate each other's faces off kind of breaking point.

Mischa had hurriedly closed the door behind you both before his hands made their way to your waist, slowly inching their way under your uniform shirt. A small gasp escapes your lips from his bold actions, your body moving with his as you moved back until you hit the ledge of the sinks.

Your hands desperately shoot up to run through his hair, tugging as gently as you can while directing him through the kiss. This was probably the most passionate kiss you've ever had with the boy..., the rest of your small pecks couldn't even compare to what you were feeling at this moment as his rough lips collided with yours.

Both of your breaths had turned ragged at this point as his teeth started to lightly nibble on your bottom lip, begging for access as you made soft groans that were music to his ears. Even if you could playfully deny him a little longer, you were far too pent up to even do that... You were sure he was too with how his tongue immediately darts out of his mouth and into yours as soon as you let him.

This was so different from what you're used to, yet you didn't mind...

In fact, you were living for the fire that was building inside of you every minute his hands slowly inched up your body, his calloused fingers making you shiver as they got higher and higher up. The way the butterflies in your chest grew tenfold, the neediness he exhibited, and the love you felt for him were all things you didn't think you would ever grow tired of.

God, you loved him so much...

Mischa, of course, loved you just as much if not so much more. From your eyes, your hair, the way you talk, the things you like, everything you were was just so magical to him. You were everything he could ever dream of and the fact that he gets to touch and kiss you like this, to have his lips trail down from your lips to your neck and hear the wonderful noises that come out as a result makes him feel like the luckiest man in the whole world.

And he was sure he was.

Not just anyone gets to hold you like this, so closely that you can hear how fast his heart was beating for you. He is so grateful you let him be with you like this... You were his and he was yours.

As the fire inside of you both continued to grow with every kiss and touch you two shared, what you both had failed to notice in the midst of your passionate makeout session was a certain red-head walking in only to have her jaw dropped to the floor because of the scene playing out in front of her...

When it feels like it just started, your makeout was just as quickly ended by none other than Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg who started to berate you two in sheer disbelief. "What do you two think you're doing!? Doing such inappropriate acts in a nursing home for crying out loud!! You should be ashamed of yourselves!" She speedwalks over to you two and rips you off one another with a strength you didn't know she possessed and didn't get a chance to question as she immediately starts to go into a tirade on how despicable your actions were.

She also apparently wasn't the only one searching for you two as Noel soon came in, presumably after hearing Ocean start shouting about inappropriate behavior and something else about celibacy.

With a hand covering his eyes, this was the women's restroom after all and he wasn't a perv, Noel slowly walks in and asks, "What on god's green Earth are you shrieking about Ocean?" To which Ocean forces herself to stop her speech for a moment, whip her head around to face Noel, and say, "These two were making out!" before going back to her speech. That statement had caught Noel completely off guard as he dropped his hand to face you with a look of sheer disgust and his words were not much different as he mumbled, "In the nursing home bathrooms..., really???"

Truly, you had to be so lucky Noel liked the two of you because if he didn't, he definitely would've let you continue to be berated by Ocean for doing something so strange. But alas, he also wanted to get home before his shift started.

Walking up to you three, Noel puts his hand on Ocean's shoulder and starts to push her away from you and Mischa and outside of the bathroom. The redhead almost started to complain before eventually just giving an annoyed huff as she rips herself away from Noel, walking out herself. "...I can walk you know." You can hear her voice ring out as Noel motions you both to walk out with him, "Let's just get out of here..., it's actually freezing."

Standing still for a moment, you and Mischa just share a look before walking out alongside Noel, thankful you both at least live another day without having to feel the full extent of Ocean's wrath...

A/N: Sorry if this is bad- I realized immediately as I started writing this that I do not know how to flirt so my words are probably really corny... My bad. ^^;

P.S. Sorry if any of the Ukrainian is incorrect, whenever I need to use a Ukrainian phrase I just peruse around Google for a bit before I find one I think fits, but if it's wrong please feel free to tell me so I can fix it!

[shycoconutt]

You, Me, & Armin Arlert: Keeping a Kind Heart Amid Despair

So, I finished Attack on Titan last night and I want to talk about someone in particular. I’m sure that what I have to say here doesn’t add anything new to the discourse, I know this story has touched countless hearts already. But, the feeling I have left in my chest after last night I feel can only be relieved by purging my thoughts.

No other character, besides Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender, has been rooted in my soul more deeply than Armin Arlert. There have been countless characters who have tugged at my heartstrings, based on my blog alone I bet you can figure out who a couple of those are. But, I’ve never seen myself in any of those characters. Maybe in certain traits or actions, but never the all-encompassing sphere of who they are and all their little facets. 

Sheesh. Even as I’m typing this, tears are blurring the bottom of my vision, and my nose has that uncomfortable, burning tingle. Because all I can think about is this:

“I hate you and I always have. Cause you've never done anything but betray me. The second one we were given. You haven't done a thing with any of it! So get up!”

Ah, crap. I’m seriously not going to be able to keep typing if I can’t get it together… Okay, phew, I think I have it under control now. So, I’m sure a lot of us can picture ourselves in this image. Maybe it was a dream, just a moment you caught your reflection in a mirror, or, in my case, a point in time where you were completely alone. 

I feel that it is important to have moments of silence and solitude where you can take inventory of yourself without any outside influence or distraction. These moments, at their best, can be very healing, but other times, you are brought face to face with the ugly beast you chained up in the dark corner of your subconscious. Armin was brought here during the climax of the battle, where he believed his friends on the outside would all perish if he couldn't get back to them in time. With the souls of his comrades, Eren, and the entire population at risk, everything came to a head. What is the point of it all if you can’t, at the very least, die trying? 

Get up. Don’t betray me again like you always do. You’re a piece of shit. The good others see in you is nothing but a farce. Worthless. Predictable. Incapable. Why must everything be so damn difficult for you?

These are the tales of my ugly beast. What about you? Does yours say something similar? How often does it sneak out of its cage to wrap its claws around your neck, forcing you to listen to its scripture, only for you to shove it away? How often do you visit it when it fits your agenda, to serve as fuel to your fire of self-hatred?

I’m sorry, that might have been a little much. I just need you to understand, okay? Because here is the other side of the situation. We know Armin Arlert is anything but what he is telling himself at this moment. I don’t think it needs any further explanation. You watched what I did, so you know. 

Armin, regardless of his lack of physical talent, defines what it means to be a soldier of humanity. “Dedicate your heart.” A salute with various diluted meanings in the different oppositions of war finds purity in him. I see myself in Armin Arlert, not because of his intelligence, or his worth to the cause, I see myself in his humanity. His heart. His ability to confront the beast. His ability to shoulder the pain and despair of the ones he loves most. His ability to keep a kind heart amid despair.

His ability to love, listen, let go, lose, fall, get up, and do it all over again, all while remaining vulnerable and steadfast. He did it, so how about you and I try and do the same, yeah?

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

S2E20: The Nerds and the Doom Domes

aka a quick run down about why it had to be Cooper to tell Mateo what he did

Ok so the lines:

Mateo: "[The Dream Realms] They're in the wrong places! This isn't right." Cooper: "But it's great- I mean look at it! It doesn't have to be exactly the same as it was before. I learned a lot of new stuff, I'm better!" Mateo: "But how do we know it'll be better?" Cooper: "We don't. We can hope for the best-"

Why are these lines so important? Why am I saying it had to be Cooper? Why am I making a whole post about said few lines-?

Well ok, first we have to understand that the narrative basically likes to play this game of tug-o-war with Cooper, it's constantly doing this; Mateo or Logan, his family or his friends, what he wants or what someone else wants of him, to stay the same and be perfect or change, etc.

That last one is actually pretty important because most other decisions and challenges he's faced with in the show can fit under it; ie. does he keep doing what he's been doing and listen to his family or does he change and go against that and do something else? Does he stay friends with Mateo and nothing changes or does he become friends with Logan and change, well, everything, basically? (Because Logan is actually a decently huge plot mover in season one and technically you could say he wouldn't even be a part of the group if not for Cooper but- I'm not going to get into that here).

Point is, throughout the entire show thus far Cooper has been tied to change, not only in the ways mentioned above but in other things too; like how his capture by the Night Hunter in episode one kind of sets everything off, because suddenly Izzie and Mateo have a stake in this their friend is in danger, so it goes from fun in the dream world to -> save our friend and start figuring everything out. Furthermore he even has a whole sub plot in season two about how the loss of his memories changed him and how else he changed his way of doing/thinking of things to make up for said lost memories. And honestly that's just the tip of the iceberg, I could go on-

But anyway.

So Cooper = Change in this, or at least the idea of change and the choice whether or not to accept change or go against it.

Sound familiar? As in maybe there's another character, or two, that really struggles to accept change-?

And I might make a post about this because it's really fascinating to me but I am in fact talking about Mateo!

Throughout the series Mateo's aversion to change is constantly popping up, and I guess you could really equate change to loss in some of these: but in S1E4 he doesn't want to go through the Dream Forge due to the idea of loosing Z-Blob. In part one of season two Mateo is constantly struggling with not only the fact that things changed and he lost Z-Blob to the point where everything he dream crafts is almost some subconscious attempt to recreate/get Z back but he also struggles immensely with the whole Jasmin situation because to some degree you can clearly tell he doesn't want the dynamic in his family to change, (I mean just look at how he reacted to the idea that Jasmin and Izzie were changing how they went about celebrating José's birthday-)

"Jasmin's changing everything!"

Mateo very clearly struggles with the idea of change because if anything he probably ends up equating change to loss. Every time some big change has happened in his life he has lost something; his mom, Cooper, Z-Blob, which is no doubt related to why he seemed so bugged by the placement of the dream realms being changed. To him it probably looks something like "Positions of dream realms changed -> change = bad because it leads to loss -> this is wrong, something will go wrong!"

Thus that brings us the line: "They're in the wrong places! This isn't right."

With all this being said though, Mateo hating change and Cooper, in a way representing, the idea/choice that leads to change it all starts to add up.

Cooper was, from what we've seen, the first change that Mateo had to face that went right, Cooper came back and while their friendship had changed if anything it was for the better. In the grand scheme of things Cooper was probably what eventually led Logan to stop bullying Mateo. And if Cooper hadn't lost Mateo's comic in S1E13 who's to say Mateo ever would have gotten that semblance of courage from Mrs. Castillo to share his comic with people-? (albeit this one was a bit indirect on Cooper's part lol)

Cooper inspired small, good, changes in Mateo's life which have honestly seemed to snowball pretty well for Mateo. But at the same time Cooper also had to learn how to deal with his own problems with change and practically his whole life being flipped upside down thanks to his lost memories.

Both of them have been affected by change, in both good and bad ways, their entire relationship has changed but while Mateo views change as bad Cooper figured out that it wasn't all bad, that there is good in it and that maybe it, maybe they aren't the exact same as they were before but in spite of all that they're better now.

Anyone could have told Mateo this, if anything Izzie has tried, but, really, Cooper is the one that's going to help Mateo realize that change isn't always bad. That change is ok, because Cooper changed, their friendship changed, but they're both still there.

[kuro-cache]

Day 9 of Whumptloktober!

"Time + Obsession"

"Southern Water Tribe....Tidal wave...no no...Tsunami.."

Her hands moved slower than her thoughts as she tried to grasp the fragmented memories and jot them down.

"Chief Ronuk." Yangchen paused as her head popped up at the name. It was unfamiliar to her. She quickly turned to a pile of scrolls and threaded her fingers through the documents.

"Ronuk...Ronuk..." He wasn't there.

This was a new person!

She turned back to her desk and quickly tried to write faster. Her slim and fragile hands were desperate to match the pace of her mind. She had to be quick.

Chief Ronuk must have been a past Avatar companion.

What did he want with her? What was he trying to say?

"City..underwater..."

This must of been a very long time ago. The South was a frozen tundra, not an oasis. Something was amiss.

Her miscellaneous scribbling drowned out the noise of a person entering the room. He crossed the space slowly, but with confident purpose. His shoes delicately shuffled the mess of papers aside as he carved a path to her.

"Something's there..." She muttered incoherently. "In the water...the ice?"

"Yang." He spoke softly, with a firm hand on her arm.

She abruptly stopped writing and turned to look up at his face like his presence broke her free of a trance.

Frozen in silence, she examined him closely as if trying to deduce if he too was a character from these tales.

Her eyes softly traced the deep lines framing his mouth, the crows feet on the ends of his kind, blues eyes. The salt and pepper hair that fell to his shoulders.

Kavik...

She knew him.

She ...loved him.

"Let us turn in for the night..." He finished, trying to be gentle with her.

"No!" She yelled and pushed him away. "I have to—Keep writing..I'm the only one who can!"

Kavik closed his eyes for a moment, pulling on the decades long reserve of patience he held for his life-long companion. Yangchen's condition only got worse with age, to the point where she now spent almost her entire day, sitting in the temple library communing with past Avatars and their companions.

They tugged on her subconscious so much, that she spent more time as a bridge for them to recount their lives, than cherishing the fleeting years of her own.

She convinced herself that it was her duty to document their legacies, as much as she could find. To preserve this knowledge for the Avatar's that will succeed her.

This desire to tell their stories consumed her. He didn't have the heart to tell her the majority of what she wrote down was illegible.

"I'm the only one who can hear them..." Yangchen replied and when she looked up at him, a part of his heart broke at the fading pigment in her irises. Like she was in a perpetual Avatar state.

They were older now...much older. There wasn't anything else their bodies could handle that was outside of a well deserved retirement. There wasn't anything else Yangchen could give to the world as she has already solidified herself as an Avatar that will influence generations to come. She didn’t need to be the keeper of time.

Yangchen was only a few years shy of 90 years old, and Kavik was the same. He was determined to hold on to her. His Avatar Yangchen, not the others that warred over her mind. He feared that if he did not continue to remind her of who she was. She'd truly be lost forever. He was the only one who could do this for her.

"Hear me Yangchen..." He cautiously took her small, slender hand and removed the quill from her fingers. He drew her up to his lips and softly kissed the skin that had thinned and wrinkled with age.

He brought the back of her hand to the middle of his forehead and pressed it there, directly to his third eye as he bowed his head to her.

She watched him do this in silent curiosity as if partly wondering why he showed such affection but also trying to remember she was the sole proprietor of his love.

There was an intuitive pull she felt towards him. An unmistakable certainty that she was safe with him.

"Come lie down with me...and I will tell you a story..."

[rosemar-y]

Hello :D

Just wanted to ask what your headcanons (if any) about Ethan’s powers are :)

HIIIII SORRY I DIDN'T SEE THIS UNTIL NOW AHHHHHH

As for powers I think Ethan would have, I don't see him having abilities of physical substance like other characters do (ie, Percy water powers). I think if he were to have powers/enhanced abilities, they would be similar to Annabeth and her intellect or Nico's ability to sense the dead/souls. It'd be more of a mental thing, like intuition.

Within greek theology, Nemesis is usually portrayed with an ability to 'sense' when things are unbalanced and can give luck or curses in order to regain a balance (or to enact retribution on those who cause the imbalance). I can see Ethan having kind of a sixth sense when it comes to when things aren't balanced, whether it be physically or morally. Like the little voice in the back of your head tugging, whispering; "this isn’t right, this isn't equity, this needs to change," and then subconsciously know how to solve it. We kind of saw this in the books when Ethan was able to clock the location of Percy's Achilles Heel almost instantly and then had the urge to attack him there. Like evening out the odds when someone or something has an uncouth advantage or disadvantage.

Along with this, I like to think Ethan would have a very balanced lifestyle (if circumstance allowed him to lmao). Like in a domestic-not-titan-war setting, he would have a healthy sleep/wake schedule and would cook balanced meals, while also keeping a balanced schedule between rest and work. It might also make sense for him to be ambidextrous or have a strong equilibrioception. It would also be interesting if along with that intuition, he had a sort of thermoception, pitch perception, and or situational intelligence. Picking up on shifts or imbalances in your surroundings and then adequately countervail it.

Now if were talking physical ability/power wise, Ethan having wings would be a banger concept. I don't remember where I read it, It was like 3 years ago minimum, but I read a fic where Ethan had like goose wings and I ATE THAT SHIT UP OML DELICIOUS. It's plagued my mind ever since I read it. Nemesis being a winged goddess and having geese/birds as a reoccurring motif in her theology. Nemesis having the ability of foresight and destiny. UsghevehehejvhehdgdhdhdbRAHHHHHH

Imagine with me now: Nemesis forsaw the battle of Manhattan, she knew Ethan was going to get killed by Cronos. She knew his blade was going to shatter and shrapnel back into him. She knew even after that, Cronos would still chuck him down Mount Olympus to his death. She knew that wasn't balanced, that wasn't on even grounds. So as a way to balance out her sons fate, she gave him wings. It's Ethan's choice whether or not learn how to use them, and he'd still have the problem of getting stabbed by the shards of his own weapon, but it gives him a fighting chance of survival once Cronos drop kicks him down 600 stories. Do ya see the vision with me here chat. I know most people don't like Nemesis very much, but I'm such a sucker for "child who would do anything for their parent(s) to just look at them" and "parent who's trying their best and loves them but doesn't want to hurt them by getting too close" dynamic UEUUHHGHGGGJGH.

Sorry for the word wall oh my goodness but I hope you liked it 😭😭

[legobiwan]

How do you think an interaction with dimentio, king boo and antasma would go? Because I feel like they would make for an interesting interaction also their thoughts on luigi yeah a lot of room for thinking there

So I need to preface this by stating that there is a fantastic, albeit unfinished, comic series that delves into this EXACT scenario:

LINK

I entreaty the gods and whoever else on a regular basis that this will one day get updated, but alas, I do most definitely understand the mercurial nature of the muses and the regrettable demands of everyday life. So it goes.

ANYWAY (and I write this with the caveat that I'm only about 2/3 of the way through Dream Team, although I am familiar with the story beats).

Interactions

Both Antasma and King Boo are pretty straightforward about their lust for power and control, so I feel they would be in a constant tug of war over who was the actual leader of their little demented trio. (Dimentio, on the other hand, is probably sharpening his knife while lying in a hammock and sipping at a fruity cocktail, waiting for the other two to tear each other to shreds).

I do feel that eventually, King Boo would win out in the end, just because he has more physical (metaphysical?) power in the real world, setting up an uncomfortable hierarchy wherein each being sees themselves at the pinnacle of by hook (Antasma), crook (Dimentio), or just outright murder (King Boo).

Essentially, they get along well enough to plot each other's demise and also band together against a common foe, who would be...

Ah, yes. Luigi.

So. This gets interesting.

King Boo outright loathes Luigi and wants his head on a wall (or a canvas). But he doesn't want to make it easy. A quick death would be too kind, too merciful for the humiliation he has put King Boo through and he wants Luigi to suffer, to recognize King Boo as his superior before he is granted the release of death which itself is a false promise, Luigi's eternal torture in canvas all but guaranteed.

Antasma, on the other hand, seeks revenge, but is more similar to Dimentio in that he wants to use Luigi. Yes, he will betray and destroy him in end, but Luigi's power in the Dream Realm is unprecedented for someone who is not a Pi'illo Island native. And beyond this, Antasma has had the opportunity to sneak into his subconscious though his dreams (nightmares), can identify all the little weaknesses that crack in the buttress of his personality. Antasma won't share, but likely would seek to bring Luigi, or Dreamy Luigi, into his thrall.

Dimentio (arg, Dimentio), who you may gather is my favorite character of this trio - surprisingly (or not) has no taste for revenge. At least, not against Luigi. What he does want is to manipulate Luigi to his side, to not only use him but also, in a strange way, to find a comrade-in-arms. I think Dimentio actually likes Luigi in his own bizarre way and would rather Luigi come to his side by his own accord rather than by brute force (the Floro Sprout was a necessary evil, in his mind, something forced by the confines of time and the impending apocalypse). This isn't to say Dimentio is good by any means - he's righteous bastard magic man and I will stand by that descriptor. But his relationship with Luigi is complicated, especially after their merge with the Chaos Heart, and for Dimentio, it would be far more rewarding for Luigi to come to him of his volition, for the two of them to wreak the chaos he so desperately desires (and which Luigi holds so much capability for) together.

Now, how these different aims play out as the three plot their ultimate victories (which take a variety of shapes) - well, that could be a story in itself.

[zeb-z]

minecraft-sinfonia family in the Star Wars au, because brain worms never sleep

Chayanne is hardly a toddler in the crèche when the Jedi temple falls and the Empire is born. Phil saves him, cares for him, raises him as his own on a homestead after meeting Missa, far from the core worlds. He grows up learning to farm, to cook, to find his own resources and how to make do with what you have. He has no idea where he’s from - his records were sealed in a holocron along with the other younglings his age, and who knows where that is now. Not that it matters all that much to him - his family are his parents who have raised him, and later his sister.

Tallulah is also force sensitive, but was never picked up by the Jedi. She knows where she’s from - an outer rim dustball of a planet where she had no one but the other street kids, where they all had to eat dirt. According to Wilbur, who picked her up and took her in, she had been crying in the rubble in an ally, where a building had managed to collapse sideways into, somehow entirely unscathed, the only survivor. Now that she’s older, and has an understanding of her powers, she can guess she had used the force in some sort of subconscious survival instinct. She spent a good year or two with her father, before she had been dropped off during a visit to her “abuelo Phil”, and never picked back up. It’s another year before she starts calling Phil her Pa instead.

For a year after the fall of the Jedi, Phil travels with Wilbur, and tries to take care of a very young Chayanne as best as he can. He tries to make it easy on Wil as he can, but he know it can’t be simple, traveling with an ex-Jedi on the run and a force sensitive toddler who makes all the noise a toddler does. Whatever guilt he has is buried under the knowledge that this is safest. Staying in the wind, between the stars, without making a name or life for himself, is necessary until the panic around the Jedi dies down.

Phil meets Missa shortly after he parts ways with Wilbur, on some forgettable, relatively mild planet on the edges of the mid rim, in a town full of farmers and workers. He’s clearly lost, and exhausted, and struggling to find something he can afford to feed the hungry child in his arms, and Missa may not have much but for this he has a few credits to spare, and well - he just can’t ignore that feeling, tugging in his gut and wrapping around his chest, that’s pulling him towards the two strangers. Kindness has him buying them a meal and offering his home to them for the night, and when Phil asks if they can stay for just a while, to figure out where to go next, he says yes before he even processes the question. A little foolish, maybe, given the state of the galaxy, but Phil would be lost without that kindness.

Phil makes himself useful helping around the farm, feeding the growzers and nerfs, pulling weeds, planting new crops, at least when Chayanne doesn’t demand attention. Missa works as he always does, keeps them all fed, and looks up all the articles he can find about childcare - and then double checks with a few parents when they drop into town for market, because surely Chayanne isnt old enough to be eating full carrots yet, his teeth are just so small - that’s when he realizes he’s far more open to Phil and Chayanne staying around than he thought he was. It isn’t much longer until Phil comes to a similar conclusion, during a dinner like any other night before, where Missa had taken care to cut Chayanne’s carrots and had made a pot of tea that was Phil’s favorite (one he got based on a hunch back in town a few days prior), and he realizes that he doesn’t want to lose this. That he wants to stay.

After he finds that Missa himself is also force sensitive, and he comes clean about who he actually is, their life continues on without the idea that this just a temporary set up. They get officially married just before Tallulah comes into the picture, which gives Phil an official new identity to the Empire, from a legal standpoint.

Chayanne and Tallulah both grow up learning Jedi techniques to balance their connection with the force. They learn early on the extent of their powers and how to meditate. The better trained you are, and the more you know of your own powers, the better you can master self control - that’s what their dads say, at least. While Phil had been anxious when Tallulah first arrived - wondering if them knowing their powers would make them all more obvious to those hunting for them - it’s cemented when Chayanne uses the force in the market, floating a fruit from a street vendor towards him when he couldn’t reach it himself. They were extremely lucky he wasn’t noticed. Chayanne, with enough core memories in the temple, where using the force and connecting wasn’t only second nature, but was encouraged all around him, would only struggle if they pretended anything different. Besides - as much as they have to keep themselves hidden and safe from the Empire, the force was something to celebrate. They were never taught that their gifts were anything but special - it wasn’t them that was wrong, but the Empire for hunting them.

After their home is raided, and the kids go with Phil to the rebellion, separated from Missa, is when they learn to fight. Chayanne is extremely disappointed he can’t actually train to learn how to wield his dads lightsaber. Tallulah leans less into physical training, and gets a better handle at using the force to interact with the world. She learns a technique to help plants grow just a little faster, and a little stronger, and likes to help around the gardens and greenhouses. It makes Phil a little sad, but only sometimes - she would have loved the Room of a Thousand Fountains, had this universe been kinder.

When Missa manages to find them again, worn and weary and somehow with Phil’s lightsaber still intact and all his limbs attached, he joins the rebels cause and fights with his family. Phil insists Missa keeps his lightsaber on him, pretending like it isn’t as big of a deal as it is, saying he’s grown used to fighting without it - but Missa knows better. A lightsaber is a Jedi’s life, their being connected to their crystal that gives it power, the weapon an extension of themselves. He understands the significance, of Phil’s life humming in his hands, protecting him above all else. There’s an immense amount of love, of trust, in the decision. It makes Phil a terrible Jedi - giving up his saber by choice, for a familial attachment he should never have made in the first place. But who gives a fuck - the temple has long been gone, the Jedi and all their believers dead with it, and Missa is here in front of him, alive, unlike the fucking Jedi council, the merry band of hypocrites. He’d like to keep it that way.

Chayanne still gets Phil to train him with the lightsaber, and it’s the coolest thing ever of all time.

[synthient]

In the first movie, Morpheus functions as a pretty clear symbol of dreams and the subconscious (made kind of obvious by the "god of dreams" thing, I guess). Neo risks everything to uncover the truth about what he subconsciously wants and to live/actualize those dreams (and is ultimately willing to sacrifice his life for Morpheus, in a slightly less overt version of his fly-or-fall choice in resurrections. "What you're talking about is suicide" indeed). Smith wants to violently repress his subconscious, force it back into conformity, prove his purity and separateness from it, etc

By 2 and 3, there seems to be a bit of a stepping back from this symbolic level - possibly because the casting had been finalized by that point (some early picks were Will Smith as Neo and Val Kilmer as Morpheus), and there was a moment of hm. maybe not ideal to keep instrumentalizing our most prominent black character for two white* characters' expression/repression tug-of-war. So we get more of a focus on Morpheus as his own distinct character, via the 'controversial faith leader' subplot and the Niobe love triangle subplot (there also seems to be a concurrent effort to not reduce Niobe to his love interest. which means Morpheus spends a good chunk of the 3rd movie just kind of standing supportively at her shoulder while Niobe does cool stuff). He actually has surprisingly little interaction with Neo or Smith in these movies, culminating in that stiff little farewell handshake

* "is Neo white"/"is Keanu white-passing"/"is Neo written in a 'raceblind' way that amounts to presumed whiteness" is an old question in matrix criticism

Things get interesting in resurrections, which seems to attempt to split off Morpheus as distinct character with his own life and arc, from the original conception of Morpheus as symbol of the subconscious. Trilogy Morpheus lived to a ripe old age and became president of Zion. Meanwhile, Morpheus 2.0 popped out of Neo's head Athena-style. We get a new version of the Neo-Smith shared subconscious thing: Morpheus 2.0 was forced to play the role of Agent Smith, with Agent-ness as a stand-in for all the most repressive parts of cishet masculinity/whiteness/imperialism/etc. And we get the new subtext of Neo's subconscious being expressed through his art, with Morpheus 2.0 as a sort of avatar for the matrix series itself.

Despite appearing to have been created so someone else could fill the symbolic role while letting the og Morpheus 'have a life,' Morpheus 2.0 does still get his own distinct arc - the coming out narrative, his toying with self-expression, his mixed feelings/resentment toward Neo as indifferent creator - although it kind of peters out by the third act. Hard to say how well the splitting-off strategy Works, but it's an interesting meta level to think about

[grineerios]

Insomnia won and I got around to writing things down about my Operator and Drifter instead of just letting my thoughts do laps of my brain. So uh. Long-ass backstories, I guess?

I do have memory loss so I'm not entirely sure how canon-compliant this is, but I guess there's no harm with a few tweaks if I had fun doing it lmao

New War/Duviri Paradox/Main Story quests spoilers(?)

(I do not have names for these nerds, but I'll update whenever I figure that bit out. I've debated calling them Sigma (O) and Lavan (D) after railjack parts, but it just doesn't suit them. I guess only time will tell)

Both Operator and Drifter are He/They, and AroAce. I haven't figured out their gender(s) yet, because gender is hard.

THE DRIFTER

Drifter is a very different man when interacting with Duviri and the Operator, versus everyone else. To most of the world, he's a stubborn individual with a streak of having a short temper. His seemingly obsessive need to have some kind of control can easily get on folks' nerves, making him a hard person to work with. Occasionally, though, one can see a small glimmer of the man behind the persona.

When it comes to Duviri, as well as with The Operator and other children, a laid-back, almost jovial man emerges. He has a very strong "what happens, happens" philosophy. When faced with adversity, he mocks it. When faced with hardship, he pushes through with a stiff upper lip. When faced with loss, he waves his hand dismissively.

But this isn't the full truth either.

In reality, The Drifter is an extremely anxious person with a desperate need to protect The Operator, especially after the events of The New War. This manifests as him flip-flopping between letting the Operator do what they want, and needing to control and have a say in everything the Operator does.

When in Duviri, this anxiety manifested slowly over time, starting with the Void's subconscious influence on Duviri. The landscape's shape was the first to change, next the sky turned to Void-like clouds, followed by the fracturing point- the Zariman itself appearing in the sky.

Up until this point, the Drifter was a mere side character in Duviri's story, a manifestation of an unimportant and uneventful life far away from the horrors of 10-0. Primarily, he was a Tammherd, moving flocks across Duviri's verdant islands, even as the Void's influence poked and prodded at the memories he'd repressed.

After the 10-0 appeared in the sky, however...

Everything changed. No longer could he pretend that things were well, that the Void-spirals didn't poke at his mind, that the Void-forsaken ship wasn't real, that Duviri was all he'd ever known.

As his anxiety grew, Dominus Thrax became more and more maniacal, pushing new laws and standards that began crushing at Drifter's soul and personality, hardening him into apathy after being hunted again and again for seemingly infinity.

Long forgotten were the days of falling asleep under the stars, having nothing but a Tamm for a pillow- no, now his days were split between the void-contaminated Zariman and being hunted and executed by Thrax. The songs of Void Angels and the scream of arrows and blades set the soundtrack for his life, replacing the shawzin music he'd formerly enjoyed playing.

No matter how Thrax decided to execute him that day, he'd always wake up, lost in the world foreign to him of the Zariman, a horrifying feeling tugging at his mind as he wandered the halls, confused and lost. But.. he'd always find his way back to Duviri. Through a vent, a door, a mirror, or a broken screen- it didn't matter. He always found his way back into his personal hell away from hell, doomed to live in his damned loop forever.

On one of these loops, before Teshin beats into their thick skull that yes, you can just leave this situation dumbass, while stuck in the Zariman, he was injured by either a void-touched item or a Void Angel. Throughout subsequent spirals, void crystals began to grow from the wound. And it hurt like a bitch. If he'd ever let you look at the wound- or the scar, as it presents itself in the Origin System, you might faintly see the curled spikes, if you squinted, as they're mysteriously mostly invisible when exposed to direct and indirect sunlight. Under artificial light, they're slightly more visible, but the Drifter intentionally wears clothes with baggy sleeves so as not to worry The Operator. Regardless of where he is, undercroft or origin system alike, the crystals feel like it buries itself deeper and deeper into his flesh when he uses transference.

We all know how the story ends. With the help of Teshin, the Drifter finally Gets A Fucking Grip On Things and is able to voluntarily exit and enter Duviri at their leisure. The only real difference is that instead of Lotus' hand granting the Drifter Transference, it's his void injury that allows for weak Transference within the Undercroft. He must make physical contact with a Warframe to transfer into it, even after his Void abilities are strengthened in the New War.

THE BEFORE

Before the void-jump incident, and before Eternalism made the Operator and the Drifter, there was the Before.

The Before was an isolated and distractable child. He didn't do well at school, often losing himself in thought and awe over whatever was outside the nearest window. His parents were botanists and agricultural specialists who helped to tend to and monitor the Zariman's agricultural biomes. Sometimes, much to his parents' frustration, he'd skip school to watch them work. They often would joke that they wished he'd pick a normal activity to skip school over, like Lunaro.

Although he did eventually pick up Lunaro and tried to learn shawzin, he never was far from the agri-zones if he could help it. There was something that pushed away his fears. Besides, if these plants could grow here, then who was to say he couldn't thrive cultivating life in Tau?

Aaaaand then the void jump incident happened.

Of course he wasn't paying attention when it happened. He was wayy too distracted by all the amazing colors in Saturn's rings. Melica's words all sounded like the same stuff he'd hear her say after day. Blah blah blah Entrati this Golden Masters that and who could forget the Seven? Drivel. Meaningless drivel. It mattered a lot to the adults but not to him at all.

The jump hit him like a truck, when the force knocked him out of his seat, and when beautiful Saturn was replaced with the eerie, wispy void. That's when he felt fear nag at him.

In the time before Wally made their deal with him, he somehow managed to get a grip on his emotions and channeled that fear into taking control of the situation, despite shaking the entire time he was checking in on folks. He buried his emotions, focusing on the new drive in his heart, to protect the others. Even if he was a little... Blunt. Or rude. Or aggressive about the whole thing. No matter how hard you try to hide intense emotions, they'll bubble out somehow, and I doubt the Void helped with that very much. But, his practical and stubborn mind kept most of the kids he was with safe- until the Orokin dubbed them Tenno for the Operator, or until he decided to go search for more survivors alone in the Zariman, wandering the vents while the others were found and taken away; Left behind, becoming the Drifter.

I don't think the Drifter ever forgave himself for letting that happen. Even if it was because Wally twisted words.

THE OPERATOR

In the present, the Operator is less angry, and less socially isolated than the Drifter. What they lack in comparison to the Drifter's temper and isolationist tendencies, they make up for in flippancy and spite.

He took well to transference, and his training as a Tenno under the Orokin empire gave him a sense of purpose. He'd protected his kind on board the Zariman, and he'd continue to protect them even now. With the help of his warframe, a Volt, he'd stand by their sides, and ensure everyone made it out alive. They were his Tenno fellows. His Clan.

As time went on though, his faith in the Orokin evaporated, as he saw how little they actually cared about his friends and himself. Vowing to never trust Orokin word again, he relished the Night of Naga Drums, when he finally got to strike back at the Orokin for their foul play.

His distrust of the Orokin carried over from Margulis to the Lotus, instead, looking up to the Dax remaining after the fall of the Orokin empire, knowing that they too had likely been manipulated and used by their Golden Masters.

Even knowing he'd been hurt and exploited by the Orokin, he had (and still has) a hard time seeing himself as anything but an Orokin weapon, the confusion and intensity of which only became more overwhelming after awakening from the Second Dream.

Things only got worse from there, really. His distrust of Lotus burned into outright hatred and he isolated himself from his fellow Tenno, occasionally doing mercenary work for syndicates like the Arbiters of Hexis and Steel Meridian. What purpose the Lotus had offered, he rejected, leaving him with a void in his life. Depression set in, and all he could do was wait for purpose to find him.

THE PRESENT

(My memory is fuzzy on details of The New War, so I'll need to replay it before getting into specifics about what Drifter and Operator were doing at the time. but.)

In the aftermath of the New War, the Operator has brought himself to understand that Lotus too was manipulated by Orokin power. This doesn't completely nullify his feelings, but does certainly mellow them out a bit more, to the point that he willingly participates in Tenno culture once more.

Drifter and Operator are working together, although Drifter insists on doing most Tenno missions, saying that the Operator should "catch up on being a kid" while they have the chance. This of course, does not help the Operator who desperately needs to get out and do things, as they're prone to going stir-crazy if they can't do anything for even short periods of time.

Despite having the transference circuits damaged in the Old War, the Operator almost exclusively uses his Volt, who's probably the closest thing he has to a best friend post-New War.

In the times when he chooses to, or is forced to use transference, the Drifter uses primarily an Oberon, followed closely by a Kullervo and Excalibur Umbra, the latter being an ideal choice as he doesn't require transference to be useful.

TL;DR

My Drifter is typically stoic with a hotheaded streak and a tendency for intimidation as the solution to problems. This, of course, is all fueled by a desperate need to protect people, and keep the Operator above all, safe. He's kind at heart, but it's a side rarely seen by anyone other than children or animals.

My Operator is an immature ball of spite, nigh-dependent on other people for his purpose in life. He shares Drifter's anger and aggression, but it's tempered with a strong sense of justice. He's deeply bonded to his Warframe, and the two are nigh-inseparable. Has an insatiable thirst for action, and is high-energy.

Both of them desperately need therapy and ADHD meds.

[filmfanaticfables1990]

Jacob’s Ladder (1990): A Descent Into Psychological Horror And Existential Mystery

Adrian Lyne’s Jacob’s Ladder is not just a film—it’s an experience. It grabs you by the psyche and drags you through a fragmented, nightmarish landscape, forcing you to question what’s real, what’s imagined, and what it means to be alive. For anyone who loves psychological horror with a dash of surrealism, this cult classic is a must-watch.

The story follows Jacob Singer, played with remarkable vulnerability by Tim Robbins, a Vietnam War veteran struggling with the aftermath of his experiences. Jacob’s life is fractured—he's caught between haunting flashbacks of the war, eerie visions in his present-day New York City life, and a growing paranoia that something is terribly wrong. The film unfolds like a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces seem to fit, only for the picture to change entirely with every new revelation.

What sets Jacob’s Ladder apart is its relentless atmosphere. Lyne’s direction creates an oppressive tension that permeates every scene. The film’s depiction of Jacob’s reality feels off-kilter, with nightmarish imagery that’s as subtle as it is disturbing. The infamous shaking heads, the shadowy figures lurking in the background, and the sense of being watched are all classic horror tropes, yet they feel fresh here because of how deeply they’re tied to Jacob’s mental state.

Thematically, the film explores the fragility of reality, grief, trauma, and the nature of death. It delves into the spiritual realm, drawing on concepts like the Tibetan Book of the Dead to frame Jacob’s journey. Is he navigating purgatory? Is this all a hallucination caused by PTSD or experimental drugs? Or is something more sinister at play? The film doesn’t spoon-feed you answers, which is part of its brilliance—it respects the audience’s intelligence and invites endless interpretations.

Visually, the movie is stunning in its grimness. The cinematography by Jeffrey L. Kimball captures both the mundane and the horrifying with equal weight. The gritty, rain-soaked streets of New York feel just as unnerving as the war-torn jungles of Vietnam. Coupled with Maurice Jarre’s haunting score, the film creates a sensory experience that lingers long after the credits roll.

Tim Robbins delivers one of his career-defining performances, making Jacob both relatable and tragic. You feel his confusion, his pain, and his desperation to find answers. The supporting cast, including Elizabeth Peña as Jacob’s girlfriend Jezzie, and Danny Aiello as his angelic chiropractor Louis, add depth and nuance to the narrative.

Jacob’s Ladder isn’t an easy watch. It’s emotionally heavy, visually unsettling, and refuses to give you a clean resolution. But that’s precisely why it’s so impactful. It’s the kind of movie that seeps into your subconscious, making you ponder its layers and implications long after you’ve turned off the screen.

If you’re in the mood for a film that challenges your perceptions, tugs at your heart, and leaves you questioning the nature of existence, Jacob’s Ladder is waiting for you. Just be prepared—once you step into Jacob’s world, it’s hard to come back unchanged.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Frayed Ties - Chapter 13 - Part 3

*Warning Adult Content*

"What Lynna said, back at the river, about what you aspire to as a Companion..."

Danya stiffened and absentmindedly squeezed Simon's hand, which was still in his lap.

This topic was still uncomfortable to him.

"Is that really what you want, or wanted or... I don't know."

Danya let out a long breath.

"It's like an arranged marriage, I suppose. You don't get a choice but that doesn't mean you can't be pleased with the outcome or disappointed when the partner you've been assigned doesn't care for you. You had no obligation to me but you were still supposed to be mine, in a way. But you weren't."

"I think I understand. Or... I'm starting to, at least. I'm sorry for anything I've done to hurt you."

"It's okay," Danya said. "I don't think there was a way for you to not hurt me."

"I hope you can have a life here. Whatever kind you want."

Danya smiled sadly.

"None of us get everything we want, do we? But... I have hope. I've never really had that before. For now, that's enough."

A couple of hours later Noni returned with Lynna, Sharn and a mage who looked to be not much older than Danya following behind her.

This was the first male mage Danya had seen in this little settlement,and the only one other than Lynna who was not a Soldier.

It was something Danya hadn't really noticed with Lynna because he wasn't as used to girls but she and this new mage held themselves differently from other slaves Danya had known.

The Soldiers did too of course, they were Soldiers but Lynna and this young man had a kind of confidence Danya didn't expect from any slave not bred for fighting.

They didn't subconsciously try to make themselves smaller and less conspicuous like Danya did.

The new mage looked between Simon and Danya, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

He didn't resonate hostility like many of the other mages here did.

"This is Delton," Noni said. "He'll be concealing Danya's tattoo for you."

"Illusion magic," Delton explained as he knelt down next to Danya.

"Let's see it, then."

Danya tugged down the collar of his robe to reveal the tattoo.

"Will this cover it permanently, then?" Simon asked.

"Oh, no. You've got like..." Delton made a thinking face. "About an hour. Should be plenty of time to get there and get through the inspection, though."

"Ah," Simon said. "There's no way to permanently hide it with illusion magic?"

"Well, I mean, I couldn't."

Delton's fingers lightly brushed over Danya's tattoo.

"I can hold an illusion on myself as long as I'm awake, though, so Danya might be able to learn to do it himself if he has a knack for that sort of thing. Not really the kind of thing that's worth it unless something about your appearance really bothers you, though."

"It's fine," Danya said, his eyes firmly planted on the ground in front of him. "I wouldn't mind learning some illusion magic if you're willing to teach me, but the tattoo... it's fine."

Delton brightened up.

"Yeah, I'd love to see what you can do some time. Soldiers and Companions tend to have fairly rigid skill sets but I bet being a mix gives you a bit more flexibility."

Danya shrugged.

"Or simply makes me substandard at being either."

"That's the problem with breeding for something."

Delton's fingers felt unusually warm where they touched Danya now.

"It creates failure points. It doesn't matter how useful you could be, if you're not this exact thing, well, you've failed. The end."

"I suppose," Danya said carefully. "I do perform better at the magical aspects of being a Companion than my peers. Which is not so much better when compared to a standard which would prefer I not be quite that powerful but outside of that it can hardly be seen as a fault. I'm very good at mending things. I even have some skill with healing wounds."

Delton pulled back to look at Danya.

"Wow, see, now that's rare. That's special. Those kinds of talents have been largely lost since the war."

Danya shrugged self consciously.

"I'm not very good at it. I just... if we're talking about usefulness, it's a deviation that can't objectively be considered a fault."

"Well yeah, no, of course."

Delton leant in again and got back to work.

"Lynna and I, we went to the same training facility. We roomed together pretty much the whole time we were there. This was a place that bought all the smart kids, the ones with special talents, from slave farms."

"They allowed mixed gender rooming?"

A silence fell that lasted long enough for Danya to realise he'd stumbled into an uncomfortable topic.

It was Lynna who finally answered.

It wasn't a concern in our case."

"Yeah," Delton said uncomfortably. "Anyway, uh, yeah. So, they'd actually go and ask which were the kids who caused them the most trouble. Those were typically the ones they wanted and they'd get them at a discount. So... I guess we have a bit of a different perspective on these things."

"So they taught you proper skills depending on your talents?" Danya asked.

"Was that as nice as it sounds?" Lynna took hold of Danya's wrist and pressed the chip device against it until it beeped and the screen flashed.

"It was nicer than most get."

Delton nodded.

"I went from being scolded for messing with illusion stuff to be trained specifically for it. We had things far better than most. I think, though, that makes us more aware of how bad things are elsewhere. Or no... more sensitive to it. Others probably have more knowledge about all that but those who are down in the thick of it tend to see things differently. Being treated poorly becomes normal."

"Not that we've never been treated poorly," Lynna added. "But, I think, we've been treated well enough that we came to expect kindness. When you live like that, mistreatment becomes something that demands response rather than something you simply live with."

Delton smiled.

"Escaping to live in the woods wasn't quite what I expected when I came crying to you but I can't complain. I should have known you'd go above and beyond."

Simon turned to Noni, who had settled herself back into her chair to watch them.

"So, what's the plan here?"

She leant forward and rested her elbows on her knees.

"We'll supply you with fake papers for Danya, which Lynna has already overridden his chip to match. We'll escort you to the facility and then hang back while you and Danya enter. You'll go in, say you want to sell him, and then they will examine him and complete the sale."

Simon turned to Sharn.

"I want my knife back."

"You won't need to be armed for this," Noni told him.

Simon scoffed.

"Are you really so sure? Have any of you been through this before?"

Noni nodded in Danya's direction.

"Danya has."

Simon shook his head.

"Danya hasn't. Danya has been sold as an expensive, valued slave. He will be worth very little to these people and they will believe he's worth next to nothing to me. Are you really certain the guards won't decide to give him a kick in the ribs because he's too slow to obey, or he looks at them wrong, or just because they want to?"

Noni pressed her lips together and let out a long breath through her nose.

She gestured to Sharn with a flick of her fingers.

"Give him his knife back."

"Aw, boo," Sharn said but she handed it over.

Simon gave the knife a quick glance over, then tucked it happily back into place inside his jacket.

"Anyway, Danya," Noni continued. "Once you're inside, you'll need to explain to the mages what's going on and convince them to cooperate. That shouldn't be too difficult, given their circumstances."

Danya made a face.

He didn't like to contradict an authority figure but...

"I'm not so certain of that. Most of the boys I grew up with would have taken death over rebellion."

She inclined her head to him respectfully.

"A fair point. These slaves will likely be cheaper and not so well groomed but it's far from out of the question for them to resist. If anyone reveals you to the guards or it looks like someone is about to get hurt, scream as loud as you can. We'll be close enough to hear you and we'll come immediately."

"Don't be afraid to defend yourself if you need to, either," Simon added.

"Of course," Noni agreed.

"Anyway, assuming all goes to plan, we'll attack around midnight. Danya, when you hear the commotion start, I want you to lead the other slaves into a back corner of the holding room and wait with them until we come to get you. We have the element of surprise and far superior numbers, so we're expecting a quick and one sided battle."

"All done," Delton said, and Danya looked down to see bare skin where his tattoo had once been.

Having a tiny bit of someone else's magic clinging to his skin felt odd, warm and tingly but the sensation was subtle enough that he suspected he would hardly notice it once he had other things distracting him.

"Then it's time we get going," Noni said as she stood from her chair. "Come."

[beautyasthebeasts]

If there's some kind of special event happening today, Seiran would be none the wiser, having been lost in the monotony of work and the frustration it entails. As far as she knows, today is as every day is, with the human chattering she'd subconsciously learned to tune out, the labor of pounding dango, and the tug-of-war of attracting patrons to her stall or Ringo's.

If Reisen came to Seiran expecting her to be in the usual state work has her in--tense, anxious, touchy--she would be right, because that's exactly how she appears until she casts a sidelong glance from the charcoal grill and sees who it is: a long-time friend whose daily struggles compare to her own, someone who gets it. As such, that cold air surrounding Seiran seems to warm up a bit as she turns, her expression not visibly happy, but certainly content.

"Oh, you're here again. Um, good morning," said with friendly intent, bad phrasing. "...Chocolate? Sorry, I don't have any; you'd be better off checking a bakery."

And for all of Reisen's luck, the answer to her question must be a "no," Seiran doesn't know about it!

@beautyasthebeasts

Everyone was running around, exchanging chocolates today. Even Eientei had become pretty familiar with the practice, and Reisen was no exception, having taken advantage of the kitchens the previous evening to make a batch of her own - specially prepared for rabbits, of course. They weren't anything special, she was hardly a skilled cook of her own, but she still imagined her target audience would like them.

At least, provided she understood the practice at all. Reisen waited for the right moment, about midday, before heading over to Seiran's dango stall, as she often did. She just had to hope that it was open today, and luckily for her, it was. Rather than her usual placing an order and mental conversation, though, she had a different topic in mind.

"'Morning, Seiran," Reisen said, kicking her hat back. While she usually made some attempt to hide her rabbit ears, it seemed kind of silly to do it while Seiran was out with hers, at this point. "Get any chocolates yet?" Though she kept her question casual, Reisen was actually quite interested in the answer, for a variety of reasons. She wanted to know how much competition she had... and also, she hoped, that Seiran wouldn't really know much about the Valentine's custom yet.

[thislilstangirl]

shuri and namor: the mirror image

let’s jump into this well overdue meta, shall we?

shuri and namor’s dynamic is compelling because we are seeing two mirror images meet each other, confront each other, and eventual align with each other. to see your mirror image is to see your reflection. you can read it as soulmates, twin flames, whatever. i use the word mirror image because the imagery of both shuri and namor standing on opposite sides of that same mirror is a pretty apt description of their relationship. and we see what happens when the glass between them breaks.

“the same wound”

tenoch has said repeatedly that shuri and namor share the same wound. this wound being grief and trauma. for shuri, this wound is fresh: the death of her brother despite her efforts to save him. it has left her with paralysing guilt, a cold detachment to spiritualism and an anger that could burn the world. for namor, this wound is centuries old: witnessing the heartbreak of his mother due to colonialism. as the ruler of talokan he’s burdened with trying to protect his people from an evil he has witnessed and has no real control over.

the scene at the beach is when we first see the two interact. “this better not be apart of your ritual” shuri says, as if their words or mere presence had summoned a stranger to them. and it’s kind of true. namor, only after overhearing the depth of shuri’s rage, emerges from the sea. at five hundred years old, he is well-versed in rage and he already understands that him and shuri share the same wound from her words.

most of the conversation flows through ramonda, wielding a spear as her guards herself and her daughter from a god who promises war and ruin if they do not deliver him the scientist. namor is calm and collected in this moment, at peace with the fact he holds the advantage in this tug of war. also at peace with the fact he has a potential ally in shuri already. shuri is on guard, but intensely curious at the vibranium clad god with winged feet. she doesn’t realise yet how alike they are. perhaps her disconnect with the spiritual has played a part in that. in any case, her curiosity is already tethering her to her mirror image.

“we must look at each other and recognise we are the same”

after shuri’s “not-abduction-abduction” we find ourselves just outside talokan in a cave. shuri is ready to face namor, for a chance to save riri williams and understand namor’s motivations. after a quick wardrobe change she meets namor alone, surrounded by his history.

shuri’s dress, which is specifically made for her, is pure talokanil artistry: a light white silk robe with an elaborate neckpiece made of jade and pearls. a royal fit. namor’s likeliness is also embodied on the lower part of the dress. interesting that namor, perhaps subconsciously, is creating a literal mirror image of himself. manifesting the mythical through the literal. when looking at shuri he is now seeing his culture, his history, his likeliness reflected back at him.

for them to be allies, he must show how they are the same. so he tells the story of his people, the spanish conquistadors, his mother’s heartbreak over leaving her home, the evil that took over their land, and finally his vow to hold no love for the surface world. shuri still doesn’t understand- why are you telling me this?. which makes sense. namor has had five hundred years to sit and understand his wound. shuri has spent the last year ignoring it. she isn’t making the connections between the two of them that namor was able to do in a heartbeat.

instead, she uses her smarts to try and save riri: keep her in talokan and send riri back to wakanda safe. and i don’t think namor was expecting that. he pauses, considering and thinking over her proposal. then shuri says she would love to see talokan and he stumbles slightly, perhaps bashful, but quickly agrees to her suggestion. it’s like seeing people on opposite sides a mirror, tentative tapping at the glass. while they are mirror images, they are not identical. the mistake on namor’s part is to believe shuri’s response should be the same as his. when really it should be complementary. shuri is actually softening his edge with reason.

ryan coogler has said one theme of wakanda forever is smarts v wisdom. while shuri is a certified genius, she doesn’t have the wisdom that a god of five hundred years have. and i think we see that on display throughout their scenes in talokan. namor is patient telling her the why. he’s betting that his wisdom will be enough to convince her. while shuri counters with reason and logic.

“only the most broken people can be great leaders”

namor gifts shuri his mother’s bracelet, finishing his literal mirror image, hopeful and confident that she understands how similar they are now. they share a vulnerable moment, the glass between them is the thinnest. shuri finally starts to unpick her grief, confused as to why she had to face such tragedy when she has the gifts to avoid it. and namor, a god who has to constantly deal with grief, doesn’t have the answer. all he knows is the wisdom his ancestors gave him- only the most broken people make great leaders.

but shuri, still doesn’t understand. she believes this whole situation about the scientist, but it’s about more than that. again, smarts v wisdom. shuri can’t see the bigger picture until namor shows her. and when namor lays all his cards on the table and shuri is shocked by his commitment to war.

namor needs an ally and shuri is his only option. if wakanda doesn’t stand by him, he will drown wakanda along with the rest of the world. while shuri thinks it’s madness, the glass between them paper thin. namor sees and knows her as well as he knows himself. he gives shuri one last reply so that she understands how thin the glass between them is: you said you wanted to burn the world. then let’s burn it together.

shuri’s rescue goes awry. the death of two innocent talokanil will be seen as an act of war. shuri knows this for certain because now she knows him. as soon as she is back in her lab she is looking at defences and telling aneka to keep her weapons, while ramonda is giving riri a tour and nakia talks with okoye. everyone knows namor is a threat, so why is it only shuri who is on edge? because the rage she sees in namor is exactly like her own. and that rage is enough to burn down the world.

namor, well namor is pissed. and rightfully so to some degree. but still he wants an ally. he still wants shuri by his side. but he thinks the only way that is possible, is for her to get wise. and fast. she needs to break. just like how he has been broken over the centuries. shuri needs to lose her innocence and to do that, he needs to kill the queen.

a child without love

the death of the mother triggers godhood for both namor and shuri. yes, namor was technically already a god king since birth, but it’s truly the death of his mother that marks the end of his childhood and start of his godhood as namor.

and shuri follows the same path. shuri becomes namor- a child without love. when burying her mother, shuri remarks that her heart is buried with ramonda. and just like how namor’s godhood is marked with the death of his childhood (triggered by the death of his mother), m’baku remarks that she could no longer be considered a child due to all the loss she has suffered.

and shuri isn’t a child, she’s vengeance incarnate. just like namor. the glass is between shuri and namor has shattered. the one is now the other. and more importantly, killing the one will now kill the other.

when two gods go to war the only outcome could be eternal war. namor and shuri can be interpreted as many different gods, or myths. one interpretation comes from the aztec gods quetzalcoatl and tezcatlipoca- brothers who were a part of the creation myth, one represented by a feathered serpent and the other a black jaguar. it’s fascinating dynamic (and probably for a different meta). it’s just important to highlight that this isn’t just two mirror images fighting. it’s godly mirror images fighting. which is why the phrase eternal war feels intentional, but also a stunning apt. and also it reminds me of the relationship mythical gods have, where destruction is inevitable and the grievances are personal.

so, anyway they fight. and it’s brutal. she clips his wing, grounding him, the god brought to the level of a mortal. a role reversal of their previous interactions. after punches, slashes, and stabs, shuri finally bests him. and goes for the kill.

but here’s the thing. you can’t just kill your mirror image. when you see yourself in another person, killing them would be akin to killing that part of yourself. it will only deepen the wound not heal it. but also you’re not suppose to shatter the glass between your mirror image because you’re not suppose to become your mirror image. it’s not natural. mirror images/soulmates/twin flames are suppose to be complementary. two separate halves coming together. not the same half overlapping. it’s why namor’s plan to force shuri is to become him- a broken ruler without love- backfires. he inflicted pain onto shuri, like how he had pain was inflicted as a child. trauma begets trauma. he was closer to a union when bargaining with a princess, not a goddess ready to rip his heart out. with her claws.

healing the wound

shuri almost makes the mistake of killing namor and pauses. she is reminded that he is her reflection, her mirror image. they share the same pain, they share the same love for their people. queen ramonda tells her to show him who you are and in that moment there is clarity. she is not namor. she is not a resentful, vengeful goddess. she is shuri, daughter of t’chaka and ramonda, sister of t’challa. and she will not risk eternal war. her last act as a goddess is to restore the glass namor had shattered. she finally understands and sees namor as her mirror image and thus is able to grant him an alliance.

shuri is now able to heal her wound. her stint of being a goddess and queen, has matured her. she confronts her grief in a healthy way- by going back to the spiritualism she dismissed at the start. as for namor, the alliance is healing his original wound by making him trust shuri, a person of a surface world, and choosing to put his people above the pain and anger that has been fuelling him for centuries. he is prepared for war but he will not be the one to start it. two mirror images that couldn’t heal without the other.

he paints their fight, two distinct figures- the k'uk'ulkan and the black panther. equals. he knows not to shatter the mirror again, to not risk the wrath of the most powerful person, in the most powerful nation. and he doesn’t have to. they are mirror images after all. if, or really when, shuri will want his assistance, all she has to do is knock the glass. and he will be ready.

[flowercrowngods]

🤍 also on ao3

The clock shows 3:27 when Scott wakes to an empty bed, and the sigh he lets out is familiar, if involuntary. He's not exactly a light sleeper, but these days he wakes up most nights, feeling like something's wrong. Every time, the bed beside him is empty, and every time, Scott worries.

Tonight, he gets out of bed.

He finds Wayne in the kitchen downstairs, sort of just staring at the counter, like he was in motion and then just stopped. Like he's trying to remember what he came down here for, like he's a bit lost with it.

Scott approaches him slowly, the gnawing worry inside his chest only increasing with each step that doesn't make Wayne look up.

"Hey, love," he murmurs, barely interrupting the silence of the room, but it's what finally gets a reaction from his man.

"Shit," Wayne says, running a hand over his face and looking around as if taking stock of his surroundings. "Did I wake ya?"

Scott shakes his head and comes to a stop beside Wayne, leaning against the kitchen counter, their shoulders touching. "I don't think you did. I just wake up sometimes when you're not there. Like my body senses that something's missing."

It sounds cheesy, but the analogy makes sense. Maybe his body does notice -- what do we know about sleep and the human subconscious anyway?

"Sorry," Wayne says anyway, like he doesn't wonder about sleep and the human subconscious, like the simplest explanation is always just talking the blame. It's something Scott has to pry away from his subconscious, gently and with care.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, love." He looks over at Wayne and even the darkness of the kitchen can't hide away the circles under his eyes or the slump of his shoulders. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?"

Wayne shakes his head, but it doesn't mean that he won't talk about it, just that he's busy fighting some kind of war against himself, breaking down his own walls brick by brick. Scott knows. So he waits, leaning against Wayne a bit more, sharing his warmth a little.

"It's the quiet."

The silence that follows this statement almost hits Scott in the face with how intense it is. Unfortunately, he doesn't really understand yet.

"What about the quiet?"

Wayne shrugs. "'M not used to it. I'm... I can't sleep."

Scott takes it in for a moment, connecting the dots, filling out the empty spaces, the little holes in the past nights. The fact that Wayne sleeps perfectly when they spend the night at the trailer park, rare as that is.

And his heart falls a little when he asks, just to be sure, "My house is too quiet for you?"

His house. His quiet. His bed that Wayne can't find a good night's sleep in. His guilt when Wayne nods.

"It's just... See, I never grew up in the fancy parts of town. There was always something going on, some car pulling up or speeding off, someone taking a walk around my walls that are thin enough to hear the grass growing. It was never quiet, growing up, and when i was a teen it was me walking on gravel paths, it was me pulling up or speeding off, it was me chasing the quiet away. And then Eddie. Y'know, I never used to sleep when he first... moved in with me."

They both snort at the notion of Eddie 'moving in' with Wayne like he wasn't twelve years old and abandoned, with Wayne as his only chance in life. It cuts into Scott every time he thinks about it, remembering the wild, unruly boy in middle school.

"He'll kill me for this," Wayne continues, "but he cried every night the first four months. That was a new kinda noise I had to get used to, and I did. I listened for it. Sat with him most nights, just to be there even when he wouldn't look at me. And then over time, the cries and sniffles turned into frustrated yelling at his homework. And then into self-taught guitar lessons and that music of his. And then into reading, because the boy loves to read out loud until late at night and then grumble about it in the morning. Still does, the menace."

A smile tugs at Wayne's lips and Scott mirrors it, determined to just listen and soak up all the information this man who captivates him so has to offer about himself.

"The trailer park, it's never quiet. They talk big game about cities that never sleep, but they ain't seen nothin'." A sigh, and Scott reaches out to take his hand. Wayne tangles their fingers and Scott hides a smile in his shoulder, feeling bashful in the middle of the night in his kitchen, where everything should feel out of place.

"And my house is big and has great insulation, and you hate it," he concludes, playful but only mildly joking.

"I don't hate your house, darling," Wayne counters, squeezing his hand and lifting it until it read against his cheek where he likes to nuzzle it. Something that never fails to make Scott feel about ready to melt on the spot. Something that makes him want to give his Wayne all the noise in the world if that means he's gonna sleep.

"But you sleep better at the trailer park. You sleep better in your bed."

At that, Wayne only nods. "I'm sorry, sugar. Think it's hard-wired into me or something."

"No, it makes sense."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! I could tell you a little something about brains and 'wiring' if you want me to; but I don't think you do, so you have to trust me when I say it makes complete and utter sense, my dear."

Wayne looks up at him then, meeting his eyes for the first time tonight, and with the way they catch the light of the street lamp outside Scott almost things they're shining. He smiles, leaning in to kiss Wayne's forehead just because he can.

"Would it help you if i put on some music down here and we went back upstairs? Should easily reach your sensitive ears and provide background noise, but... Does music help?"

"It does with Eddie," Wayne shrugs.

"Well, love, I shall apologise profusely for the lack of heavy metal records." He grins and winds his arms around Wayne's neck, just to hold him close. "All I have to offer is some Johnny Cash, but I have it on good authority that you won't mind."

"Cash is fine," Wayne grumbles, like he's not obsessed with the man and his music. Scott chuckles and leans in for another kiss, this time to the man's nose, who only now seems to catch up with his plan. "Wait, are you sure you're okay with that? You're the one who has to get up at ass o'clock and function for, like, eight hours or something."

"I'll be fine," Scott reassures him. "Before you entered my life, my darling man, I used to listen to music to fall asleep almost every night."

"Really?"

"Yes. It was for an experiment if you will."

Wayne leans back in his embrace just to give him that Look. His certified You ridiculous man look. It makes Scott laugh and his heart flutter

"Will you come back to bed with me?"

Wayne nods, taking his hands from around his neck. "Yeah, let's go back to bed."

The music does help. Wayne is out like a light within minutes and Scott falls asleep with a smile. He wakes up with one, too, when he sees that Wayne is still asleep and hasn't so much as rolled around in his sleep.

They spend more nights at the trailer park after that. Some nights, when Wayne has a shift so early it should count as a night shift, Scott will read to him until he falls asleep. Most nights, there will be music.

Its a gentler kind of noise that even Scott soon finds himself unwilling to live without. He makes it his mission to explore that kind of gentleness and love, expressed in favourite records and slow dancing in their pyjamas and a book so compelling he reads the same chapter four nights in a row until Wayne finally catches all of it.

Wayne's apologies become rarer and rarer until "I'm sorry" turns into "I love you". The the gentlest noise followed by the tenderest quiet that is filled only with a matching heartbeat of two.