#also my mother is fully aware of this and is attempting to use it in her favor

[bookwormbynight]

Ik I haven't been super active in the last few days, I hope to get back to it soon (in particular @applestorms awesome fem!L addition to my AU deserves brain space for my reply and also Halloween/L's birthday is drawing ever nearer), I just need to come out of survival mode first because this is a Bad Time of year. Sending love.

Don't read the tags if you aren't in the headspace for heavy shit.

[platinumshawnn]

to strangers | benjicot blackwood x fem!bracken reader

a/n: yes i am fully aware i should be writing him as davos out of respect for the accuracy of the show and character but i'm still mourning what could have been. also leave it to me to write a little prequel tying this to my own fic a little bit by writing what this guy was really up to on his "hunting trip" lol. have some poorly written smut anyways, if anyone sees that I accidentally called the bracken’s estate “hedge stone” instead of “stone hedge” no you didn’t shut up it’s been fixed

synopsis: benjicot likes to rile up the women he likes i guess

Content warnings: MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism, smut (fem p in v sex, unprotected sex, degradation) [not proofread]

Word count: 5.5k words

you had never been one for conflict — especially not that of drunken councilmen who became red in the face, knocking over cups and irate over matters of politics as they shouted. despite your father’s efforts to maintain diplomacy and restraint during meetings, it almost always ended in a screaming match at the table these days — even your uncle could not bear to sit through them, and often doubled up on the amount he drank just to sit through them, barely able to walk as he stumbled out.

you were almost always met with apologies from your father as he found you outside the doors of the hall, given a squeeze of hand, and ushered to bed. you did not care for politics, but there was no escaping the recent events — it affected everyone, reaching beyond stone hedge’s walls, but your father the most. he appeared to have aged significantly over the past days, eyes exhausted and on edge whenever she greeted him.

but this particular night had been…a lot more than usual. your cousin, aeron, had come back, shaking as he’d returned from a survey of the lands with your brother; having got into another squabble over the boundaries with some blackwood boys who had dared to come too close to their land, in aeron’s words. the whole thing dripped of theatrics — “that filthy…cunt, benjicot”

your head popped up from the handkerchief you were working to embroider, your mother on your right as the pair of you sat in one of the several cabinet rooms that your father had designated for your lessons as a child; having since used it as an escape from the noise. even your mother had been alerted by the commotion as the boys clamored into the hallway, looking out through the door that had been cracked open to provide some airflow in the room. there, your cousin stood, his nose bloody and still dripping as your father summoned the maester while ranting to your uncle, attempting to shush the boy-knight who was on the border of shouting. your interest was only peaked by the name, sitting up and turning your body towards the three men, ceasing what you had been doing and placing the handkerchief in your lap to listen.

your father had made eye contact with you as aeron continued, grabbing him by the shoulder and reaching to close the door before you could hear as he dragged your cousin away. your mother had encouraged you to continue, the look she gave reminding you of proprietary and of your place — with a curt nod, you had returned to your task.

that had been at midday, and since then, there had not yet been a break. you could hear the shouts from your room, and you could picture your father amidst it all, trying to bring order and peace — a task he was successful in every so often, silence falling over the room and quieting to hushed whispers that would only last a short time before the yelling continued.

sometime before midnight, the silence had ended finally, stood at the top of the stairs as the councilmen dispersed; other members of your house trickled out. you had stayed up, waiting to approach your father, in hopes to get some sort of information on the outcome. but the exhaustion was clear on his face, being met by a soft, “on the morrow, not tonight, my dear.”

he had pressed a kiss to your head and brushed past you, receding to his chambers for the night, leaving you at the base of the stairs. as you went to retreat to bed yourself, you heard the cursing mutters of aeron who had finally exited the great hall doors behind you, still seething after several hours — you were relieved at least to find that his nose had since stopped bleeding.

“aeron,” you called out, turning to descend down the four stairs you had climbed just as he stopped in the hallway towards his own chambers. his eyes found you. you approached him, hand reaching out to grab his face between your fingers, turning to assess his face for any additional injuries you may not have noticed earlier in the day. however, much to your relief, he was otherwise unharmed, “you really ought to stop antagonizing those men— you’re going to get yourself killed.” you scolded, sighing and dropping your hand.

aeron winced slightly, more from the reprimand than any lingering pain. “I can’t just let them insult our family, you know that.”

you shook her head, a mix of frustration and concern in your eyes. “I know, aeron, but there’s a difference between defending our honor and looking for trouble. what good will it do if you’re dead?”

He avoided your gaze, jaw clenching. “I just can’t stand the way they look at us, like we’re nothing and like they can do whatever it is they please. Like they own the riverlands. someone has to stand up to them if your father won’t.”

“standing up to them doesn’t mean getting into brawls. use your head, aeron. we need you alive, not battered and bruised,” you said, your tone softening.

aeron had sighed and muttered something unintelligible, only able to make out a ‘yeah’ before he withdrew to his own rooms.

you had tried to sleep — you did. but at some point, the heat, humid and sticky, had made it impossible to; instead, turning and tossing in your bed, growing increasingly frustrated before you stormed from the bed with a huff. the conversation between you and aeron had been stuck in your head, the sight of him bloodied haunting you — how did benjicot look then? was he unscathed and unharmed?

you knew he had always been stronger, a fiercer opponent but you couldn’t help the worry that plagued you.

you had quickly changed as best you could in the dark, without falling over in a way that would alert the guards; pulling your dress on and watching underneath the door as you smoothed out the fabric, doing your best to be silent in opening the door. peaking your head out and checking that both ways were clear, you slipped out and closed the door behind you, walking on your toes as you snuck through the house and out a backdoor that led into the fields.

you did your best to stay low and out of sight as you bolted through the fields towards the boundary stones, trying to remember who would be on surveillance — you couldn’t for the life of you remember, despite your best efforts to eavesdrop on your cousin's conversation earlier.

hell, you weren’t even sure you would see him.

sometimes you did, other times you didn’t — weeks would pass sometimes before you saw him again. sometimes it was hours before you saw him, sat, pulling at grass as you waited, knees to your chest.

today felt like one of those days, as you approached the river, out of sight from any prying eyes and sat by the edge, your eyes straining to see through the dark. the moon did little to penetrate the dense patch of trees. as the hours passed, your head had begun to drop against your knees, dozing off. there would be no way of keeping yourself awake all night, after a long day, opting as a last ditch attempt to awaken your senses by dipping your toes into the stream as you kicked off your shoes.

the water was a nice welcome in the heat, a content sigh leaving your mouth as you kicked your feet; splashing the water upwards. the wait seemed to drag on forever, growing impatient and trying to decide on whether to return home or not.

you’d give him another hour at most. If he didn’t come, then you would go home.

your gaze scanned the river, serene and peaceful as the rushing body of water sloshed around your feet; cool and refreshing. you’d have time.

you stood back from the water and fumbled to strip down to your chemise, discarding the dress to the grass by your shoes before easing down and into the water, letting out a hiss. slowly, wadding into its shallow depths, you moved forward until the water touched your thighs, lapping at your body as you cupped some of the water between your hands and tossed it up in front of you.

“you’re far from home, lady bracken.”

your head whipped toward the sound of a voice from the treeline, water sloshing around your legs as you faced the boy who the voice belonged to. the ends of your skirt had been released in the turn into the water, feet tangling in the soft sand of the river’s floor, just catching yourself from falling into its rapid rush by the luck of the Gods; the ends of the fabric now soaked by the flowing water that swirled around you. there he stood, barely peeking out from the cover of the trees as if that would somehow conceal his identity, hugging close to the trunk of one while he watched you from his shaded spot. there was hardly any way of seeing him in the night, the moon’s light not quite reaching him but his voice -- you would know that voice anywhere.

you stepped forward, halfway across the shallow depths of the river that flowed between the two lands of bracken territory and blackwoods, the cold water just reaching mid-thigh as you looked up at him, “as are you.” you quipped, heart rate rapid as your heart thrummed against your ribs.

despite the limited visibility, you could see his mouth quirk up in a half-smile, his amusement clear as his head tipped to the side while his eyes continued to watch you closely like some sort of prey. the limited sense of vision allowed you the ability to hear as he inhaled through his nose, breathing outwardly before he finally stepped forward to the edge of the water, his hand at the hilt of his dagger on his hip as his eyebrows rose, “and do you always take moonlit strolls through my land?”

you stilled, hands resting at your sides as your fingers dipped into the cool water below you, the cold nipping at your fingertips, “only when called for— the night was too beautiful to resist.” you replied, chin lifted to look up towards where he towered over you, “and what’s your excuse?”

he snorted, boots shifting against the dirt with as he moved to widen his stance, “the same perhaps,” he said, eyes glancing up to the sky above the riverlands that was littered with stars, “or maybe I was hoping to find a curious lady wandering too close to my territory.” he said, his voice a low rumble.

there was nothing threatening about his tone, however, his body language said otherwise — his eyes scanning their surroundings before looking back to your face, his body suggesting that he was on edge. as though he expected bracken men to burst through the trees behind you any minute. you took another languid step forward, closer to enemy territory, the thrill of it never failing to excite you.

“are you suggesting I’m trespassing?” you asked, your words steady as you bordered taunting the man who eyed you.

you could see as he squinted, narrowing his eyes at your words, “just…observing that you’re quite far from where you’re supposed to be at this hour, my lady.”

you hummed, eyebrows raised as the water continued to lap at the fabric of the cream coloured chemise that had been worn underneath the dress of typical bracken colours of yellow and brown having been discarded at the edge of the grass. you could see the moment his eyes lowered to scan down the length of the fabric, disappearing into the water and drifting higher up your thighs, bordering translucent against your skin, slow in dragging his eyes along the length of your body, “but i suppose the river doesn’t care for borders, does it?” he suddenly asked, his eyes returning to meet yours.

your mouth curved upwards, a wry smile on your face as his gaze emboldened you, “no it doesn’t, but neither do I, it seems. I don’t believe the assize said anything about the river.”

benjicot tutted condescendingly at her, smug as his hands shifted over his dagger, “careful, you're starting to sound like your cousin, bracken.” he warned, tone sharp, “do you not ever worry about what might be lurking in the shadows? his words came lighter now, the tension gone from his voice.

you let out a dry laugh, beginning to feel the effects of the frosty water that reached your hips the further you wadded, a cool breeze causing your skin to prickle with goosebumps. you shivered, sucking in a deep breath through clenched teeth, “only when they carry a dagger and a half-smile, I suppose.” you said.

his hands twitched, the grasp at his blade loosening as he seemed to contemplate reaching forward to drag you from the water at the sight of your shivering frame. however, he stopped himself and instead lifted his chin, mouth pressing into a tight smile, “then its a good thing I’m in a benevolent mood tonight.”

your head lowered to look down at the water, using your fingers to skim its surface, “I will take my chances.” you confidently said, lifting your gaze after a moment of pause.

he let out a ‘hmph’ sound, watching as you slowly closed the gap between the two lands to stand directly in front of him, the water shallow once again and only meeting mid-thigh. the now soaked gown did nothing to provide any ounce of modesty, sheer and clinging to your lower half as you stared up at him. your eyes followed his movements as he crouched, bringing him eye-to-eye as an elbow planted against one of his knees, “well, I suggest you be careful, my lady. the night is full of dangers.” he said, his voice low and quiet.

“and so is the day, but I’ve never been one to shy away from either.” you said, voice matching his volume before you stepped forward until you stood against the ledge, your other hand planting in the grass just between his boots as you lifted your right hand toward him, “are you going to help me or shall I call for my men?” you taunted, a grin on your face.

he rolled his eyes, smile broadening as he stood upright and bent to grab your hand, using his strength to pull you up and over the ledge, out of the waters with ease. you were brought to your feet, stood face-to-face with him, his face leaning close to yours as he spoke, “you wouldn’t dare.” he muttered, “how do you plan then, to explain your presence so close to blackwood land at this hour? alone, in a nightgown, with the heir?”

your chest brushed his as you leaned in towards him, “I’ll figure something out— you underestimate me.”

he hummed with a nod, his nose bumping yours in the close proximity. though his mouth did not yet make contact with yours, his breath fanned over lips, his eyes scanning your face, “oh, I’m sure you will. but do you think they will believe you?” he asked, the lazy smirk on his face laced with arrogance, “do you think there won’t be whispers? said whispers, questioning your maidenhead?”

“they’d be foolish to make such accusations against the daughter of amos bracken.” you countered, shoulders squaring with pride.

the man in front of you let out a sardonic chortle, releasing the hilt of his dagger and finding your hip, gripping the fabric of your chemise in his fist, stepping back and forcing you with him, “oh please.” he mocked, his hand dropping from your hip to reach down to your thigh and begin to hoist the soaked fabric upwards towards your waist, leaving you bear to the elements, “if only they could see their lord’s daughter, out parading herself like some whore on blackwood land. What do you think they would say then, hm?”

“‘Tis not their business what I do, nor my father’s.” you muttered.

“oh but i think they might say otherwise. you’re a noblewoman,” he jeered, his knuckles brushing against the bare skin of your belly as his hand dipped below your naval, “a highborn womb.”

you knew benjicot did not share their views -- in the very few occasions he had opened up during your late night escapades, red in the face with anger, rambling on about the audacity of his councilmen as he dressed. he had ranted about what the very outlook had done to his mother, that women were more than for breeding. but he enjoyed knocking you down a peg sometimes, humbling you back down to earth during these moments. he liked to mock the sanctity of your womanhood, even if for a moment, but then he would go back on himself and praise you once all was said and done — praise the very thing he mocked. However, on this particular night, something about his words lit the flames of pure, feminine rage, staring eye to eye with the man you had visited countless times over the past months.

“I am more than that.” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

he let out a melancholic hum, “you think so?”

he spoke to you like you were a child, who lived under the guise of a delusion — like a childish dream that you were expected to grow out of. the tone of his voice, paired by the sudden feeling of his hand between your thighs bred a slew of confusing emotions to spread within your chest; shamed and desperate, humiliated and seething as his fingers found the sensitive bud between folds that were slick with arousal that had you hot with embarrassment, fingers gliding up along your folds as you gritted your teeth, “how dare you—!”

the nature of his words stung when you knew how much he despised when other men looked down on women the way you had grown accustomed to; somehow after he had entrusted you enough to open up to you, he still had the nerve to throw it in your face—

he caught your hand that came up towards his throat, eyebrows raising as if to warn you, a grin on his mouth as his hand between your thighs stilled, “no need to be so hostile, sweet girl.” he said, guiding your hand down to your side as he moved to drive your back towards a tree, that hand coming to hold your chin in the space between his thumb and fingers, “I know you are a brave, resilient woman…” he quietly muttered, face coming close to yours and trapping you between his body and the tree, a knee coming between your thighs.

despite the rage that still burned within you, scorching like a wildfire, the warm contrast of his fingers on cold skin was welcomed; jolting up as his fingers pressed against you, fingers circling the bud and earning a soft sigh of a moan as you reached out to grab him, pulling him closer as though you were trying to crawl underneath his skin and become one. His mouth finally made contact, attaching itself to your throat and placing open-mouthed kisses to the skin, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth as his fingers worked against you.

“my clever, beautiful girl.” he praised, mouth reaching your collarbones.

you belly clenched, another moan elicited by his words as your hands fisted the cloak around his shoulders, his hand moving briefly to tug the fabric of your gown back up and out of his way as it dropped from its place around your hips. benjicot had a way of leaving you breathless and desperate, a flustered mess under his touch, the only man that could draw out the carnal sounds of pleasure; broken sighs and crying out as his middle and ring finger pushed themselves into you.

by the roots of his hair, you brought a hand to the back of his head and tugged him towards your mouth, his lips encapsulating yours in a feverish kiss; all teeth and tongue. you cried out, muffled by his mouth, as his thumb continued the prior pace, rubbing blind shapes into your clit as your mouth dropped open, too distracted by experienced fingers that slipped in and out of you with ease to reciprocate the kiss, “oh—, fuck.”

“yes, just like that,” he encouraged, voice soft. “just relax, my love.”

the weeks of pent up hunger and anticipation for this moment curled within you, settling into your lower belly, thighs attempting to clench around his hand. though you were stopped by the firm, strong thigh that had been planted there to prevent such from happening, his hips pressing into yours.

“ben, please…” you cried out, beginning to become overwhelmed between his mouth that returned to your throat and his hand, his pace increasing.

rather instead, he knelt suddenly, head buried beneath the thin chemise that draped over his head as he leaned into you. his shoulders brushed your thighs as his mouth replaced his thumb’s task, latching to the bundle of nerves and leaving you gasping, gripping his hair as your chest heaved. a low groan vibrated through your core from the man below you, reaching every end and nerve of your body as you struggled to keep up on your feet as your peak washed over you. his arm wrapped up underneath your right thigh, holding you against him and pressing against your hip as if that would somehow ground you as you nearly collapsed against him, your entire body alight as your walls squeezed around his fingers, clenching so tight it could restrict movement.

he was barely any gentler as he reemerged from your skirts, your head slumped back against the tree as he stood to tower over you once more, using the fabric of your gown to hold you up and practically manhandle you up against the tree that scraped your skin with each move. loose strands of hair had freed themselves from the half done up style, hanging in your face as you panted, mouth agape as you looked up at him; lips glistening with the reminisce of you — your cheeks heated with embarrassment, reaching out to touch his cheek.

he was beautiful, especially with you on his lips.

you dropped your hand and pulled him towards you by his hips, using the belt to your advantage to jerk him forward, his own lazy smirk mirrored by your tired smile as your hands fumbled to undo the laces of his pants. he aided in the task, skillful fingers pulling them with ease and shoving his pants down just enough that they sat high on his thighs, freeing his hardened cock from their confinement, your hand instinctively coming down to wrap around the length and stroke him. his lips parted above you, hands coming to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his nose nudged yours.

you could have stayed there forever, in that moment — with the sight before you, a flush in his face as he appeared fucked out already, hair in a disarray from your fingers.

he reached across his chest to undo the clasp of his cloak, dropping it from his shoulders; getting rid of the only shield that hid you from any potential prying eyes — if anyone burst through the bushes then, there would be no hiding the act and it would be without any doubt what was happening.

‘parading herself like a whore on Blackwood land’

benjicot would be correct. if your cousins had dared to wander close to the borderlands again, you would be done for. there would be no protecting any ounce of your dignity and modesty at that point — you would be shamed by your entire family, and even worse, your father…he would be beyond furious and nothing less than gutted.

the thought and feeling of sheer shame it brought had you clinging close to the man in front of you, his body easily capable of concealing yours as one hand went above your shoulder to the tree, too blissed out to put an end to this and go home right then as his mouth pressed to yours in a sweet, affectionate kiss. you moaned against his mouth, his hand replacing yours around his cock to glide it up along your slit; gathering the slick as a means to lubricate the head of his cock, that already leaked pre-cum that mingled with your own arousal, the tip red and angry.

you braced against the tree, trying to regain footing, nearly slipping into him. he steadied you with the arm above your shoulder, wrapped around your ribs and forcing your chest against his as he slid into you, earning a gasp, breaths mingling as your own arm wrapped around his shoulders; clutching to him like your life depended on it — and in some ways, it did.

he held you up against the tree, having to shove the fabric of his tunic and doublet high up on his hips out of the way as he thrusted up into yours. each movement of his hips, shallow due to the position, his pelvis brushed against your clit, providing enough stimulation to leave you struggling for air as you fisted his clothing in your hands.

“fuck…” he rasped, lips brushing your own as they parted, each breath from his mouth sucked into your lungs as you relied on him for the strength to stay upright, slumping into him.

you were a jumbled, incoherent series of sounds as any paranoid thought of fearing your cousin's appearance went out the window, all consumed by him. your leg lifted by his hand guiding it by the back of your knee, thigh hooking around his hip and pulling him further, deeper into you and releasing a sob. you felt so full, it physically ached, walls clenching down around him and eliciting a hiss of air from him.

the sound of a branch cracking somewhere in the distance of the bushes caused you to jolt against him, eyes peering over his shoulder, wide and panicked as the thought crossed your mind again just how open you were to being exposed. you had done this time and time again, but never with his own men just several feet from the bush you were hidden among, and never during a war that had everyone on edge. the looming war had your father in particular paranoid, leading to an increase in fleets that surveyed the boundaries of bracken’s land and the thought instilled again, that fear that you could be caught.

as if he sensed your worry, his mouth caught yours in another kiss, forehead pressing to yours, “my love…” he muttered, bringing your attention back to him.

and he was successful, your gaze doing one last scan and straining into the dark before you were faced with his tired, lust-filled face, his cheeks flushed and striking even in the dark. the sweet name swelled your chest with adoration, your breath quick as you let out a moan, spiraling into bliss against him as his hand came between you to once again rub against your clit.

“ben, i can’t— please—“ the sound was weak and feeble, choked out and gasping for air as your body burned.

it was met by deaf ears as he gently shushed you, his mouth grazing yours, cock relentlessly rutting up into you with desperation — seeking for release as your walls fluttered around him. the groan he released was animalistic, deep from within his chest and carnal as you clutched onto him, struggling to keep yourself up against him and pulling him into you; seeking some kind of anchor to keep you grounded as his hand on your clit worked in unfaltering shapes that had you weak.

a final sob of pleasure left you as you clamped down around him, body tense and slumping against his as you released yourself around him. the final plea of his name and your walls were followed by a few sharp, final thrusts as he released his seed into you; fucking it deeper into you with a deep sigh of your name, a hand coming to your throat as he glanced down, his forehead resting against your chin.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

you stepped up onto the riverbank of your family’s side; thighs still aching while benjicot’s hand supported you from behind before he too crawled up behind you, not seeming to care that he was now soaked from his thighs down. He stood back, allowing you a silent moment to wring out your dress of any water as best you could, hands twisting the fabric and letting out a grunt of exertion before letting it drop back down to your feet. You bent to collect your dress, benjicot finally stepped forward to help in your task of redressing, hands smoothing the fabric over your hips and straightening your shoulders with a gaze down, not daring to make eye contact.

you both knew this could have been the last time you saw each other, the dawning realization casting an awkward, tense silence over the two of you as you eyed the fabric of his doublet; making a mental note of its ridges, the pattern of the woven article of clothing. he tensed as you lifted a hand to touch the fabric with your fingers, too intimate a gesture as fingers ran across his chest and up towards his shoulder before stilling there, your palm coming to place over his heart.

“when are you to marry the…” he began to ask, his face screwing up in disgust at the idea as he spat out the name, “Lefford boy.”

you gaze only briefly lifted towards his face when he spoke, a small snort leaving you at his reaction and smiling softly at his antics. The smile dropped after a moment, though, inhaling and sighting out a breath as you straightened out his own clothing with gentle tugs, brushing over the fabrics, “two nights from today.” you quietly replied.

he made a sound of disapproval, his gaze on your face as you finally looked him in the eye again, his hand rising to capture your wrist in his hold. You had heard the whispers as well throughout the halls of stone hedge, trying to picture it as you looked at him, “I hear rumors you’re to be married, too.” you pointed out, his face twitching.

he released your wrist, stepping back and looking towards his feet as he fixed his sleeves, “My father plans to betroth me against my will.” He admitted, his words a grumble as he shook out his arms and looked up at you again.

you nodded, “who? has he said anything of his intentions?”

“some girl.” he admitted, shaking his head with a shrug of his shoulders, cheeks expanding with a sigh, “the lord paramount’s granddaughter, I suppose.”

you smiled, tilting your head as you looked at him, “serra tully, right? that’s her name, yes?”

“unfortunately.” he grumbled in complaint.

“she’s quite beautiful, I hear.”

he shrugged again, letting out another grunt.

“well, you should probably be on your way,” you said, hands folding behind you as he looked across the river, the sun already beginning to come up. “your men will be looking for you soon.”

benjicot nodded, stepping forward and reluctantly reaching out to your waist, fingers gently pressing into your sides as he leaned forward to press a sweet kiss to your mouth, “I will see you soon.” He said as he withdrew from your mouth, face still hovering close.

you raised a hand and pressed it to his cheek, smiling as you looked up at him, “yes. maybe.”

his eyes rolled as you lifted a hand as if to gesture ‘just as I suspected’, looking over you as a sharp whistle sounded from somewhere beyond the trees from his camp, hands dropping from your sides and straightening the belt at his hips; you watched as his fingers went to the dagger at his right hip, removing it from its sheath, much to your confusion. He withdrew it and used his free hand to pull one of yours forward, pressing the blade into your palm and looking at you, “a wedding gift.” He quietly said.

you looked down at the blade, frowning and blinking rapidly a couple of times before looking up at him, mouth opened in a stutter, “benjicot, I- I can’t accept this. you might need-”

“I have plenty back home,” he assured, wrapping your fingers around the handle of it and licking his lips that were then pressed into a line that resembled an amused smile, “have it…in case that Lefford boy ever pisses you off.”

you let out a laugh, a smile coming to his face as your hand dropped from his, the dagger clutched by your side, “very charming of you.”

He chuckled and pressed another quick kiss to your forehead before he brushed past you, hurrying into the river with a splash and sloshing back in the direction he had come from. you watched as he climbed out of the water, entering back out onto blackwood territory and giving one last glance as he retreated back into the trees.

[lesyeuxdemoii]

paige bueckers x oc

: parent issue, cursing, mention of sex.

that’s all that i’m aware of, lmk if anything else

: hii ! extremely happy to join pb community. this is my very first fic, and eng is not my first language, so🙏🏽

also, this work is heavily inspired by: @sommerbueckers and @arlertwhore , that’s why i’m giving full credits to them.

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I’m not exactly sure how i got into this.

I can’t remember the time that I had any complications in my personal life, yet, i never had one. My main focus was always ballet. Always. I was involved in that endless circle since I was 7. My mother, a former ballerina herself, after unsuccessful attempts to force my older sister to follow her path, took me in her hands, and because of my gentle and submissive characteristics, I obliged. Not that I complained, I did enjoy ballet. I didn’t see myself without it, it was part of me and my persona. School didn’t happen to be a problem as well. I didn’t just get good grades, I got the best ones. In simple words — I was the golden child, the one that was always bragged in rare family gatherings.

Speaking of, the opposite of me was my older sister — Giselle, we called her Gigi. She had that outgoing, extroverted, energetic personality, a personality that was indeed stronger than mine. Gigi’s life was full of parties, passion, dedication, fun. I adored her, her appearance, her lightweight character. We became inseparable when our parents started the train of their “business trips”, leaving us fully alone. They were never at home, never cared enough. They even skipped my 18th birthday, the one that was so important for me, but I hope guess FaceTime saved the situation. It was fine for a while, though, me and Gigi had each other, and that was enough.

My life, apart from yearning for my parents, that i tried to deny, was good. Until… until I got too close with my sister and her friends. That one friend, in particular. That’s how my calculated life was ruined, forcing me to face with something, that I wasn’t entirely prepared to handle. Not alone.

Why did i even come to this party? It was never my thing, I preferred extra practice more, than being trapped in direct contact with sweaty, high, drunk people. They were all so wasted, meanwhile I barely had any sips of my drink. I just couldn’t say no to Gi. She insisted that I need some distraction from my robotic routine, of course I had to say yes, and of course I had to lie to her, hiding the fact that I already owned a distraction, for months, actually.

I stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wall, scrolling through my Instagram feed and periodically checking the time. After a while of mindlessly staring at my phone, i heard that someone entered the kitchen, someone tall, specifically blonde.

“Can’t you just have some fucking fun?” - a voice came from the door, looking up and down my petite, delicate body, compared to her athletic and strong one. I didn’t have to raise my head, already knowing that the signature smirk was present on her pretty face.

“I’m having my own fun here, you don’t have to worry” - I replied without looking at her, trying to act unbothered by her presence, which I most likely failed to do.

“C’mon bro, you can’t isolate yourself from everyone. From me, at least.” - she answered, slowly approaching, and standing closely in-front of me.

“Don’t call me “bro”, I’m not your buddy, Paige.” - she slightly chuckled from my response, taking the phone out of my hand, forcing to look at her.

“First of all, look at me when I talk to you, secondly, you are my buddy.” — she said, studying my face with her beautiful eyes. It looked like she was trying to draw my portrait in her head.

Sure, she absolutely had to mention that I’m her “buddy”, as if it didn’t hurt like knife. I don’t remember how I ended up being engaged in half-situationship position with the infamous Paige Bueckers. I’d met her through Gi, obviously, nothing surprising. She was the walking charm, the magnetic and utterly unattainable girl. Paige was one of the most desirable people, she could have anyone, anytime, anywhere, yet, she chose me to be her secret. Why? I was absolutely clueless. Maybe my innocence was something that attracted her, but you never know. Although, the two things I certainly knew were,

1) She was unbelievably good at everything. (sex and basketball, especially). 2) I was deeply inlove with her, but she didn’t seem to know that, or she pretended not to.

“Seriously, what do you want? I’m already on my nerves, don’t try to piss me off, like really.” - I said, staring back at her, while crossing my arms, as she put my phone on the nearest table.

She smirked, clearly unaffected by my fake attitude, when she brushed my hair behind my ear, resting her hand on my cheek. - “I can take you home, baby.” - she whispered, her voice went down especially during the last part. My eyes softened, and i found myself leaning into her touch.

“Can’t leave Gi here.” - I frowned a bit, but my sister was always my N1 priority.

"She’ll understand, Don’t worry. I will talk to her.” - she moved her lips to my temple, placing a soft kiss there, then to my cheek, repeating the action. I was satisfied by the affection that I received, so i simply nodded, letting her take the control.

Car ride was peaceful. I didn’t know what Paige said to Giselle, but she knew what she was doing, and i fully trusted her. Her hand rested on my thigh, as she drew small circles on it with her thumb, her eyes being fully focused on the road. Her touch was possessive, yet so tender.

When we reached to the destination, Paige demanded to see me off to the door, ending up entering the house. As soon as the door closed, her lips were smashed against mine, her hands pulling me impossibly close by my waist, while I was holding her face. The kiss was passionate, almost sexual. Our lips moved in perfect sync, as if they were made for each other. It was so intoxicating, so intense. Her grip on me tightened, and i slightly hummed in response, causing her to smile. She slowly moved down to my neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses all over it. And for one second, I almost forgot, that everything we were doing was not right, it was a secret.

Sweet secret, that only we were able to knew.

[zombiigrll]

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INSECURITIES. ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 1.1K ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ hurt to comfort, use of y/n, spoilers for twd 6x9, carl and reader are already in a relationship .ᐟ SUMMARY .ᐟ ⭑ you help carl after he gets shot. ꩜ .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ ive been rewatching the early seasons of the walking dead and seeing everything carl went through again makes me SOB HYSTERICALLY. so ofc i needed to write this and make you guys feel my pain 😈 my creative juices have also been flowing a little bit more recently... but its also a little short too......... hope u dont mind 🙏

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he never showed any of his insecurities to you before. he always made sure that you felt comfortable telling him things, but he would never fully open up to you.

you were aware of his mother passing, that his dads friend died, and just how he's experienced so much death. but he never told you how anybody died. he wouldn't tell you no matter what.

that was until the walkers flooded the streets of alexandria.

as always, you were by carls side. you held his right hand in line as you two along with rick, michonne, jessie, ron, and sam walked through the herd in gut-stained ponchos, attempting to lead them to the quarry nearby.

but everything went downhill. fast.

sam saw something in the herd. no one was sure what, but he freaked out. his cries were loud, and gave away his position.

the walkers killed him, then they made their way to jessie, who had refused to let go of sams hand.

and if it wasn't for you using your machete to cut her arm off, carl would've died, too.

you thought that was it, that you would just have to slash through some more walkers to get somewhere safe, but not yet.

you looked to the side and noticed ron pointing his gun right to you.

but right as he shot, michonne stabbed him.

you were supposed to get shot. but due to the timing...

"dad..?" you heard carl from your left.

you turned to face him, and you immediately noticed his eye.

it was gone. a trail of dark crimson leaking from his socket. you caught him before he could fully fall.

"no.. no, no!" you cried trembling as you held him.

rick runs over and picks carl up. you and michonne pull out your weapons and begin clearing a path with adrenaline coursing through the three of you.

you guys eventually make it to the infirmary.

rick places carl onto the bed. the rest of that night, a loud ringing played in your ears.

your mind raced wildly. thinking of all the possible outcomes, but you were sure he was going to die. i mean, he was shot in the face.

after the nurse helped patch him up the best she could, you sat on the opposite side of rick. rick held one of his hands, you held the other. you rested your head on top of his shoulder, sobbing.

rick was crying, too. praying for carl to be okay.

that's when you felt his hand hold yours back, tightly.

you lifted your hand up to look at rick, and he had the same expression. he was holding both of your guys' hands.

your sobs turned hopeful as you began to smile.

...

a few days had passed. carl was awake, thankfully. he tried to get you to leave the room, but you refused.

"i don't want you to see me like this." carl strenly spoke, his voice cracking slightly as he attempted to hide his face.

you walked over to his side, putting your hand up to his face to carefully cup his now scarred cheek. you turned his face so he could look at you. "i'm not going anywhere."

he sighed and closed his eye, knowing he wouldn't be able to make you go away. "i don't understand you."

"what?"

"after everything i've done.. you're still here with me." he lightly chuckled. "i'm really not a good person, y/n. theres so much you don't know about me."

"nothing you could tell me would make me believe that." you shook your head, moving your hand down to his and holding it tightly.

"you say that now.." he turns his head away. "if i told you what i've done, you'd think i'm a monster. you'd hate me."

"you're not a monster, carl. what are you talking about?"

"i've killed people. a kid i didn't know the name of, my dads friend.. my mom." he kept his eyes shut as he spoke, his voice and body trembling.

you held his hand tighter, looking at him softly. "i'm sure there were reasons to all of that. i don't believe you're a monster."

carl stayed silent.

you brought your other hand up, moving his hair behind his ear before holding his face.

"i love you. no matter what." you smiled at him with your eyebrows furrowed. "no matter who many people you've killed or hurt, no matter if you've done shitty things in the past, no matter how many scars, i don't care. because i love you."

he opened his eye to look at you, he quickly sat up and put his arms around you, putting his head in the crook of your neck.

"hey.. be careful for your eye." you put your arms around him carefully, your hand on the back of his head.

"i love you, too." he silently mumbled. "i don't understand how i got so lucky with you."

you laughed, kissing the top of his head. "i've done bad things too, carl. it's just something we can't avoid now. it doesn't make us monsters." you pushed away from the hug, leaving your hands on his shoulders. "i got lucky with you, too. in my eyes, you're an angel."

his eye moves all over your features. you knew he had been adjusting and learning how to see without his other eye, but seeing it happen right in front of you was a bit difficult to witness.

"i should've been the one that got shot. you saw me kill jessie." you sighed, your gaze turning down to the floor. "he was aiming at me."

carl shakes his head. "it's not your fault. it's no ones fault. if he had shot you, i think he would've really killed you. but i got shot, and i'm alive." he smiles at you, tilting his head as he continues taking you in. "i'm glad it was me."

you tilted your head, pursing your lips slightly. "i guess either way, no matter who got shot, no one would be okay with it." you laughed, trying to make light of the situation. "...you should get some rest."

"i know." he moves away and lays back down, looking back up at the ceiling.

you stand up, leaning down to give him a quick kiss on his forehead before turning back away to the door. "goodnight, carl."

"wait."

you turned back around. "hm?"

"...could you stay?" carl asked, his voice softened.

your lips curved up into a smile, walking back over to him. "of course." you sat back down next to him, holding his hand again, similarly to when he was first shot. "get some sleep, okay?"

he nodded, closing his eye. "alright. i love you."

"i love you too, carl. always."

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[almightyhamslice]

Queen Bouncelia redesign!! I might sound like a broken record here but I feel like the bros rlly missed a lot of potential with her! She presents herself as a kind angel of a character, but she's the Naughty Ones' mother and she was a part of Sir Dadadoo's conspiracy-- she was aware of his plan and was ok with raising her children to be an army. I think that's so interesting but she's just a plain good guy who dies in the game!!! not fair. Maybe someday we'll find out she's not rlly dead n we'll understand what her deal is?

My AU differs from canon in that Bouncelia was actually a fully active mascot in the resort, allowed to interact with the public in two character greeting areas: an extravagant castle and a trampoline park. She was very popular with young girls back in her prime. She was a very charismatic person and had a sense of warmth and comfort to her that many of the other mascots lacked.

She and Sir Dadadoo were always somewhat warm towards each other, they'd meet during evenings, between the end of Bouncelia's shift and the beginning of the resort's curfew, when Dadadoo would be active. They'd spend most of their nights together. He would often muse to her about his plans of escaping the resort and going out into the real world, and she was enthralled. Soon enough, she began scheming with him and working out a proper plan. Sir Dadadoo figured they'd need an army, so he invited Syringeon to help him create his own "subcases" (or rather, mutants). After lots of trial and error, it was decided that Bouncelia and Dadadoo should create the mutants with a combination of both their DNA, and so Bouncelia agreed. Though they were initially both very clinical about the creation of the Naughty Ones, Bouncelia grew attached to them and doted on them. They were a family after all, in a strange kind of way.

Of course, everything went wrong when Bouncelia and Syringeon were caught. Management realized Dadadoo was the mastermind and would be unreasonable and unpersuadable, so they sought to target his cohorts in hopes they'd all gang up on him (under the threat of their lives). So, they did, though Bouncelia begged and pleaded management to spare his life and the lives of their children. Management heeded her request, but in a very twisted way. Syringeon was ordered to sedate Sir Dadadoo and the naughty ones, and seal them inside Queen Bouncelia's pouch using givanium entrapment, stitching and fusing her pouch shut. The hope was that the Naughty Ones and Dadadoo would slowly suffocate and starve, but the Naughty Ones were desperate to survive and began to cannibalize each other like fetal tiger sharks do (please don't look that up if you're squeamish!).

Queen Bouncelia couldn't be allowed to know that this was meant to slowly kill her family members, so was put on a heavy dosage of sedatives while the resort was still active. The function was twofold-- the drugs clouded her mind so she wouldn't realize what danger they were in, and they kept her from jumping around and potentially ripping her pouch open by mistake. Bittergiggle, her most trusted friend, was tasked with delivering her medicine every day; however, they never knew what the true purpose of the drugs were.

Post attempted rebellion, Bouncelia still tries to keep a kind and warm demeanor, but everything is so scrambled now. Thanks to the steady supply of intense sedative drugs, she always feels half asleep and half awake, finding difficulty in telling dreams from reality. Not so much a perpetual hallucination (though she is likely prone to hallucinating as well), moreso thinking on a completely new and almost alien plane. Things she says make sense through word associations in her head, but are nearly indecipherable to outsiders other than Bittergiggle.

I love her so much. I'm going to cry if she's literally just dead in canon n the skeletons in her closet were like, accidental lol. I had lots of fun designing her especially her mask n cape! Also I really don't think the scepter is magic I'm sorry that's just jumping the shark for me lol.

[hellsinvestigativereporter]

Let's take a moment to consider a few glimmers of hope in this time of repose between season 2 and 3 of helluva boss my dear readers.

1. We never actually saw Moxxie's mother die. The person his old man made him throw off the boat was based on evidence I've gathered was not his mother, just some poor schmuck who was probably Moxxie's initiation to "da family business." And it should also be noted that in shows like this there is a rule: "no body, no death." All we really saw was his mom's shoe surface out of the water. It suggests things sure but... she may have just ditched the shoes during a possible escape attempt.

2. Octavia is fully aware of the monster her mother is so any plans her uncle may have had for her are shot. And let's face it stella is very much Cersei Lannister. All cruelty and very little brains. And well, octavia took on her uncle as well so he's got no hold over her either. She is however alone and that does not rule out the possibility that someone else could come in and sink their claws into this lonely girl but for now... at least she is apprised of the situation and after thinking about it for a time she may realize she was being too harsh.

3. Loona seems to have finally healed and gone from a sourpuss tweenager to a social, happy, out going young woman who has accepted Blitz as her father. Need I say more?

4. Millie is going to be a mother. Now you all may know I have some DEEP concerns about the circumstances of the incoming young thing but even if things do go sideways Stolas has experience being a parent and Blitz would 100 percent be there for her regardless of what strain it would put on her and Moxxie's marriage so there is a support group... dare i say... family?

5. Stolas is not dead.

6. Stolas is now in a position where based on the strength of his character can now learn about the hardships of those born of lesser privilege than himself and become a wiser man for it.

7. Finally... Blitz is the talk of the town. Speaking strictly from a business standpoint he's getting free advertisement for his company now and may even get some new sponsors for the company and really start making some big bucks.

At any rate dear readers let us remember that while life is not always rainbows and lollipops it's not always gloom and doom either. You just have to follow Blitz's example of charging ahead no matter the challenges because in the struggle that is where we discover strengths we did not know we had. Food for thought.

[clownakai]

Today’s a pleasant Saturday, and after having a good laugh at the "The reviews are in" post, I thought I’d dive into an intersting theory about the possible connection between Gin and Mary :)

Shared Phrases (?) Both Gin and Mary are the only characters to say, “It’s like encountering a demon in the darkness.” Similarly, Tsutomu and Shuichi are the only ones who’ve said, “The fault is 50/50.” I mean.. it's pretty obivious from just here already.

Appearance In terms of appearance, Mary, Sera, Akai, and Gin share two notable features: green eyes and distinct lines under their lower eyelids. Mary also has platinum hair, much like Gin’s.

Mary’s shrinking instead of being killed Mary’s shrinking, rather than being executed by BO, is particularly strange. After all, BO is notorious for ruthless efficiency—why use APTX 4869 instead of simply shooting her? The idea of sparing an enemy with a “golden medicine” that took years of research feels uncharacteristically merciful for BO. Their usual motto of “leave no trace” makes this decision seem odd and deliberate.

The boss’s decision to let Mary live seems to be a carefully calculated trap. It’s confirmed that Sherry’s mother and Mary are biological sisters (as the author has stated that Akai and Sherry are cousins). This means Mary and Sherry share familial genes as aunt and niece, making their bodies react similarly to the drug. I believe Gin may have known early on that Sherry was alive and was aware of Kudo's survival as well. Therefore, Gin and the boss know that Mary will survive this drug as well. Gin likely hinted this to the boss and orchestrated events to leave Mary alive. Why? They will use Mary as a bait to retrieve the antidote.

If BO were to capture Sherry, she’d likely refuse to cooperate. If they killed her, they’d lose their only chance at the antidote. Raising Sherry, funding her studies abroad, and investing years in her research suggests how vital she is to the boss’s plans. Killing Kudo would also be out of the question—Sherry’s guilt over Kudo’s predicament is what drives her to work on the antidote. If Kudo were killed, Sherry might even commit suicide, leaving BO without their much needed antiodote.

Mary’s shrinking seems to be a part of the boss’s larger scheme to manipulate Sherry. By targeting Mary, someone closely tied to Sherry and the silver bullet Akai, the boss ensures that all roads lead back to Sherry. This clever and cost-effective strategy leverages Mary’s condition to force Sherry’s hand, ensuring she stays within BO’s reach. In the process, it draws in powerful agencies like the FBI, CIA, and MI6, all of whom may unwittingly aid the boss’s agenda. In the end, the trap wasn’t just for Mary—it was a strategic move to draw out Sherry and secure BO’s ultimate goal: the antidote. This theory further supports the idea that Mary and Gin might be related, potentially as mother and son. Otherwise she wouldn't have been alive until now.

Hello anon! Just so you know this was a delightful surprise to find in my inbox today :3 I think I reread the whole thing like four times before even thinking of doing anything else djsjfsk I love theories so much💥💥💥

(Everything else is under the cut because I ended up yapping too much. I'm so sorry)

I really like this theory, especially since it indirectly covers for the fact that Masumi (partly due to Mary's orders as she's getting more and more impatient) hasn't exactly been subtle in her attempts to get the temporary antidote and has generally been very liberal with the information she has about Conan and Haibara's identities, talking about it in public and even getting overheard (granted, Subaru isn't the issue here, and it's not a guarantee that she's being tailed 24/7 as that would be a bit of a hassle to keep up, but still). One would think that they'd have been found out by now, given that the BO is now fully certain of Masumi's existence and relations (Vermouth on the Mystery Train my beloved & beloathed... Girl why r u so evil) and, as minimal as it is, she does represent a threat, but nothing has happened to either of them yet.

I do think that the point about the BO's decision to use the poison is a little shaky, seeing as it's been explicitly stated to leave no trace on the body— which actually fits pretty well with their motto, and we do glimpse a pretty long list of people it's been used on a few times throughout the manga (we only see a few names, but it's speculated to be much longer than what is shown), so it would seem that the BO has been using it semi-regularly when they wanted more down-low executions.

There was also no guarantee that Mary would react the same way to the APTX even with a possible genetic advantage observed in Shiho (and without knowing exactly what they were looking for, I'm fairly sure trying to compare the two's DNA in order to confirm their theory would be really difficult if not outright impossible in such a short timespan, and that's if you don't consider the absence of the person who knows the most about the APTX in the first place and could have sped things up if she was there). <- sidenote: I feel like I may have misread this point of the theory, so my interpretation and objection could be completely off bc it's not what you were talking about djsnfns

That said, I find the point about ensuring a direct line to Sherry through familial relations very interesting, in the sense that it made me stop and ask myself how she would react upon finding out that she has more living family still, but over half of them are people who she may see as having caused her grief/major discomfort at best. Would her wish to connect to her family be stronger than her self-preservation (along with the fact that she doesn't really know these people and therefore has no emotional attachment to them, not even as abstract idealized family)? I'm genuinely not sure, but the BO banking on this, possibly because having essentially groomed her they know her weaknesses best, is very juicy.

Honestly, thanks to that post (and a few delightful conversations about it), I do think that making Mary and Gin related in some way would be like. Really really funny. It'd also probably piss off a lot of people, but it'd be so funny.

And, given Gosho's magic retconning powers, I have come to the conclusion that Gin being Elena and Mary's brother that nobody ever talks about for some reason would be peak comedy. It even gives the whole "Elena and her husband received an offer they couldn't say no to because it'd let them continue their research" thing a new layer of context if you consider that Gin may have been the one who brought them to the Boss's attention.

This is also brought to you by my superficial genetics liker ass who says "Tsutomu's hair is brown and Mary's is blond. Brown is a dominant gene while blond is recessive, so unless Tsutomu's genotype was heterozygous (which we unfortunately can't know without the rest of his family tree. Also Gosho only seems to care about genetics from time to time) Gin should also have brown hair".

Also it's infinitely funnier if this is all a very complicated example of what Cain's Instinct looks like. Imagine playing the long game for literal decades because you want your siblings dead but it should also wipe out the rest of the family. Insane

[thrashkink-coven]

I am not Mesopotamian, Cannanite, Greek, Phoenician, Egyptian, Roman, or Persian, and yet there are many deities from these societies that I revere, worship, and/or work with.

As a black Caribbean Canadian who has had much of my ancestral spirituality ripped away from me through a history of slavery, forced assimilation and segregation, I do sometimes wish I could worship deities that I know originate within my own culture. I do wish I had these strong ancestral ties and comfort in my culture. I do wish I knew the stories of our tribes and had relationships with elders. The reality is that I don’t, the reality is that my people were collected and dispersed among the Americas to be oppressed, and the destruction of our homes, our culture, was the destruction of our legacy. I am the result of this destruction, a lost immigrant to a land that I never chose to be in, estranged from all that I would have been. and my descendants will not know the stories my ancestors told. I mourn that, especially on days like today.

But seeking out deities simply because they originate in my culture doesn’t feel sincere to me and my practice. I don’t believe I should be forced to only worship names with black faces. Every deity I have approached and loved I did so because they called to me. I had an immense appreciation for the peoples who documented and encountered them, and I was mesmerized by how these deities reflected the society and attitudes of the time. But I know I am not Cannanite, Egyptian, or Iranian, I know I can never fully assimilate into these religions or cultures and that isn’t my goal. And to be honest, I don’t really even know what I am. I know where my mother came from, the Caribbean islands, that’s about it. I have little to no understanding of my lineage beyond that. I do not know what things I have the right to, so I assume I don’t have a right to any of it. Nothing in the world belongs to me but my love.

I know that I belong to Venus, whatever name she takes. I don’t know what that name would have been to my people. I have hope that I have found her in the tales of others. I have hope that I would have been hers regardless of where I ended up.

When I say I am devoted to Inanna, Ishtar, or even Aphrodite, I hope that it is clear that I know that I could never understand what Inanna was to the Sumerians of the time, I could never speak to the personal name of Venus that they discovered and how she manifested in their society, I simply can’t. They are long gone and their stories are now legend. I can study them as much as I want, but the reality is that I will never know what it meant to worship Inanna in Sumer all those years ago. I know that when I say her name I can feel her presence and love. I know that I have found a home in her, and she has embraced me. But I can never claim to be an authority on Mesopotamian mythology or the worship of Inanna.

Even though I know the Cannanite, Sumerian, or Egyptian pantheons are not closed, I am constantly aware that I will always be approaching these things as an outsider. That doesn’t mean I can’t participate in worship or reverence, but I also understand that I cannot truly replicate the Egyptian rituals, the Sumerian prayers, the Greek holidays, and that’s also okay. I don’t need to. The Gods never commanded me to. I approach all of my deities and my craft in a personalized way that still recognizes the origin of these things, but does not attempt to embody them, because I know I simply can’t. I wasn’t there, and I’m quite sure my ancestors weren’t even there.

I use these names because they are the only things I have to make sense of who she is, not because I believe that I am Mesopotamian or Roman, but because I recognize that she was known to these people, and I take their accounts as evidence.

This is something I think about very often, especially when I’m diving into learning more about the deities I worship. Many of these names, Attar, Astarte, Ishtar, Inanna, they are always on the cusp of being lost to time. Am I justified in saying these names even if only to keep them alive? I don’t know, I really don’t. Am I justified in being a devotee of Inanna because I truly love her? I don’t know. If not for people like me, would she still have devotees? I don’t know.

These things are nuanced and complex and I will not claim to have the answer. But if you’re someone like me, especially a black person, struggling with the reality of worshipping deities from other cultures, please know that you are not alone and it is okay, actually it’s better than okay, it’s very good that you are questioning yourself. It’s very good to be aware of our human limitations when it comes to understanding things that we are so in love with. There is no rule that says your worship must stay within the confines of your own culture. But it is also infinitely important to be aware of how your perspective informs your ideas about these ancient cultures, both negatively and positively. As much as I love how trans people may have been regarded in the cult of Inanna, it’s important that I also don’t idolize, fetishize or romanticize a Sumerian society that I have never witnessed. As much as I may study and practice I cannot pretend to know everything about an ancient Goddess from a culture that I am not from. I simply can’t. and that’s okay.

anyways, Happy Emancipation Day.

[umbran6]

A Different Champion

Ok, hear me out on this - Leo should've been the champion of Hera rather than Jason. At the very least, they should've had a relatively more positive relationship in comparison to the one time they interacted in The Lost Hero.

For those who've seen my prior posts, you know I've analyzed Leo's importance in the plot. I would also further cement this in that Leo has more importance to Hera than Jason. Even from an initial viewpoint, Hera would have more motivation to help Leo considering his background. Esperanza Valdez was willing to raise her son and still love him despite her family blacklisting her for having a child as a single mother and willing to work 9-5 just so they could live. Jason was the second child of Jupiter and Beryl Grace, who this time was fully aware of her lover's divine nature, willingly having a child despite the fact that not only did it defile Hera's marriage, but it was the second child that was testament to Zeus' disregard for his Pact made among his brothers. Overall, Hera seems more likely to sympathize with Leo and Esperanza.

This sympathy and favor is visible when you examine how Hera interacts with them, even when they were young. I always found it pretty hard to believe that Hera would pressure Beryl Grace to sacrifice Jason to sate her wrath, because Jason and Thalia were already destined for persecution - Zeus had broken the Pact of the Big Three twice. Thalia was never specifically targeted by Hera ( and the statue incident is... questionable, considering Olympus was freaking collapsing and Hera was also busy fighting Typhon), and as far as we're informed by Riordan, Hera was never particularly active in Jason's life while he was in the 5th cohort of the legion.

On a side note, Beryl Grace was an utter idiot for naming her son after the OG Jason. The OG Jason may have initially been favored by Hera for being one of the few mortal heroes without any divine parentage. However, he also severely screwed the pooch because he willingly broke his wedding vows towards Medea by attempting to marry Glauce despite all that Medea did and risked for him, to the point that its noted in most analyses of Euripides' Medea that the titular protagonist got approval from the gods for all of her actions. So yeah, Beryl painted a very big target on her son with that name. And the less said about Thalia's name, the better.

Hera spends nearly most of Leo's youth acting as his nanny while Esperanza Valdez works in the warehouse so they can stay afloat. Though most of the time Leo discussed this in the Lost Hero, he focused on the bizarre and unusual — having him use knives to cut jalapeños, prodding him to poke a snake, the whole 'burning your fingerprints into the park bench' incident, there is more to it than that. Hera doesn't just encourage the traits of a stereotypical hero, but also Leo's creativity such as him drawing the Argo II in crayons and though he wasn't aware of it, gives Leo hints as to how his future may look like. We also kind of forget that Hera still willingly helped raise Leo for Esperanza, which must've been an immense boon because she was a single mother.

Hera even performs what is quite likely the same ritual Demeter applied to Demophon so long ago — roasting him in a fireplace so Hera can burn away his mortality. Of course, it could be argued that she was doing this to strengthen Leo so she could have a stronger demigod to fight against Gaea, but either way such a possibility would benefit him more than it would for Hera. Needless to say, she must've favored Leo to the extreme if she was willing to make him, a demigod son of Hephaestus, immortal.

Furthermore - and please hear me out - let's expand on this connection. Esperanza seemed to be aware of Hephaestus's true nature as an Olympian because she knew that Leo's powers came from him, so it wouldn't be too far to say she was aware of Hera's true nature. She didn't know, however, that Hera was planning to train Leo to become a being that would defeat Gaea when she rose. She made the Queen of the Gods to promise not to intervene in their lives until Leo became aware of his true nature when Esperanza saw the fireplace scene, because Leo noted that ever that day, Tia Callida never showed up in Leo's life afterwards. So when Leo knows he is a demigod, all bets are off and Hera can finally start playing a more active role in his life.

So, now hopefully I've established that Leo should've been Hera's champion considering how she seems a lot more sympathetic to Leo. Now let's imagine how this plays out in the story. For now I'm going to specifically focus on the Lost Hero, because that's the series Hera is more prominent. Jason's memories are still wiped, Piper still thinks Jason is her boyfriend, but Leo is remarkably spared from the memory-warping effect of the Mist and is aware that Jason just straight up appeared out of nowhere.

Leo doesn't have that same edge of trust towards Jason, but that gives him a better perspective on what exactly Jason was sent out for. So he notices that Jason has a coin engraved with Latin, he uses latin terminology to describe the monsters that hunted Leo since he was young, and sees that Jason has combat skills far more advanced than an amnesiac should really have, he starts putting the pieces a lot earlier than we expect and when he is introduced to Camp Half-Blood, Leo cooks up the theory that Jason may have come from a Roman camp, and reasonably cooks up the corresponding idea that Percy is now in said Roman Camp.

When Leo figures out Jason's true origins, two things happen: he immediately tells it to Annabeth (he's not that much of a dick to hide what actually happened to her bf), and Hera conjures a specter to confirm this theory and explain why she's doing what she's doing. The whole scheme against the Earth Witch that killed Leo's mom, and that oh yeah, there's a wrench in the scheme. This concentrated method turns the gist of the quest from how the original Lost Hero presented it:

'Oh, this nebulous evil villain is going to use me as a freaking battery for her son/dragon and that sucks, so you must rescue me.' Oh yeah, and Percy is gone too, and we don't know where the freaking Tartarus he is, so there's that.

To this:

The Witch that was involved in your mother's death has captured me so that she can use me to fuel the resurrection of her strongest fighter. So if you want to get some sweet, sweet revenge/atonement for your mom's death you have to rescue me. Also, I'm holding your friend's memories with me so if you want to help him recover who he his he will also want to join. Percy Jackson? The guy who's gone missing? I have him with me as well, so Annabeth Chase better actually help out, or he's going to die too. You're in? Okay, here's how to do it, and you better get your butt here before the Winter Solstice because that is the day the absorption process is going to finish and things will really go to hell in a hand basket.

With that single message, we actually have people that aren't just following a prophecy. Annabeth joins the party because, oh yeah, now she finally knows where her boyfriend is and is willing to stomach saving the goddess she hates the most in order to help him. Jason's in it because Hera wants his memories and wants to know why she got him involved in her gambit in the first place. Leo? We have the direct motive of him wanting to atone for his mother's death while also getting revenge against the other party that was also involved. Piper's the unexpected fourth party member/possible traitor because her dad's still being held hostage.

Now, I'm not going to delve into the full plot detail changes, but a good chunk of it remains the same with some other changes. Annabeth gets a stronger friendship with Leo on an intellectual level, because you know, the guy was able to offer her a bit of hope in finding her boyfriend. He's more cautious of Jason, but also more genuinely comforting. And finally... he's suspicious as heck of Piper, because he can feel there's something more behind her joining the quest.

But I want to focus on this scene: when Leo gets claimed by Hera as her champion. I, preferably, would imagine it takes place after she is rescued from becoming a power source for Porphyrion. Mainly because then she would have enough power to do a proper claiming and thus she can be as extra with it as possible.

I mean, imagine it. Everyone's gotten back from rescuing Hera, they're all patting themselves on the back and everyone's praising Jason, Piper, and Annabeth unwittingly ignoring Leo. Everyone's hearing about Jason fighting Porphyrion, Piper getting to free her dad from Enceladus, the surprise reveal of the search for Percy, when...

A light starts to glow above Leo's head. It's faint at first, but then it grows more vibrant and swells to cover the entire dining pavilion, swallowing him whole. Then it fades away to reveal Hera, putting a crown of laurel leaves on Leo's head, his clothing replaced with a chiton that was dyed ruby red that glimmered against the firelight from the braziers. A peacock is glowing above his head, the hundreds of eyes shining like the aurora of the north.

Leo's stunned as his mind does his best to process his new reality. Hera gives him a single, warm smile, and everyone else is staring in shock as she announces his status as her champion and gives him her divine blessing. Camp Half-Blood practically erupts in shock because this is the first time the camp has witnessed a male demigod being claimed as Hera's champion with the last guy being... the OG Jason.

I mean, the look of horror in Annabeth's eyes as she realizes one of her friends is now the champion of the goddess that she hates with a burning passion. Jason suddenly realizing that Leo was a lot more in the know of Hera's whole plot than he suspected, because why otherwise would Hera make him her champion? The members of Cabin Nine, suddenly looking at Leo with a sense of betrayal because yeah, Hera's the goddess that threw their dad off of Olympus. Leo isn't really sympathetic with them, Hephaestus had practically abandoned him for sixteen years of his life and forsaken him for eight. Piper can't exactly see him in the same light - how could she, when suddenly her friend had changed so suddenly?

All of this happens as Chiron steps forward, bowing in front of Leo and his patron before uttering these words: "Hera. Goddess of the Heavens, Protector of Men, Patron of Rulers. Hail, Leo Valdez, Champion of the Queen of Olympus."

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Jesus – fuck!” Keith yanks down on the yoke with all his might, making their little pod rear back, missing the gigantic asteroid by mere inches. He watches with wide eyes as the asteroid continues rocketing by, acutely aware that he nearly smashed the pod in everyone in it.

There’s a tense, speechless silence in the pod for a moment, everyone aware of how close they were to becoming Actual Space Debris, before Romelle speaks up.

Because of course it was Romelle.

“Maybe focus on keeping us not dead and daydream about gay reunions later,” she says drily, and Keith bites back a scathing response, because he realises he has absolutely no leg to stand on, there.

“My bad,” he says instead. Romelle rolls her eyes fondly before decking him lightly on the shoulder.

Well, it would be lightly, were she not an Altean. But she is, and Keith has to tense every muscle in his body to keep from crying out in agony like a loser.

“Wait, no, not your bad,” Krolia says.

Romelle blinks at her. “Okay, I get he’s your son and all, but it very much was his bad.”

“No, I got a signal for a second!”

Keith whips around, staring at his mother with wide eyes. “You got signal? Seriously?”

“Yes! I think it was the magnetic flare from the asteroid! Get close to it again, I might be able to hold the signal long enough to broadcast!”

Keith does not waste a moment. He turns the pod around at lightning speed, pushing it as fast as it will go to catch up to the asteroid, carefully avoiding its surrounding debris, which is a lot harder than it looks, and causes a significant amount of turbulence. Which, of course, sets Kosmo off, howling at the windows and scratching at anything he can reach, on top of the deafening grinding sound of surrounding space rocks smashing into each other at high speeds, and the crackling of the comms they are desperately trying to make work.

“Anything?” Keith yells over the chaotic noise of Every Sound At Once.

“Yes! The signal is getting stronger! Once I can get it to connect, it should maintain itself, so keep close just a little longer!”

Keith grits his teeth, wrapping both hands around the yoke and ignoring the voice in his head – that sounds suspiciously like Lance – that makes a dirty joke about the position. He just focuses as hard as he can, trying to keep as close to the asteroid as he can without smashing the ship into it or getting smashed by all the debris travelling at several hundred miles an hour.

“Closer!” Krolia shouts.

Keith resists the urge to tell her that he’s closer to the asteroid right now than he’s ever been to any parental figure in his life, because that would be uncalled for and also rude and he is a Mature Adult, now.

He nudges them the slightest smidge closer, praying to the universe at large that the thrusters don’t give out, and finally Krolia shouts in success.

“I got it! I got Voltron! Pull back!”

With great relief, Keith does, putting as much distance between them and immediate mortal peril as he can. Once the asteroid is far enough away that Keith no longer feels his heart attempting to pound clean through his chest, he slumps over the controls, repeatedly reminding himself that this is, at the very least, better than the goddamn motherfucking bitch-ass space rift.

(Which is, honestly, a very low bar. Contracting E. coli from getting a swirly would be better than the space rift. But still. Small victories, et cetera, et cetera.)

“Um, hi?” comes a voice Keith hasn’t heard in two fucking years, and he almost cries in relief.

Well, not almost. There are tears streaming down his face. But he feels he’s pretty justified, so it’s whatever.

“Pidge!” he calls, ditching the pilot’s seat and fully running over to where Krolia sits, radio holoscreen up and working.

His old teammate gapes at him. “Keith?!”

Keith grins, soft and happy. “Hey, man. I missed you.”

She stares at him in silence, for several minutes. Keith lets her gather herself, even though the silence is getting real awkward real fast.

“Why do you look jacked as hell?” is what Pidge decides on, and God, it’s been so long since he’s heard a dumbass remark that’s definitely a poorly disguised roast, somehow. It feels like home.

“Because I am jacked as hell. I spent two years in Actual Hell –”

Romelle glares at him. “Quit talking shit about my actual place of residence –”

“Your place of residence imprisoned me for two fucking years I will talk all the shit I want –”

“I can beat you up, Kogane, try me –”

“I can handle a beating and still run my mouth, M’lyoy, so I will try you –”

“Children!” Krolia barks, and they both snap their mouths shut so hard there’s an audible click. “We have desperate, time-sensitive information. You have been bickering for three straight days. Can it, or so help me, I will turn this ship around.

“Goddamn, Kogane,” Pidge says after a moment, “someone just got told off. What, did you fuck off and find your mother or something?”

Keith blinks. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“How did I know that – I was joking, dude, fuck! Is that actually your mother?”

“I am,” Krolia says. “You must be Pidge. The short one who cusses often.”

Keith freezes. “Ma,” he hisses, “why would you tell her I said that?”

“Three straight days,” she deadpans, completely uncaring.

Pidge glares at him. “I’ll admit I missed you, you bitch, but please know that you are so, so fucking lucky you are not within bayard distance.”

“Noted,” Keith says weakly.

“I can smack him for you, if you like,” Romelle offers, not even attempting to hide a smirk.

“Thank you, strange Altean, whose existence baffles me beyond comprehension,” Pidge says.

Romelle attempts to do as promised, but Keith jerks out of the way at the last second, and then scrambles over to Krolia’s other side to avoid any further assault.

“Coward,” she and Pidge say at the same time.

Man, having little sisters is annoying. Almost as annoying as having an older brother. Keith wishes he was back to being an only child.

(Not really.)

“Can we please get back on task,” Keith says, which is hilarious coming from him, but whatever.

“Right,” Pidge says, face turning serious. “What the hell is going on?”

“First of all, where’s everyone else?”

“Doing other shit,” Pidge says, “I’m on monitoring duty. Coran and Hunk are reworking the control panel for the accelerators, Shiro’s meditating, Allura and Lotor are on their Oriande mission, and Lance is – actually, I have no idea what Lance is doing, but he’s on the castle somewhere. Probably.”

At the mention of Lotor, everyone’s face goes ashen, playful atmosphere completely dissipating.

“Fuck,” Keith says.

Pidge, ever the problem-solver, looks resigned. “It’s Lotor, isn’t it,” she says, and it’s not really a question.

“Yes,” Romelle agrees softly. “He’s a monster. He’s using my people as batteries, to drain our quintessence, to rule worse than his father ever did.”

“And we’ve just led him by the hand to the one place that will make him unstoppable,” Pidge summarizes, looking absolutely miserable.

“Unfortunately.”

“I don’t suppose you have a plan?”

“We don’t…not have a plan,” Keith says. “We’ll have the element of surprise, so long as we get back to the castle before he does, and that’s got to count for something. We’ll send you our coords, and we’ll try to meet as quickly as possible? It might be easier to plan with the whole team present.”

“Sounds good,” Pidge says, immediately pulling up a few dozen screens and schematics. Krolia quickly types something on her keypad, and Keith watches as it pings over to Pidge. “Oh, hey, we’re actually not that far away. Maybe a couple hours, if we gun it towards you? And Allura – God, I hope she’s okay – won’t be back until the end of the day, so that timing works out. I’ll tell Coran we need to get moving and fast.”

“Thank you, Pidge,” Krolia says.

“No problem, Ms. Keith’s Hot Mom.”

Keith sighs. Romelle giggles. Krolia looks amused.

“I forgot how annoying you are,” he mutters. He doesn’t need to look to know Pidge is sticking her tongue out at him, but looks anyway, just to prove himself right.

“Well, I look forward to reminding you, booger-brain.”

Keith opens his mouth with the full intention of calling her a roach-face, but then remembers that he is a Mature Adult, and decides he will instead graffitti it on her workspace as soon as he gets back, like a real man.

“Bye, Pidge,” he says, and reaches forward to swipe through the holoscreen.

“Hey, wait! Don’t hang up yet!”

Keith pauses, looking at her expectantly. “Yeah?”

The playful, teasing expression that came back for a moment when they were arguing has melted from her face, and she looks serious again. Nervous, even. “Um, something… happened, while you were gone,” she starts, and Keith immediately jumps to the worst possible conclusion.

“What happened to Lance? Is he okay? Is he hurt?” he asks in a panic.

“He is not dead and also not injured or maimed or anything,” Pidge says, which is very different to ‘why, of course not, Keith, Lance is safe and happy and healthy’.

“Spit it out, Pidge,” he orders in his Patented Black Paladin Voice.

“I can’t really explain it. I’m just gonna – I’m gonna send you a link, and you’re going to watch the whole thing and not tell Lance I sent it to you, okay?”

Keith swallows roughly. “Just tell me what happened, Pidge.”

“Okay, Keith?” she repeats, and Keith knows he’s not going to get anything else out of her.

“Okay. Fine. Send it to me.”

“It’s sent,” she says, just as a notification pops up on the receiver. “Um, you can hang up now. That’s all I had to say.”

Keith doesn’t even say goodbye. The only thing he can focus on is that receiver. In the background, he can vaguely hear Romelle and Krolia ending the call, but all his attention is on the little notification – a link, like Pidge said. He picks the receiver up carefully, and walks carefully over to his bunk in the back.

“I guess I’m driving!” Romelle says cheerily, trying to goad him into a playful argument (her… interesting piloting skills having been the subject of their bickering on numerous occasions) but Keith barely even hears her. He clicks on the link, space youtube quickly taking up the screen.

In hindsight, Keith wishes he’d waited to watch, waited for Krolia and Romelle to fall asleep, or even dug around for a pair of headphones, or something. Anything instead of playing what feels like a private message – even though this is clearly something that was broadcasted to the universe at large – to the pod at large.

Hindsight is 20/20.

Instead, he watches with wide, horrified eyes as he witnesses the direct result his leaving had on his best friend.

I'm sorry but I gotta go

That’s what he said to me, as he let me go, he left me alone

Keith recognises those words. He fucking – those are his words. The thing is – the thing is, that contrary to what he knows everyone else thinks, Keith didn’t leave for the Blades after a few days of private introspection.

He talked to Lance – to his right hand – about the issue for months. They made the decision together. Lance knew every feeling, every need running through Keith’s brain, and consequently, Keith knew every thoughtrunning through Lance’s.

[rebornrosess]

going to be terrifyingly sincere about greg for a moment here sorry but the dynamics between greg, logan & ewan are so fascinating to me and even if they can’t explicitly explore it anymore due to obvious reasons, this one short sequence from the funeral is soo catered to me specifically. even in death, logan overshadows ewan in greg’s eyes. and yet greg didn’t need to tell ewan that he gave a good speech. he could’ve given him the cold shoulder after he cost him his deal with roman. but he doesn’t. and either greg is in too deep that he doesn’t realize what ewan said about logan closing men’s hearts and feeding the dark, hard, mean, hard-relenting flame in them (that melts their wax wings in the end) was most likely pointedly directed at him (thus proving his point)—or maybe greg did a little bit. he still goes to mencken at the wake but he still tells his grandpa he did a good job. it was a good hard take that he gave.

i think of this a lot but something that truly sets him apart from everyone else is that HE’S at the intersection of the brothers’ decade old feud over family, betrayal, ambition, integrity, and greed—central themes of the show but also, crucially, to his arc over the last few seasons. he has that dual connection to the past that the others don’t. a past that has stayed nebulous for so long until ewan’s eulogy. in previous seasons, we’ve gotten some really interesting scenes with him in which ewan sees the danger of power and ambition for greg because he’s seen it in logan, but it would have been so interesting to explore it more between greg and logan too (like in 2x08 when greg tells logan ewan is cutting him out of the will. i like you greg). i do think that ewan’s point about logan and masculinity and meagerness in his eulogy is particularly relevant though. maybe ewan was saying “men” in the way old history books use “man” as the default, but the performance of masculinity at ATN is one best embodied by tom, which trickles down to greg, but is evidently shown in roman too. and he fed a certain kind of meagerness in men. perhaps he had to. because he had a meagerness about him. (and maybe i do about me too. i don’t know. i try. i try.) i selfishly wish greg and logan could have had more than just one scene together this season (even though logan attempting to emasculate greg by pointing out his lack of a traditionally masculine father figure as a final interaction is very funny). i don’t think my threshold for second-hand embarrassment could have survived an on-camera take of greg trying to explain the whole rummaging situation from ep.1 to logan but logan being oddly chill about it is. interesting???????? what greg wants, greg must have.

but before s4 at least, logan’s awareness of greg’s connection to ewan, his estranged brother, has informed their interactions and it’s always fascinated me because logan doesn’t quite treat greg like his own kid but he’s still a kid that he’s trying to win over by being “uncle fun” rather than “grandpa grumps.” logan last saw his mother at age 4 and greg has been on his own for some time now too. marianne made her first appearance since the PILOT in the before last episode of the fourth season. i’ve found his interactions with ewan reaaally interesting because the brothers didn’t come from wealth and, when compared to the siblings, greg didn’t either. the hirsch’s financial situation is never fully delved into but i’ve always found it a bit peculiar given greg’s inheritance is like. 250 mil he’s sleeping in a youth hostel and a chapel in s1 and tells his mom while on his flip phone that shiv took his last $20. at the beginning of s3 he’s helping his mom get a new credit card because she maxed out the last one. i feel like ewan did the celebrity parents thing where they don’t spoil their kids so they learn real world skills or something, which iirc is something logan regrets not doing. yet ewan also seems to regret his use of his wealth, which he voices in his eulogy when he states maybe he has a meagerness about himself too, but he tries, and is disappointed in men who do not try harder (and the camera pans to the siblings. ouch.) i sometimes wonder if ewan hadn’t withheld his wealth, would his daughter and grandson have become so desperate that they turned to his brother? or would they have turned out like the siblings too if they had enjoyed wealth since birth? are the throes of capitalism inevitable? marianne is the sibs’ first cousin but they never really acknowledge that. if anyone has thoughts on her absence and/or exclusion from the family tree, i’d love to hear them.

anyways. i could 100% be overanalyzing this but i do love how much information succession packs into each of their shots. greg will forever be seeking approval from both sides of a broken brotherhood and will never receive it from either. you beautiful ichabod crane fuck you. what greg wants, greg must have. i don’t want to see you hurt. one big happy family. “greg?” he’s an addendum of miscellaneous matters in pencil with a question mark.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

I Feel You Linger in the Air - final thoughts

I know, I know! I'm late to this one. But I knew I had to wait for it to finish to make sure I wouldn't get my heart entirely ripped out, and then it was just really hard to find the time. I couldn't binge it either, I had to pace myself emotionally.

But damn. What an incredible fucking show. And I don't just mean for a BL, but just for a series in general. Everything was so well done. The music, the cinematography, the writing, the acting, all of it.

While I was watching I kept being reminded of a good Austen adaptation. Probably mostly because of all the longing looks. Khun Yai could absolutely give Mr. Darcy a run for his money.

But there's also something about a historical framework, where there is so much that cannot be outright stated. Where there's "propriety", and the (usually BS) moral standards of the time. Where the line between classes and genders is such a sharp one.

The social commentary was so strong - showing the heavy burden of living within traditional beliefs, and the damage that they caused to those that are oppressed. I loved Fong Kaew, and her brilliant strategical thinking in how to play Robert and court allies for his downfall. Euangphueng and Fong Kaew both hurting each other in their attempts to survive, but always understanding who the real enemy was, and keeping compassion for one another. Even Yai's mother, finally having enough of passively following her husband as he hurts their children over and over again, telling him to essentially fuck off as she downs the good booze. Characters like James & Niew risking themselves and joining their queer allies to help take down the oppressive hypocrites abusing their power. So damn good.

And I really love how much the series showed that change is not a big massive shift in one moment, but rather a drop in the pond, that causes ripples to ebb and flow over the water. And that for each person who took one moment to help someone else, or speak up to power, or defy an unjust expectation, new ripples would form, and reach new places. Sometimes meeting up to create an entire wave.

Of course, IFYLITA is at its core a romance, and wow, what a romance. I was in literal physical pain during the finale, and I'm still not fully recovered, even with the happy ending. Bright & Nonkul gave incredible performances and I believed every single moment between them. I'm not always a fan of "you're the only one I'll ever love" stories, because life is so much more complex than that, but it was impossible not to get swept up in the emotions here. And the writing all served the story, every moment between them had such purpose.

I only have a couple of little...wishes, let's call them, because I can't even say they're complaints. I wish we had seen a little more interaction between Yai & Euangphueng, as two siblings navigating their queerness and inability to love openly. Yai didn't even seem to be aware that Euangphueng was being confined by Robert, which seemed odd.

My other wish is that we got a bit more time with modern Yai & Jom. They spent so much time making us twist in the angst of the separation, and then we got about thirty seconds of healing. I could have used just a few moments more of basking in the reunion.

I don't know how likely a season 2 is at this point, but damn do I want to see Jom pursue Commander Yai.

But whether we get it or not, I am so grateful to have experienced this show.

[charlesangels03]

The Stranger by Albert Camus

Trigger warning: mentions of death and murder.

"I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world."

Imagine that your mother dies. You attend her funeral but express not a single ounce of grief, nor do you even look at her lifeless form in the coffin. The day after her funeral, you meet a girl, go to the movies with her, and begin an intimate relationship. Later, a friend of yours, a pimp, asks for your help because he suspects his girlfriend is cheating on him. He asks you to write a letter inviting her to his apartment so he can beat her up. Despite being aware of the emotional harm this would cause the girl, you agree. Then, during a weekend beach outing, you and your pimp friend meet the brother of the girl who was beaten. The brother wounds your friend with a knife, and the two of you begin to flee. To prevent your friend from acting rashly, you take his revolver and arm yourself. As you leave the beach, you encounter the brother again. He flashes his knife at you. On the verge of heatstroke and disoriented, you shoot him—fatally. You also shoot him four more times.

The Stranger (L'Étranger) by Albert Camus is a 1942 novella about a man named Meursault, who, living in French Algeria, kills an Arab man weeks after his mother’s death. Meursault’s indifference to the events around him may lead you to describe him as a heartless monster. You might even call him a racist for killing an Arab man, but I don’t think that’s the case. He is simply indifferent. He doesn’t care about what happens to him or the people around him. It doesn’t matter.

This is in line with Camus' philosophical concept of absurdism. According to Camus, the universe is absurd: irrational and meaningless. The world is devoid of inherent meaning, yet every day people futilely search for meaning in their lives. Every good thing that happens to us is also accompanied by bad things. They are two sides of the same coin.

Meursault is imprisoned. Even when offered the chance to free himself by his lawyer, he does not attempt to persuade anyone. For it doesn’t matter. Eventually, he is sentenced to decapitation. In his final moments, Meursault is visited by a chaplain. The chaplain urges him to turn to God, but this only drives Meursault into a blinding rage, for he has no time to waste on God. After his outburst, Meursault experiences a realization—not one filled with guilt, but one that brings him solace.

To quote the final lines of the book: "As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself—so like a brother, really—I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate." In his indifference towards human affairs, Meursault is comforted by the universe’s indifference. And with that, he is no longer a stranger. He finds peace because both he and the world are indifferent. He cannot avoid death, and he is content with this reality of human existence. The world will continue to turn after countless wars, pandemics, famines, and injustices. Once he fully accepted this, his only wish is to have a large, angry mob hurl hate at him during his execution.

As I write this, I don’t wish to do harm or cause any more problems in society. But knowing the indifference of the world, I can fail at everything and still continue. I do my best. I am comforted knowing that even if I don’t get high grades, I still need to live. It doesn’t matter what happens. I flopped our PE dance—it’s going to be okay. I feel burnt out and have missed deadlines—it’s okay, I’ll take my time to complete them. That’s the ultimate realization I have after reading Camus’ work, and it couldn’t be more beautiful to understand this when looking at the starry sky. Maybe, in another universe, if Meursault had more empathy, he would have had this realization not while looking out from a prison cell, but when gazing at the night sky in an open field.

Elijah's 10th Blogging Entry: Literacy

[buckybarnesss]

Heather - I once again come to you with strange character choices that Jeff made that actually make sense?

Like how Derek just stood there and took Allison's abuse of him (and by extension his pack) when she was manipulated into becoming emo!allison at the end of season 2 - but he still doesn't tell her??! that her mom was also a kool aid drunk psycho who wanted to kill the love of her life and also just a tiny baby 16 year old?! He doesn't tell her! He just stands there, stoically and withstands the abuse.

S3 derek is so _chefs kiss_ I LOVE LOVE that arc of him becoming more like his mother, where he embraces his ideals of power and family and pack and GOD I will never forget that moment in s4 where satomi looks like LOOKS at derek and goes "you really remind me of your mom" I gotta make that gifset one of these days.

derek and allison parallels my beloved.

derek is fully aware allison would never believe him about what went down with her mother no matter what he said. instead he tells her, "your family's little honor code killed your mother, not me." which is true. the argent code of suicide rather than be a werewolf due to their own bigotry is what ended up really killing victoria in the end. not once did chris or victoria stop to question it or the impact this would have on allison or how gerard could manipulate them and her. they're both fully indoctrinated into the hunting delusion of righteousness.

no the information that victoria attempted to kill scott has to come from scott. that's why derek kept pushing scott to tell her the truth. he could've ignored it all together but derek respected allison enough to believe that she deserved the truth of what happened. that it was unfair to hold back a vital piece of information as to what occurred in the timeline of victoria's death that led to allison being manipulated by gerard.

the truth doesn't exactly clear his name with allison but it provides context that derek was acting in defense of scott. something that could change allison's perception. i think some part of derek sympathizes with her because he's been manipulated, lied to and abused in the past himself. he knows what can happen to an otherwise decent person under those circumstances. he to an extent understands allison's pain.

scott withheld the information from a place of good -- he didn't want to hurt allison further by tainting the memory of her mother -- but ultimately doing so i think was selfish. the lack of information is what harmed allison more in the long run as it allowed gerard to manipulate her.

derek values truth and forthrightness which contrasts peter and lessons peter has attempted to teach derek. derek spends a lot of season 2 contending with that conflict and when he gives up his alpha spark to save his sister he proves to be his mother's son over peter's protégée. derek was able to walk away from power in a way that duecalion, peter, kate, gerard and jennifer were not. they were consumed by it and derek instead used his to save cora's life.

[hamandswisscroissant]

Pawn - Draco Malfoy X Reader (ch 1)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Ava Lestrange is the unfortunate daughter of Bellatrix and Voldemort and spent the first 16 years of her life dissociated from her reality. Now she is being used by her father to both aid Draco in his mission, and report back any interesting information she gathers on their enemies. What will Draco do when he finds out that not only does she loath her father's politics, but he's also falling in love with her?

Note: teehee

wc: 4,753

BOND

Draco

    ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

He sat there, the last place he wanted to be, waiting alongside his father and the rest of the death eaters that were graciously invited to the Dark Lords meeting. He turned to look down the long dark oak table and catalogued all the faces present. Rodolphus, the Carrows, and Yaxley were all in attendance. He drummed his fingers on the finish of the table in anticipation, the room drenched in silence.  He sat between his mother and father, schooling his expression into one of cold stone. 

"Draco.", his father hissed through his teeth. He stopped drumming at once. After taking the mark earlier in the summer, Draco had been expected to attend every bloody meeting the Dark Lord organized. Not much happened at these meetings other than the occasional torturing of a mudblood or muggle. Voldemort had become so distrusting of his own followers, strategy was rarely discussed unless he spoke to you individually. Really, they seemed more like tea gatherings lately. He scratched his forearm absentmindedly and looked down at his lap. Across from him was Snape, whose attention was fully on the Dark Lord as he began speaking, his voice a harsh whisper in the echo of the dark room.

“Today is a new day. A new era for our cause." Bellatrix snickered slightly beside him, covering her mouth with her hand like she was keeping a hilarious secret. “Dumbledore grows stronger every second, but he will always be weak compared to me. I'm growing tired of his constant attempts to undermine us and delay our inevitable rise to power. That is why, after 17 very long years, I am finally able to introduce you to the newest addition to the Death Eaters.”

“Ava!” Bellatrix called out to the entrance of the room in a sing-song voice, almost like she was taunting the girl who timidly shuffled in, her head tilted towards the ground. Whether it was in fear, or something else entirely, Draco couldn't quite figure out. She was thin and a bit lanky, her curly hair almost forming a chocolate and caramel halo around her head. When she hesitantly raised her eyes to the wall across from her, not meeting the Lord’s gaze, Draco could see a smattering of freckles across her pale cheeks. 

“I would like to introduce you all to my daughter, Ava Lestrange. She will be attending Hogwarts alongside some of your children this coming Fall. I trust we are all aware of Draco’s responsibility this school year, and Ava will be there to help and also supply any information she can get out of the Potter boy and his geriatric bodyguard.” Voldemort hissed out, baring his teeth during the last couple of words. He lifted his eyes to the silent girl at the foot of the table and beckoned towards her, “Please, my darling, sit alongside me.” He smiled menacingly as she slowly stepped to the chair next to him, across from her mother. 

She sat carefully and raised her head to the other people sitting at the table. Her eyes flitted across the death eaters, until finally her eyes met Draco’s. His breath stopped as her eyes lingered on his for just a moment, before quickly flitting away towards the dark lord. He looked at her with a phony expression of pride and continued grinning at his supporters. “She will be an invaluable asset to our message.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Draco continued seeing her at various meetings, she didn't attend every single one and no one dared comment on her absence. When she was there, she spent the whole meeting with her hands in her lap and her eyes focused on the wood grains of the dark table. Draco did the same thing too when he first started attending meetings, but quickly stopped once he began to notice just how deep the years of blood stains had soaked into the oak. 

She never spoke more than one word, and only when addressed directly. Draco wasn't entirely sure how this timid, scared girl was supposed to help him with his assassination. She looked like she would drop dead the second someone threw a disarming charm at her. Still, he was curious what she would be like at school. He imagined she wouldn't make many friends, but what if she was sorted into anything other than Slytherin? What if she was a Hufflepuff, god forbid? He doubted that was even a possibility, though, given her lineage. Her blood probably ran green. Perhaps the same captivating emerald of her eyes. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

“Draco, please finish your peas.” Narcissa’s voice interrupted the tense silence that always seemed to hang over the Malfoy dinner table. Draco stopped pushing his veggies around with his fork and stabbed a singular pea before eating it gingerly. His appetite had not been the same recently. “The ball starts at 8 so I expect you to be dressed and ready at 7:45, do you understand me?” He nodded and started pushing his peas around again. 

Tonight was a small charity ball at the Carrow residence, unfortunately. His mother had mentioned that Bellatrix and quite a few other death eaters would be in attendance, which meant that his father was coming too. Perhaps Blaise, Pansy, or Theo would be there to entertain him and help him sneak booze. 

What he did not expect, however, was to be standing in between Pansy and Blaise staring intensely at the girl who he had just spotted amongst the crowd of laughing, brightly clothed socialites. Her dress was floor-length and midnight blue, gold sparkles, or jewels, he couldn't tell at this distance, caught the light of the chandeliers above and he found himself oddly entranced by the sight. 

Not by the fabric, mind you, but instead by the skin exposed. He found himself quickly growing an affinity for short hair. If it wasn't as short as it was it may have committed the heinous crime of covering some of the expanse of her back. The way the dress draped over her made Draco’s stomach hurt. 

“Oh, I heard about her.” Pansy’s voice cut through the cloud surrounding Draco’s brain and he snapped his attention back to his friends. 

“She's our age, innit?” Blaise piped up beside her. There was a beat of silence before Pansy’s elbow dug into Draco’s ribcage. He rubbed the spot, almost expecting there to be an indent from her razor sharp bones. 

“Well? You're the only one who's allowed to go to the meetings. And you seem like you know her, so what's up?” She chirped. Draco took a long sip of his drink (thankfully spiked by his new favorite person, Blaise) before answering in a low voice, his eyes still following the golden sparkles around the room. 

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“What do you mean ‘what do i mean’? I mean what's the story? What's the hate baby that popped out of Bellatrix’s loins like?” Pansy glared at Draco, clearly thinking him stupid. Draco glared back before answering.

“She’s quiet, doesn’t really speak much. She's kinda like a plant.” What Pansy needn't know is that when he imagined her a plant, he thought of the lily pads his mother had installed in one of the ponds on the estate one spring when he was small. Blaise laughed at his comment and grabbed a new drink from the table behind them.

“But she is our age, right? Who do you think the poor sops are that are gonna be forced to room with her? Do you think she's as unstable as her mother?” He spoke. He was almost as bad a gossip as Pansy. 

“She seems normal. I’ll pray for you regardless, though, Pansy.” Draco smirked slightly into his drink. She laughed and smacked his arm. 

“If she ends up rooming with me, I hope she replaces Millicent. That loathsome wretch has been using my hair potions, I just know it.” She crossed her arms and sent a murderous glare towards Millicent, who was oblivious, across the room chatting with an older woman.   

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Ava

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

All she could feel was eyes around her. It was a common theme in her recent life. She had dreamt, yearned for the day when she would be allowed into the public, allowed to serve under her father and further his cause. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, sharp like iron, when she thought about her future now. She had thought that she would be here, on this train, many years ago. She had almost given up hope. Bellatrix would talk extensively about her time at Hogwarts, and all Ava heard was the hope of freedom. 

She tugged her sleeves further down her hands as she glanced out at the vast, open fields that were streamlining past her window. Underneath the thin flannel sleeves was not only her dark mark, but also permanent purple-red rings around her wrists. She rubbed them over her sleeve anxiously, the rumbling of the train underneath her unsettling. She could hear the chatterings of students beyond her door and she prayed that they didn't notice her. Her Lord had told her that she would be faced with discrimination at the hands of others due to her last name, and she wasn't surprised. 

Perhaps her father had waited a little too late to introduce her to the world. She imagined if he had let her out when she was younger, perhaps her view of him would have remained as the righteous, revolutionary leader that was curing the world. However, in her captivity, she had become curious. She did all she could to find any information on the outside world, much credit due to the house elves at Lestrange Manor. And what she learned was that muggles aren't bad at all. In fact, a lot of them were geniuses beyond what she had ever seen in wizards. And her father was not fixing the world, he was committing genocide. 

One thing that made her happy in recent days was the elation that she would be able to listen to muggle music for the first time soon. Hogwarts was going to be the beginning of a beautiful new life, until she inevitably ends up helping kill the headmaster. The extremely important headmaster whose death would incredibly benefit the greatest evils in the world. She was fucked. 

For some reason she felt compelled to look through the glass of the carriage window as she heard a certain group of students passing. By doing so she managed to lock eyes with the one and only person she had been dreading to see. Harry Potter. 

Ava was incredibly confused about Harry Potter. When she was little she was taught to hate him, he had killed her Lord, committed the worst act known to humanity. But once she had seen photos of the boy in her teens, she had realized that he was her age. He was just a kid. Not only was he just a kid, but he did not seem like a very threatening kid. Bellatrix had said that he was the devil reincarnated, but Ava just saw a dork. A dork who was now opening the door to her carriage. 

“Hey, are you new here?” The redheaded kid beside him asked as a trio, a brunette girl also with them, entered her quiet bubble of precious solitude. They looked at her expectantly as they sat down with her, the redhead pulling a rope of candy out of his pocket. It had a piece of lint on it. He picked it off.

“My name is Ava. I was homeschooled.” She said, cautious to not tell them her last name. If they asked, she wouldn't lie, but she also felt a bit awkward just outright saying it. 

“Hi Ava! I'm Hermione, this is Harry, and that's Ron.” The brunette stated, pointing in turn at the boys sitting beside her. “May I ask what year you're going into?”

“I'm going into sixth year.” Ava replied, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her new guests.

“So are we!” Ron blurted out, his mouth stuffed full of licorice. “What house do you think you'll be in?”

“My parents were Slytherin so probably that. I don't know much about the other houses.” She replied awkwardly. A short silence fell over the carriage as her words hung in the air. “I'm not prejudiced!” She suddenly yelped, making Hermione jump slightly in her seat. 

“Blimey! We never said you were.” Ron said, eyes wide at Ava’s outburst. 

“I'm sorry, I just didn't want you to think ill of me right off the bat. My parents are blood purists but I don't share their views.” She rambled, trying to recover the conversation. She mentally smacked herself for her lack of social grace. She started picking at her fingers in embarrassment, hoping her face hadn't gone as flushed as it felt.

“We wouldn't think ill of you if you were in Slytherin, you seem nice enough.” Hermione explained, comforting the awkward girl in front of her slightly. “Just as you don't judge us, we won't judge you.”

“Yeah, just look out for Malfoy and his friends.” Harry spoke for the first time, “They’re in Slytherin and they're not nice at all.” Harry didn't need to know that Ava already knew Malfoy and would soon be spending a lot of time with him. She had only really seen him at the meetings, and she didn't spend much time with her eyes up, much less talking, so she really knew nothing about the blonde boy at all. Just that his face made it seem that he was always in pain, and he was the only other death eater her age. Apparently, he was also a bully. Great. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Ava walked with the trio to the carriages and rode along with them to the great hall, where the sorting would take place. Her hands were entwined with each other in her lap and they felt as if there was a small fire lit within her palms. Hermione leaned towards her and bumped their shoulders. Ava looked up at her, she was smiling empathetically.

“Are you nervous?” She asked as the boys across from them bickered about Quidditch, Ava had never learned much about the game, it didn't seem important compared to everything else. Either way, the boys were too engrossed to notice the girls having a sidebar. 

“A little. Will I have to be in front of everyone?” She asked anxiously. The thought of everyone's eyes on her made her want to vomit. It would be far too much.

“Yes.” Hermione spoke the one word Ava had not wanted to hear. “But it will be okay, I promise. I was nervous too. Harry, Ron, and I will be there cheering you on, so don't worry!”

“Thanks Hermione.” Ava tried to muster up a small smile to convince her new friend that her words had helped, but truly she had never dreaded anything more than this moment. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. Still, she was not thrilled. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Soon she was the caboose of a very long line of children, only one other person close to her age, a 14 year old girl named Lilac. Lilac had explained that she was a transfer too, from Beauxbatons, and she was very excited to be sorted. Her pigtails were tied in pink ribbons and they flounced about every time she moved her head. For some reason, Ava had the strong urge to rip them off of her head, but she restrained her aching fingers. Ava had very quickly decided that she was not a very big fan of people younger than her. 

As the girl in front of her rambled about some french town, the line was growing smaller and smaller and Ava's face felt like it was going to catch fire. She could see some Hogwarts students already curiously peering her way, she assumed they didn't get many older transfers. By scanning the room and the different colors adorning the tables she was able to find Malfoy, his head held up by his hand, looking incredibly bored as a curly headed brunette boy was making a ruckus beside him. She was surprised to see Malfoy’s eyes snap to hers, almost making her physically stumble backwards. His expression did not change as he maintained eye contact from across the hall, until one of his eyebrows flicked upwards almost in a challenge. She immediately looked away to see that the line had grown even shorter and she was now quickly approaching a beat up hat on a stool. 

In her waiting, she had noticed the same lady who had brought her to the line, a stern older lady named McGonagall, was calling the names of the kids who were to be sorted and the blood drained from her face when she realized that every single person in that room was about to hear the name “Lestrange” shouted for everyone to hear. A boulder sat in her stomach and her body moved on autopilot as she counted upwards in her head, trying as hard as she could to not turn on her heel and run as fast as she could out of the room, away from all these wide-eyed kids and her new home and straight into the Forbidden Forest, to live amongst the unicorns and thestrals, where nothing could hurt her ever again. Yet, as McGonagall’s voice called out her name, and as the Golden trios eyes all widened as they stared at her, she still stepped up to the stool and placed the hat on her head. This was her dream, something she had yearned for almost her whole entire life. A chance. 

“Going to school is your dream, huh?” A voice suddenly laughed from above her, “I should put you in Ravenclaw.” Ava did not laugh, however, she was currently frozen and burning up at the same time.

“Anyways, you've got a lot of drive, kid. But, I don't wanna know what would happen to you if I didn't do this.” The hat continued, pausing a moment before declaring, “Slytherin!”

As fast as she could, she ripped the hat off her head and scrambled towards the Slytherin table, not meeting a single person's eyes. She knew what they were whispering about, they would probably whisper for a while. She was going to be known as her mother. Thank god they don't know who her father is. 

She sat at the end of the table, one of the only places left that was far away enough from others for her comfort. She decidedly did not look over to the Gryffindor table, where she knew Potter and his friends were sitting, probably discussing her betrayal. She had barely touched her ass to the seat and in front of the warm, savory smelling food before a high pitched voice rang out beside her. 

“Hey. Ava, right?” A pretty girl with a black bob and dramatic makeup asked from next to her, completely invading her personal space and smiling warmly at her.

“Yes.” She answered without looking up. She knew where this was going. 

“My name is Pansy, Pomona Dawlish, she’s a prefect, she told me you're going to be rooming with me for the foreseeable future!” Pansy smiled at the surprised girl next to her. “I know how it feels to have shit parents, most of us Slytherins do, and our house is our bond. No ones gonna make fun of you at this table.”

“What about the other tables?” Ava asked, eyeing the rest of the room and seeing more and more snickering occurring as people stared. 

“They can eat shit.” Pansy grinned back at her and took her hand. “Come sit with my friends, they're all chill, I promise.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Ava sat at the table with Pansy (and Draco’s) friends. She wasn't quite sure what to think of the motley crew she had been suddenly thrown into. They had all been nice during introductions, polite even, except for a boy named Theo who winked at her and smiled. She scowled back at him, she was not going to let boys make fun of her while she was here. She found herself really liking Pansy, despite her forwardness, and Blaise seemed nice too. There was one person who seemed to be irked by Ava’s presence, though. Draco Malfoy sat at the table and barely spoke, his eyes staring daggers into his left sleeve, the cuffs opened slightly. His hands were big, but his fingers slender, veiny and adorned by a few silver rings. She liked that his knuckles were pink compared to the pale white that coated the rest of him. 

She startled when she heard a short cough. Her eyes lifted to meet piercing blue ones, catching her in her hand-ogling. She blushed bright red, embarrassed that he had seen her staring, hoping that he didn't think she was weird, or worse crazy like her mother. Instead a small smirk grew on his lips and she quickly looked away, at anything else. 

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The rest of the feast went quickly by, Ava not saying much but still feeling included in this strange group that had swooped her up. She was nervous about what was going to happen next concerning her assignment with Draco. She wasn't sure when or how to best broach the subject and just elected to let him take the lead. She didnt want anything to do with this stupid suicide mission, anyways. 

She found herself in the Slytherin common room with the rest of the dinner crew, plus a blonde girl named Daphne who laughed like a fairy. The group was excitedly talking about what the plans were for tonight, and when the first party of the year would be. They were all sitting in front of the fire and she found herself entranced by the way the red light of the flame mixed with the blue reflections from the lake on the green upholstery. She was seated between Blaise and Pansy, and Draco was lounging in a chair alone. He had been silent for the past 30 minutes before his head slowly perked up and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Blaise?” His voice was slightly gruff and Blaise snapped to attention, smiling when he saw Draco’s face. 

“Yes sir.” He spoke before running up the stairs to the boys dormitories, leaving Ava confused. The rest of the group seemed to get it. She turned to pansy with questioning in her eyes.

“Oh, Blaise is getting his stash from the summer. He usually stocks up while we're away from school.” Pansy explained, like it made most sense in the world.

“Stash?” Ava questioned. Stash of what? Alcohol? Drugs? Something she had never heard of before?

“Just some weed and whiskey. Nothing too crazy, unfortunately.” Pansy shrugged at Ava and pointed over to the implike boy in the armchair across from them. “That's Theo’s job.” 

“Oh. I've never had either of those things before.” Ava admitted sheepishly, hands in her lap.

“Oh wow! A virgin!” Pansy giggled. “Just kidding, girl. You can try some if you want, no pressure though. If you don't want to partake tonight there will always be another, the boys love their firewhiskey.”

At that moment Blaise came barreling back down the dorm stairs and lifted two handles of whiskey above his head, whooping loudly. Theo stood up and joined in walking over to him and reached into Blaises pocket to retrieve a scrunched up ziploc baggie of weed and some cones. He strutted over to Pansy and dropped it into her lap. 

“Your highness.” He smiled at the girl and she grinned back at him.

“Thank you Blaise!” She called out to the boy who had actually purchased the paraphernalia.

“No problem, Pans.” Blaise responded before setting down the handles and conjuring some cups for everyone. “Daph you want some?”

The blonde eagerly nodded and reached her hands for a cup, already filled with the brown liquor. She smiled wide and cradled it to her chest. “Damn I've been needing some of this.” She sighed contentedly and took a long swig. 

As Blaise silently filled a cup and handed it to a stoic Draco, Theo looked to Daphne questioningly. “Same shit?” He asked the troubled girl.

“Pretty much.” Daphne stopped for breath to respond and handed her empty cup back to Blaise, who promptly refilled it for her. He also handed out cups to Pansy and Theo before stopping in front of Ava, unsure of whether to give her one or not. 

“I'll try it.” Ava quickly said before she could chicken out and gingerly took the cup from Blaises hands. 

“Yay!!” Pansy grinned and clapped her hands together. “Just don't puke, okay?”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

After about thirty minutes of nursing her drink and watching Pansy roll the joints, Ava did begin feeling slightly different. Her cheeks felt warm and she felt the urge to smile even though nothing particularly good had happened. She found herself really enjoying the company of the other Slytherins. They didn't expect her to say a lot, but still listened when she did speak. They all welcomed her and didn't ask anything about her family or her life, which she really appreciated. 

Theo by far talked the most out of the whole group and seemed to have an unbridled amount of energy. He bounced around the room and talked with his hands excitedly no matter the topic. Pansy also talked a lot, but was much more restrained and calm. Blaise was also very calm but could match everyone else's energy well. Daphne was sweet and supportive but did seem a bit more introspective. Draco mirrored her and didn't speak much at all. Everyone acted like this was completely normal, however, so Ava assumed that Draco probably was just a man of few words. 

Pansy had lit up another joint and took a drag before gesturing with it towards Ava. 

“Do you wanna try some this time?” She asked the girl next to her. For some reason, Ava felt like much of the anxiety that had been clinging to her bones all day had worn off and she found herself smiling at Pansy and taking the joint from her blood red fingertips. Pansy reached behind her and also handed her a cup of water. 

“You'll want this.” She explained, vaguely. Ava inspected the joint in her fingers for a moment before bringing it up to her lips for Pansy to light. “Breathe in slightly.” Pansy instructed, cupping her hands around the flame and successfully lighting the joint. Ava took in a small breath of the smoke and felt fire go down her throat, holding in her cough she quickly gulped down some water and shook her head a bit. 

“You'll get used to it.” Theo assured her and reached for the joint. He brought it to his lips and looked her up and down. Subconsciously, Ava crossed her legs and tried to make herself smaller. “So, you're rooming with Pansy right?” He took another drag before handing it to Draco. Avas breath caught in her throat for a moment when she saw him bring it to his lips and exhale the thick smoke. He did it so smoothly and effortlessly compared to her tiny hit and choke. 

“Yeah.” She finally answered. “Do you room with Draco and Blaise?” 

“Yeah we've got a full man pad.” Theo bragged, but she saw Draco scowl a bit at his words. Before she could stop herself a bubble of giggles came out. Pansy also laughed at Theo. 

“What the fuck is a man pad?” Pansy asked in between laughs and Daphne also joined in on the giggles. She had now draped herself over the laps of Pansy and Ava and seemed half in this world, half in some other. Ava could feel a small fraction of the bliss that Daphne was feeling and she was unsurprised to realize that she really, really liked it. For once, there wasn't an enormous weight on her chest. She felt as light as a feather. 

She tuned out the conversation around her and looked at the mesmerizing view out the window and into the lake. She could see small fish swimming close to the glass and shadows of something bigger farther out. She wondered if mermaids lived there. She had read about mermaids when she was younger, envious of their lives in the murky water. She considered how long she could hold her breath for.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello I'm ENFP 29 yo. I have ISFJ old age mother, she suffered a longtime loop and gripping especially when I married and out from home. She even blamed everything and consider herself as rightful in family. My brothers and me also being her object to be blamed cause she lost her control to us especially me who escaped from her control.

My brothers and I tried to make her comfortable with her life but she is still focus on her past and when she regrets with her decision in the past then she throw to us. sometimes she even dig it up our mistakes, so she thinks she do it right and we are problem to her. She loves money or material than us her children. Today she told me to pick other guy than my husband cause she think it's better for me than my choice, and I really upset with her. I tried to make everything well but she destroy it with one second.

Neighbors also afraid with her and suggested me to take her to psychiatry but she will refuse. I confuse to handle her and our relationship is broken cause I can't handle her for a long time. Can you give me a suggestions for handle her loop and grip, thank you

--------------------

You say you have "escaped from her control" but that doesn't sound true at all. Physically leaving home allows you to avoid direct conflict but it doesn't mean you are free from control psychologically. Dealing with overbearing/controlling parents isn't easy because children aren't fully aware of the many ways they are being controlled, even when they become adults.

Many people struggle for years until they reach a boiling point. When you're at boiling point, it means your mind has been or is about to be overcome by destructive emotions such as anger, hate, or rage, and then you can no longer think straight. The strategies people choose at this point reflect their lack of rationality.

For example, some people throw up their hands and stop caring. They might even act out angrily with no remorse, believing that they are entitled to "be free" after so many years of being pushed down. But how does this turn out in the end? Everything is likely to crash and burn. While ending the relationship is a serious possibility to consider for the sake of your well-being, do you really want to do it by burning every bridge? Most importantly, do you want to become the kind of person you hate, violent and shameless? At that point, you are still under the control of the parent because they still hold the power to bring out your worst self.

Another strategy people might choose is to stand up to the aggressor and fight fire with fire, so every interaction becomes a fight to shut each other up. But how does this turn out in the end? By meeting people's control with an attempt to control them in return, you create a never-ending power struggle. The harder you oppress people, the greater the force with which they will retaliate at the first opportunity. A relationship that is characterized by constant oppression and battling for supremacy isn't healthy. What's worse, you are still under the control of the parent because they have basically turned you into them, compelling you to react to everything they do.

What many people don't understand is that words are just sounds, so they don't have power until you grant them power through the meanings you attach to them. For example, there are a lot of people out there who use vulgar or bigoted language not because they truly believe what they say but because antisocial behavior is the only way they can get the attention they crave. By giving them the reaction they seek to trigger, you actually fuel their antisocial behavior, because you're teaching them that they have the power to control your attention and emotions.

When other people have the power to control you with mere words, what it really means is that you haven't drawn proper boundaries between self and others. Genuine question: Do you believe that each person has a right to their own opinion? You don't like people telling you what to think and feel, do you? If you want to think, feel, and speak freely, then you must grant the freedom to others as well, otherwise, you become a hypocrite. Why should anyone take a hypocrite seriously?

Of course, uttering threats of physical violence are a different story, but it doesn't sound like your mother is threatening your life. She is simply expressing her opinions, though they are toxic ones. Why do you approach your mother with the attitude that she doesn't have a right to her opinion? At the end of the day, it is probably because you still have the mentality of a child. You treat "mother" as an object from which you can obtain approval. You think you're a "free" person but your bondage is immediately revealed as soon as your mother utters an unkind word. Her words upset you because you have granted her the power to appraise you.

I said last week that "the need for approval is the chain through which abusive parents keep their children shackled". If you really want to be a free person, then you must learn how to be an independent person, meaning: 1) you can stand on your own without having to depend on others for self-worth, and 2) you are secure enough in your own existence that you can accept other people being different from you.

This brings us to another aspect of the problem that requires special attention for ENFPs. NFs are idealists, so they often visualize how the world could be more ideal. On one hand, this grants them the power to push for improvement and progress. On the other hand, this can lead them into many rude awakenings when they are constantly faced with the reality that humans aren't perfect.

You will have a very difficult time accepting the truth about your mother as long as you keep harboring hope that she can one day magically become the mom of your dreams. Yes, we all hope for kind and loving parents, but the reality is that unkind people also procreate. If you are unlucky enough to be born to unkind parents, it is best to accept the reality of who they are, rather than keep expecting reality to be otherwise and setting yourself up for constant heartbreak.

It is much easier to accept reality when you finally grow up and understand that who your parents are doesn't have to bear any relation to who you are. You get to choose what kind of person to be, so are you going to exercise that choice? It is quite possible to be a good person and do your duty of care without getting emotionally enmeshed. Doctors and nurses do it every day.

Everyone has opinions. So what? Do those opinions have to influence you? No. Do you have to believe in them? No. Do you have to let them ruin your day? No. But they will continue to influence you, trigger you, and ruin your day as long as you haven't set healthy boundaries, as long as you walk around with the unrealistic expectation that everyone should be just like you, think/feel as you do, or agree with your every value.

Of course, depending on how severe the wounds of abuse are, some people simply don't have the strength or skill to draw healthy boundaries with abusive parents. If that's the case, there's no shame in keeping your distance or severing the relationship. Abusive parents have taken too much already, so you don't owe them anything. It's important to be honest and realistic about your own capabilities. Perhaps one day, if you work on yourself and work on building healthy boundaries, you will have the emotional fortitude to handle harsh criticism and verbal abuse without getting hurt. But until then, protecting yourself from harm should be the main priority.