#and that frustrates me so much‚ I hate those situations of obvious abuse where is just the yanderee the one suffering all the time

[loredwy]

I mean, I do agree that if it had a healthy twist it could be cool. Thats kinda like the characters you find in found family manhwas, where the main character gets an overprotective family that would conquer countries or buy anything no matter how expensive, and even get kinda jealous for the mc attention without damaging anyone in the process. And where their mls are usually pretty obsessive but trying their best for the main character.

The problem tho... is that the whole yandere idea kinda originated from the whole parasocial theme? and is usually related to non consented obsessions because of that, making it toxic. And, well, they usually escalate it to even more 'creepy' stuff by using it as a medium to an end, as for getting an excuse to draw blood, hurt characters in a sexual context, or stuff like that.

So... yeah, in my opinion, the yandere theme is bad because of toxic behaviours being an inherent part of it, which are not necessarily always resolved, not because of yanderes just being obsessive.

Yanderes aren't for everyone, so I've included a content warning.

HOT TAKE TOURNAMENT!

PRELIMINARY #223

Submission 720

yanderes are good, actually

i know for a fact this is hot because the inverse take was validated earlier. but i'm also gonna justify it just because.

the yandere trope is good and cool. people bash it for being a glorification of abuse or "toxic" or basically... bizarre and disturbing. but have you ever stopped to consider consensual yandere tropes? because the problem isn't ACTUALLY the "yandere" behavior, it's that in "classical" yandere media, it's portrayed as unwanted or frightening to the recipient. the problem is that it's portrayed as unconsenting. but that isn't a problem that's UNIQUE to the yandere genre.

whereas, if you were to consider a consensual yandere relationship...

what if the recipient WANTED someone to be a little obsessive, controlling, devoted to them? what if, in all their devotion, the yandere LISTENED to feedback and catered to their partner's wants and needs? what if "yandere" is simply a trope designed for the weird, the broken, the overinvested, the traumatized? what if to be loved possessively is not a sign of abuse, but a metric of security? what if a yandere is simply a person who is too broken to be well adjusted to the conventional levels at which society expects them to love? what if that love is so WARPED by their lived experience that it appears bizarre and shocking and frightening to the public, but warm and intense and unrelenting, unyielding and securely present, to its recipient? what if, such a person could exist, that would only feel at ease with such a devoted and intense form of love? what then? what if being a yandere were about jealousy and selfishness and possessiveness and control, but moreover, about devotion and care and dedication and conviction to never leave, to care deeply and passionately even when it doesn't seem acceptable, to love in a way that feels safe and ensured.

the yandere trope represents intense and broken lovers and i unironically love it. i WILL die on this hill.

Can I... tell you a secret? It's kind of embarassing, so... keep it between us, okay? I said this poll was for everyone, but really, it was only for you... so I hope you liked it!

Maybe this is a little too forward, but I'd love it if you posted propaganda! B-but you don't have to, if you don't want to! Just being seen by you, being able to be near you... that would be enough... for now, that's enough...

And it's okay for you to reblog our favourite polls for exposure... it feels weird sharing our special things, having everyone see my love for you... but it makes me happy! I want them to know - to know that you're mine... But if you don't reblog them, that makes me happy too! It's like I get to keep you all to myself...

[RESPONSES TO THE ORIGINAL TAKE BELOW]

[sergeantxrogers]

| confused all the time |

Summary: Bucky’s back, and Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (post CA:TWS)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Angst, violence, slight TW for physical abuse (but not really), just a shit ton of crying because apparently I can’t have a fic without some hurt/comfort

__________________________________

"It was him, I just know it. I would bet my life on it."

Steve ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, pacing the floor of your shared bedroom.

You sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed and frowning. You were worried for him, you really were. Of course, you trusted Steve, with your life practically, and you believed him, but seeing him in this state made you upset.

Apparently, seeing his best friend after decades of thinking he was dead hadn't affected him very positively. There's also the small additional fact that he, the aforementioned best friend, had no idea who Steve was. After finding him on the river bank, last seeing him falling through the sky along with the rubble into the water, lids heavy and barely breathing, soaking wet and cold, it had taken you several days to bring him out of the state of shock he was in.

He had kept insisting it was Bucky who had dragged him out of the water; kept insisting that he saw the hesitation in his eyes before he threw the final punch; kept insisting he had recognized him. You pulled him through every claim with silent nods and the occasional "I know, babe".

Today was different though. It had been 8 days since the incident on the helicarrier, and Steve had been losing his mind bit by bit everyday trying to piece together the how, when and why of the whole situation. Which brought you to right now, watching him shut his eyes and let out deep breaths trying to calm himself down.

"How is it even..," he started quietly. You got up on your knees and moved over to the edge of the bed, leaning a bit to reach out to him.

"I saw him fall," he stated blankly, taking your outstretched hand mindlessly, interlacing your fingers. You bit the inside of your cheek and tilted your head at him.

"Stevie...," you began, and he pulled his hand from yours suddenly.

"I saw him, Y/N, I couldn't see anything else for months. I couldn't sleep because all I could see were his eyes losing hope and all I could hear was him screaming."

You nodded slightly, getting up off the bed and slowly making your way a couple steps over to him.

"So how? How? I know it's him, I just can't, for the life of me, understand how," he said desperately as his head shot up to make eye contact with you. You let out a deep sigh as you grabbed his hands in your own, trying to give him some sense of stability, if only for a split second. You admit, it was very hard to believe, and somewhere in the back of your mind you worried that Steve had lost his mind completely; it had only been a matter of time, honestly, considering everything he'd been through. You had no idea how to talk to him about this, but you knew you should approach the subject lightly.

"Steve, honey, I know you must miss him a lot, and I know it was a horrible thing for you to see him... go like that... but-"

His eyes that were previously burning holes into the floor shot up to meet yours, seemingly furious.

Okay, so maybe it could've been approached even lighter. Oops.

"But? But what?" he challenged, daring you to finish the sentence. In all honestly, you had no idea where you were planning on going with it, but now you were nervous. Very, very nervous.

Steve had this incredulous are you kidding me look he gave people when they said something stupid or rude. It was one of those looks where the disappointment was obvious and whoever it was directed at felt immediate regret. The look of God's Righteous Man and America's Golden Boy, and all that. And you were sure as hell feeling that regret right about now.

"Go on, finish your sentence, honey," he ended on a sarcastic note, pulling away from you to cross his arms. You felt your stomach clench as he leaned his head back to look down at you, raising a brow in waiting.

You swallowed, and shook your head slowly, not knowing what to say. You just wanted to help him, but seeing Bucky like that had made him act like a completely different person ever since. He was frustrated all the time, he tended to roll his eyes at people way more than appropriate, and he always got lost in his thoughts, not registering anything or anyone around him for hours at a time. Nobody knew what to expect from him at any given moment, which is what made your pulse pick up speed. You weren't necessarily afraid of him; Steve would kill himself before he ever deliberately hurt you, but you hated confrontation of any kind.

Steve took a step towards you, and in turn you took a step back. Your brows furrowed as you opened and closed your mouth repeatedly, racking through your brain for something to say to diffuse the situation before it got too out of hand.

"Steve, I'm just... worried about you," you let out honestly.

"You haven't been sleeping... you haven't been eating as much as you should, you've been snapping at people who are just trying to help you..."

You caught the way his nostrils flared slightly at the last part, before he took another wide step in your direction. You took another step back. He did it again, but this time when you stepped back, you were met with the cool surface of the wall against you.

"Baby...," he says lowly, lowering his head to meet your eyes at the same level, "... do you, by any chance, think I'm overreacting? Or do you maybe not believe me?"

Clenching your teeth, you wanted nothing more than to reach your arms out and have him fall into them, but you knew it wasn't the right situation for it. Instead, he placed his hands on either side of your head, trapping you. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose before speaking.

"No, you know I believe you. You know I'll always be by your side, right or wrong, it's just... you've been so preoccupied with this that it's changing you."

Steve's jaw tensed and he closed his eyes, dropping his head.

"I'm just so confused all the time," he whispered, just barely.

"I know, baby, I know," you cooed, and you brought your hands up to hold his face.

The minute your fingers made contact with his skin, he snapped.

"Stop saying you fucking know, Y/N!" he yelled, slamming the wall to the left of your head with each word, and your heart jumped. You flinched, drawing your hands into yourself immediately, turning your head away from his hand.

"You don't fucking know anything I'm going through, nobody does and I just want some goddamn answers!" he continued furiously.

You felt tears in your eyes and heard Steve take deep breaths. You didn't know what had shocked you more, the fact that Steve swore, the close proximity of his hand to your head or the fact that he had finally cracked, nonetheless, at you.

Your hands shook ever so slightly at your sides as you refused to open your eyes. Steve's labored breaths slowed, and you heard his hands slide down and off the wall. Feeling him step away from you, you opened your eyes just a bit. It was enough to see him looking at you with regret in his eyes. You saw the clarity flood them as his bottom lip trembled; he was about to cry at what he just did.

Your body filled with worry as you surged forwards, arms reaching out to him, but he held his own up and quickly moved away from you. You stood there, both of you worried, eyes filled with tears, hands held up in surrender and hopelessness. It was quiet. Quieter than what you were used to with Steve, and you didn't like it.

Tears ran down his cheeks and he brought one hand up to his hair, pulling at it, a habit he had when he was frustrated with himself. Turning his head away from you, he went to sit on the bed and rested his head in his hands.

You followed him. You knew he didn't plan for that to play out the way it did, so you weren't mad. But you also knew he was mad at himself now, for letting himself go that far. Feeling you come closer, Steve's head shot up from his hands and he quickly shook his head.

"No-" he choked out, holding his hand out to stop you from coming any nearer, afraid of hurting you. The sight of him made your heart hurt, and you felt cool air on the wet streaks your tears left behind on your face as you walked to stand straight in front of him, pushing his hand away.

He kept pushing you back with his hand, and you kept pushing it away from you, determined to hold him even if it was the last thing you'd ever do.

He let out continuous whimpers: "stop", "please don't", "I'm so sorry", "I can't-".

Your hands trembled as you pushed his hand away harder than before.

"Steven, fucking stop it," you said through clenched teeth, pushing at his hands, hating the way the two of you must've looked, and hating the way he was retreating into himself, too scared to even look you in the eyes.

You finally managed to drop to your knees in front of him sitting on the edge of the bed, and you rested your hands on his knees.

"Stevie, it's oka-," you started.

Cutting you off, he took a deep, trembling breath and slid off the bed. His legs on either side of you, head hanging low, he timidly ran his hands up your thighs and over your hips, bringing them to rest loosely on your waist. Grabbing his head and lifting it so you could look at him better, he let out a deep, pained whine when his eyes met your own.

"Everything is just so much," he whispered and brought his head forward to rest against your chest, moving his arms to wrap around your waist. Another wave of tears washed over you and you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck, placing a soft kiss to his hair.

"I'm just so tired," he whined out into your chest, the words vibrating deep in your soul, and you pinched your eyes shut to keep anymore new tears from falling.

Nodding silently, you stroked the back of his head softly.

You placed another kiss on his head, humming through it, rocking side to side slowly. He was going to beat himself up about this for a long, long time, you just knew it. Your travelled down to his back, tracing patterns on it as his breath steadied.

"It's okay... it's okay," you mumbled into his hair, barely audible, but the kisses you felt him leaving on your chest showed you he heard.

You sat there for an hour, rocking him back and forth, until he fell asleep.

You sat there for another as he slept, until your back was sore and your legs were numb.

You didn't care though, Steve had done the same and more for you countless of times. He was always there, as were you.

No, you didn't understand what he was going through, he was right about that part. But, feeling his body relax into yours, feeling the grip he had on your waist loosen, feeling his breath go steady, feeling the wet spots on your shirt where his tears had soaked through, you were determined to try.

[spenciegoob]

The 4 Types of Manipulation

A/N: hey hey hey cuties... just thought I’d drop in to tell you I love you and Harry Styles at the Grammy’s, oh and Miley Cyrus in general. Okay that’s it.

Summary: Spencer has to interrogate an unsub, but she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Unsub!Reader

Category: Not fluff, but not angst... angsty fluff? fluffy angst?

Content Warning: mentions of murder, manipulation, mentions of sex in the form of flirting, mentions of drug use, mentions of emotional abuse

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.8K

____

Nobody dared to take a breath out of place, every profiler was packed into the room watching with careful eyes at the sobbing girl in the interrogation room through the glass. No one knew what their first step should be, but I guess there’s a first time for everything, right? Winging it was not something anyone in the BAU enjoyed doing, each case needed a thought out plan.

But they’ve seen this unsub before, they know the profile, the history, they know her. So why was she crying so hard that the weight of her head became unbearable, leaving her only option to sob into the crooks of her elbows as best as she could with wrists cuffed to the table?

Nobody knew, except for Spencer Reid.

Emily was hesitant, as expected, to blindly send in one of the best agents she’s ever seen into the room that with each tear shed slowly morphed into a lion’s den. Reid deserved better, she knew that, especially since the last time they dealt with an unsub like this one, Spencer had to be so far out of the loop that the case almost broke him.

He put up a good fight though, and if the determination set in his eyes wasn’t enough to inform the unit chief that she was not winning this argument, his deviance to storm through the door, startling the young woman chained down definitely did.

Why was it always Spencer?

Tears:

“P-please, I didn’t do anything.” Those were the first words anyone’s heard her say since the arrest, even if they were separated by sniffles and choked out sobs. 

Spencer just stared down at her, not taking the risk to further entertain the stuttering girl with wet cheeks and tired eyes.

“I promise I’m not a murderer. You have to believe me, please.” That promise whispered so quietly made with unbreakable eye contact urged him to take a second to reevaluate the situation.

She was apprehended in place of Jacob Hughes, the man they had originally been looking for. There was a chance she wasn’t complicit, a chance she was innocent. Maybe Jacob placed a hair of hers at the latest crime scene because he knew they were closing in.

Or maybe she is just as sick as he is. 

“Prove it,” Spencer said, his tone loud and assertive, leaving no room for argument. She didn’t plan on fighting his demand anyway.

“I- I haven’t seen Jacob for days. He drugged those men, and did h-horrible things. Those poor men.” This struck a nerve, everybody could tell, even the one person in this interaction that wasn’t a profiler. 

Spencer’s shoulders tensed for a millisecond, but she saw it. She saw what her words were doing to him, after all, he used to be one of those poor men she felt so sorry for.

Another loud sob echoed off the concrete walls before she bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath.

“I can’t believe he mur... did that to them. H-how could he?” Spencer watched as the young girl looked up to him like he held the answer to the million dollar question. He studied the way her eyes bounced around his face, looking for something, anything to relieve some confusion when it came to her fiancé.

“Jacob Hughes is what we call a vindictive narcissist and a sadist. He receives pleasure from hurting others, and in this case, drugging and torturing men because he feels he’s been wronged his whole life. The question, however, is why. I know you know, just like how I know you’re aware of his crimes.”

It was a blow so low it could’ve come from hell itself. Spencer regretted it immediately when he watched the way her whole body stiffened at the mention of her knowledge, but he had to be certain no matter the fallout.

“I-I still don’t understand. I’ve never seen him hurt anyone.” Denial, guilt and fear all jam packed into 3 little words that had his heart dangerously close to breaking. The sorrow in her eyes believable enough that Spencer left his standing position between the suspect and the door to sit directly across from her.

She watched his movements with careful eyes, only stealing glances from her peripherals before returning to her cuffed wrists.

“Maybe you’ve never seen him physically hurt anyone, but we know what he does to you.” It was the first and only time Spencer let any emotion, as fake as it was, show in his responses. How could he not try when the girl resumed her sobbing at the implication of her past deception from the man she loves? 

“You know nothing,” she whispered back, her tone laced with defensive anger.

“I know everything.” Was he challenging her?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Was she challenging him?

“You know what it means.” Yes, he was.

“Do I?” Yes, she was.

The two stared at each other for the entire tone shift in the stuffy interrogation room. The other profilers on the other side of the mirror had no knowledge of how thick the tension had just become because unlike Spencer, they weren’t standing in the middle of it.

Small sniffles were the only noise breaking through the quiet until suddenly, they just stopped.

“Ugh, fine! You win this round. My eyes are starting to hurt from all this goddamn crying. Do people actually cry this much when you arrest them?”

Spencer leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms to clearly convey just how unamused he was with the girl’s antics. She watched him intently, picking apart every move down to the muscle trying to search for any indicators that her little performance worked even a fraction of what she was hoping for.

And she got her wish in the form of the agent’s fingers tapping lightly at his sides under perfectly muscular, if she may add, arms, because any other movement would have been too obvious.

Spencer Reid was getting nervous, because the second her facade faded, he lost the upper hand. She just had to get him trapped in here.

“Oh come on. Not even a ‘good job’? I wasn’t expecting full blown applause, but some appreciation for that show would be nice.” Still, Spencer gave her nothing. He needed her to keep talking, and filling silence was a sure way to make certain she did just that.

“I’ll tell you what you need to know, but first you have to admit that I had you fooled for a second there.”

Lies:

“No.” Unexpectedly, instead of getting frustrated with Spencer’s refusal to play along, she just smiled brighter. This was exciting to her, and it was getting on his nerves.

“What gave it away? Did I look to the left before I spoke or something?” Spencer kept his mouth shut. “Come on, what’s my tell? Enlighten me.”

She copied his movements as Spencer leaned over the cool, metal table slightly, eyes racking over her face, lingering on certain parts for longer than others.

“No.” At this, she huffed back in her seat, leaving the close proximity that would later be used as a secret tool against the doctor before he had the chance to catch on. 

“If you’re just going to shut down every single one of my proposals, then why am I here?”

“You’re here because you’re a suspect in a series of 7 murders in the past 5 weeks.” She perked up at his words, amusement dripping from her features.

“Finally, Doc has something more to say than just ‘no.’ Tell me, was that so hard?”

“No.”

“Ugh!” Rolling her eyes would be giving ammo to the enemy, but the urge to do so was quite strong. In fact, she almost did until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the one way mirror.

“I’m serious when I say this,” she said, looking directly into Spencer’s eyes so he couldn’t accuse her of lying. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll answer everything.”

“No.”

“Please! They’re seriously starting to hurt. I put 100% into that performance, and now it’s coming back to bite me in the-”

“Fine!” Spencer stood up carefully, not walking around the table until he was certain the girl wasn’t a flight risk, or worse. When he did finally make his way over, she sat completely still, not taking her eyes off where his fingers grazed hers as the handcuffs unlocked.

A breath of relief escaped her as she rubbed her wrists with the opposite hands, eventually feeling the blood fully return to all 10 fingers.

“Thank you.” It was so vulnerable and raw that it knocked Spencer back for a second. They locked eyes, and something deeper than he was ready for passed between them.

He didn’t know what it was, all he knew was that he hated it so much that he tore his eyes away immediately to return back to his original spot seated across from her.

“Answer me this-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Neither of them spoke for far too much time, and Spencer was growing more annoyed by the second.

“What?” It came out harsh, and mean, and downright cruel, but he couldn’t care less.

“Oh nothing, I just wasn’t going to answer anything. I really just wanted to fix my hair.” And, in being true to her words this time, she secured her hair into a messy bun using the elastic Spencer didn’t even realize was missing from his wrist.

“I’m putting the cuffs back on.”

“No wait,” she pleaded, halting Spencer’s move to get up. “They really did hurt, I wasn’t lying about that.”

“I don’t care.” He made his way over, forcefully grabbing both of her wrists before securing the handcuffs back on. Spencer only regretted his actions slightly when she winced at the metal now back to pressing into her skin.

“Yes you do. It’s your biggest flaw.” Instead of answering, Spencer just returned to his seat, leaning back with crossed arms. He didn’t need to listen to a psychopath tell him his flaws.

“You care too much,” she continued, not minding if he was listening or not. “It gets you hurt, other people hurt. I wish that wasn’t the case. You deserve better, Doc.”

Spencer didn’t engage, opting to gawk tiredly at the suspect, and watch the way her eyes flicker across his features, gauging for a reaction. She wasn’t done.

“Hey, okay, fine. I’m just messing with you,” she laughed, finally breaking her serious facade. “What? A girl can’t joke around while she’s being accused of murder?”

“Accused? Or caught?”

“Accused.” It was final, her tone immediately dropping to a fiery rage. Her defenses were up, and Spencer was never really good at playing on the offensive team.

This time, it was Spencer’s turn to analyze, watching the way the blood rushed to her cheeks with her rising anger level. How all of a sudden her eyes lost their playful glint, giving him the chance to fully see the soul buried deep in them. For a split second, she was completely unveiled right before his eyes.

Spencer, clearly not anticipating just how long the girl in front of him could hold her own, used his last bullet.

He placed the crime scene photos in front of her.

“You know who did this.” It wasn’t a question, he saw it in her eyes. Spencer watched the way they remained stoic even after looking at the bloody walls, and vacant eyes of the deceased.

“No.” Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Who are you protecting?” Her head shot up at his question, eyes flashing red before she blinked it away again. Subconsciously, she started to pick at her fingernails.

“No one.” It was a lie if he’s ever heard one. 

Fear:

“You’re lying. Who is it?” 

“I’m not lying.” She wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. Instead, she gave her undivided attention to her shaky hands confined to the table.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Enough! Who are you protecting?!” At this, Spencer stood up and slammed his hands against the table with a strong amount of force that she flinched hard enough to further irritate her wrists.

He felt awful, the bouncing back and forth between them should have given him enough indicators that she wasn’t lying out of spite. But he couldn’t back down, he had her cornered and her only way out was to tell the truth.

“No one.” She wouldn’t look at him, even as she whispered. “Please stop.”

Spencer truly believed that he had her in a bind, an inescapable one at that, but it wasn’t the truth. Oh no, what the profiler failed to realize was she had him where she needed him.

“I have no information to give you,” she whispered before tagging along. “I’m sorry.” It was the first time she apologized for something Spencer could have seen as an inconvenience.

He believed her, too.

“I shouldn’t have yelled.” That was his form of an apology. Spencer wasn’t going to go any further with it, even if she was coerced into lying by whoever the true unsub is, she was still getting on his nerves.

Her hands were still shaking at this point, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Spencer just slumped back into his seat, settling into the silence between them until ultimately he was either called out of the room, or she gave him another indication that her game hasn’t ended.

A loud sigh bounced off the walls. “I don’t care that you yelled in my face. You think it’s the first time a man’s done that? You’re not special, Doctor.”

“I never said I was.” So the game carries on, but this time, she didn’t smile at his sarcastic response. Leaning back in her chair, she huffed a breath before continuing.

“You really want to be though, don't you?”

Lust:

She was pushing his buttons, trying so hard to dig under his skin till she was unremovable. She wanted Spencer to leave this room with her on his mind for the rest of his days.

She was close too.

“No, I don’t,” Spencer deadpanned, trying to keep a cool tone. If he continued to hand her the ammunition she needed, he would be left defenseless.

“Oh come on, loosen up. I was just joking.”  A smirk grew across her features, a thought crossing her eyes. One Spencer knew would not be in favor of his win tonight. “I could help you with that, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” He did. Spencer wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that the woman sitting across the table wasn’t extremely attractive; she was. He just would never admit it aloud.

“I have a feeling you like to get rough, don’t you, Doctor?” She asked, sitting up and crossing her legs. The stare shared between the two of them was a mix between passion and anger, meeting in the middle to create a new kind of emotion.

“Is this fun for you?” She left out bait, and Spencer was stupid enough to fall for it. Emily once said that a pretty face slashed his IQ in half.

He couldn’t help but agree.

“Undo these cuffs, and I’ll show you what fun is.” She was toying with him now, and they weren’t going to get anywhere, but Spencer couldn’t find it within himself to get up and leave. She had him by the...

“I’m going to get that confession.” It was like he was five years old again, arguing on the playground with the older kids about how their insults didn’t make sense.

“What’re you going to do, punish me?” She asked, the last words in a hushed whisper. When Spencer’s cheeks grew hotter, and his eyes darker, she knew she had him.

“You do like to get rough! My, my, Doctor, you're keeping me at the edge of my seat here.” She let out a boisterous laugh before really digging the knife deeper. “Is that why you kept the cuffs on?”

Before he could snap back, the door flew open and Emily stood there with a tablet in her hand. “You need to see this.”

Spencer got up to leave, thankful for the reprieve even if he did have to return to the interrogation after speaking with Emily. He almost made it to the door before a voice called out behind him.

“Wait!” She called after him, the cuffs rattled when she instinctively went to reach for Spencer. “Aren’t you going to answer my question, Doctor.”

Playing chess his whole life, Spencer had never once played a game where Checkmate presented itself unexpectedly. He was always at least three moves ahead in his mind, seeing the inevitable end before he even began his gameplay. There was a first for everything, because his last move suddenly arose.

“No.”

_____

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[jasontoddssoulmate]

I made an account for the sole purpose of this TUA fic concept

I’m a sucker for those “the characters read the books/watch the series” fics and I’ve read a little for TUA but I just had the idea:

The Hargreeves kids watching the two seasons but instead of just the seven of them, their birth mothers are brought in to watch as well

Maybe have the birth mothers family (if they have any) watch it with them 

This happens before everything. Before Ben’s death, before Five’s disappearance, before they even have their names. The kids, One through Seven, are brought in. Maybe when they’re old enough to get the gist of what’s going on, but before they’re 13.

These 6 young women are brought in (because I adore that Luther and Five being twins is canon in the comics and I love the mention of it), and they’re confused because maybe The Umbrella Academy isn’t internationally well known so the kids are familiar but they can’t put the name to the face. Not until they introduce themselves, anyways, and suddenly they’re face to face with the baby that they gave away years ago.

Maybe a few of them regret it, maybe they tried to forget it, maybe they spend so much of their time thinking about it or maybe they’re overjoyed that their baby seems to be doing so well. 

But their names. 

There’s just so much about them that doesn’t feel,,, so right? Maybe that’s not the word for it but they’re too polite sometimes, their casually cruel treatment towards their sister isn’t normal and the way that they simultaneously act entitled and inferior towards each other isn’t suppose to be as normal as the kids make it out to be. 

All in all, the women are confused and maybe a bit wary of their casual usage of powers among each other that’s normal to the siblings as much as it is abnormal to the birth mothers. 

But communication is easy since each child learned their own mother language as well as the language of their siblings birth place and then some which only seems to remind the women that holy shit these kids are technically rich because of their father

The Hargreeves though? They’re confused and wary as hell. They may not have been introduced as The Inaugural Class of The Umbrella Academy yet (or maybe they have considering what your timeline is) but they’ve been training for most of their life and the situation is baffling. Here are these random people that they’ve never met before (at least to their knowledge) and they’ve never had to go outside to interact with others, not really at least. 

So it makes sense that they go for polite but threatening. They maybe decide unanimously that the weaker willed ones like Four, Six and Seven are discreetly protected behind their older (in spirit) siblings, One, Two, Three and Five. 

But they’re no real threat, its obvious in the way that the Hispanic woman uses such an endearing term like “mijo/a” and the way that the Russian woman has an ever present smile on her face and such a sweet disposition that reminds them of their littlest sibling and hey her eyes look just like Seven 

So after a while, they’re more open to being relaxed. Not Five though, he’s always been just a little paranoid and being a 58-year-old in a 13-year-old body never had anything to do with it. So he’s got a harsh personality but the Danish woman doesn’t seem to be deterred. He kind of reminds her of her older twin brother who acts so harshly, but who she knows loves her so much.  

So here are 7 siblings and 6 women and maybe family that was there for the women when they needed them the most. And maybe the person(s) behind this decide to be kept anonymous but they oh so want the children to get to know what being cared for is like. Maybe these women get to know the consequences of their actions or the children learn that the one who birthed them had their reasons. And it’s no excuse but it’s also not their fault. Both parties should be able to feel what they feel because it’s a complicated and maybe painful situation. 

The children lose their respect for their father every episode. Even One, who they all know cherished the favoritism but it doesn’t get in the way of his horror when he finds out that he used to lock Four in the mausoleum, still does if the flashbacks are anything to go by because not Four, not the kindest and brightest of their siblings. 

And when they learn of Seven’s powers and the reason why they are never present, they are understandably upset. They feel rage and disbelief that she had such a crucial part of herself ripped away at such a young age, because they know that their powers are like another limb. They’re born with it and they grow up with it and they were able to live their life with it so they feel rage. Rage that Seven had been so violated. Rage that the Seven they know isn’t really the Seven she was suppose to grow up to be. The Seven they knew as toddlers was sweet towards them but had a mean protective streak a mile wide that could never be controlled, not even by their father. The Seven they know now is so meek and desperate for attention. The Russian woman looks the most devastated as she thinks of the baby girl she got to hold for only a few hours before she was whisked away by a rich old man who is turning out to be the monster that one often hears about in television. 

But the women? They watch as the children in front of them, maybe a little damaged and emotionally constipated but so obviously protective and caring for each other, grow to be the grow ups in the screen above them that grow up and grow apart after so much tragedy. 

They watch as seven eventually becomes five. 

How Luther is sent to isolation for years and he goes along with it in a bid to continue to please their father.

How Diego continues to rebel because he wasn’t able to growing up but also maybe because he wants to spite his father, no matter how much he protests that he could care less what his father thinks.

How Allison goes through a divorce and loses her parental rights to even see her daughter due to her dependence of her powers that leaves her devastated. 

How Klaus is an addict who desperately wishes to get rid of the ghosts that have followed him all his life. 

How Five disappears only a little while after their current timeline.

How Ben was brutally killed by his own powers, never getting to grow up and become his own person. 

How Vanya can’t seem to do anything but go through the motions of her life, maybe having a little hope that she’ll be seen this time around, but is quickly squashed from Diego’s disparaging comments and the casual dismissal of her from her living siblings. 

They watch all this, and feel sadness and rightful anger that their babies lead the life of ex-child superheroes. The life of abused children. The life of children who had only each other. 

But was it really enough? Was it enough to know that they loved each other but had a hard time showing it and owning up to it due to fear of their father? Due to the constant comparisons and the way Sir Reginald had them turn on each other. 

But they knew it was enough. They see it in how Diego waits for Klaus to drive him around even after he had expresses annoyance beforehand, in the joy on Allison’s face when she sees Klaus again after so long, in how Five makes sure to check up on Klaus after his kidnapping, on Luther’s face when he apologizes to Vanya after realizing his own misgivings, in Ben’s task of continuing to follow his brother around even when it pains him and in Klaus trying to comfort Luther after he finds the unopened correspondents. They see it in the support they show Vanya as she goes to check on Harlan.

It had to be enough to know that after all they went through, they still care for one another and at the end of the day, would protect one another just as they were as One through Seven. 

So they watch what would be the Hargreeve’s kids misadventures, they watch as they grow together and grow apart just to grow together again, much stronger than before. 

They express sadness and disbelief when they see where Five ends up, they get mad when Leonard throws Vanya’s pills away, they grieve when they learn that Ben is dead, they’re embarrassed but find it hilarious whenever Klaus cracks an inappropriate joke, they become protective when there’s allusion to Vanya having sex, and are rightfully ready to throw down with Leonard as they watch their littlest sibling get gaslit into believing her family hates her as he nitpicks all of her interactions with her family. 

But just as they express their feelings over what happens to their family, they feel an immense amount of exasperation towards their older selves because so much could be fixed if they only talked to each other. 

They watch and despair over the missed opportunity that is Leonard in the same house as them just as they find out what his role is in the apocalypse.

Four tears up as he watched Klaus and Dave’s reunion be undone after all the heartache. 

Seven cringes when Vanya dismisses Five’s claims that he had been stuck in an apocalyptic wasteland and suggests that he’s gone crazy after his stint with time travel. 

Three feels her heart drop to her stomach as the flashback shows what becomes the moment that she faces the hard truth that come with her use of her powers.

Five feels himself flush in embarrassment as he watched two version of himself in the future, one that looks not much older than he does currently, go through paradox psychosis. 

Six feels frustration and a fierce grief that leaves him confused because he’s still alive he’s not dead, but I don’t have much longer. 

One feels horror as he watches himself hurt his siblings one after the other with a sense of helplessness because this isn’t me, I wouldn’t do this but I already did, why would I hurt my siblings, I’m Number One I have to be the one who protects them- 

The women, on the other hand, see themselves in their children. 

The French woman sees how her daughter and granddaughter, it seems, both look like a carbon copy of herself and her own mother. 

The Danish woman sees herself and her twin brother in Luther and Five. Sees her own personality reflected in Luther and her brothers personality in Five. Sees how her twins care just as much for each other and their siblings as herself and her brother do each other.

The Hispanic woman sees Diego’s fierce sense of justice that leaves others in the dust, and sees herself as she fought to keep her boy but ultimately lost him just as Diego loses Eudora. She thinks to herself like mother like son and bitterly laughs to herself but she’s so grateful that Diego had a mother who cared for him just as she cared for him because she often though about him and always made sure to commemorate his birthday. 

The German woman can’t help but see herself in her boy. Can’t help but see her little brother in him. Can’t help but see her older brother in him. Because Klaus is so joyful but he hides his pain behind a mask like her younger brother, he’s so loving towards his siblings like her older brother, and so nonsensical like herself. So like herself, down to the curly hair and the addiction. Even if she was able to overcome it with support from her family, it pains her and leaves her in despair to see Klaus and can’t find fault in those he had around him because she sees how much they try and sees how hard the Hargreeves find expressing emotion is to others. 

The Asian woman sees how sweet and shy her youngest is and thinks only of her oldest, who reminds her so much of him and can only despair in seeing that he didn’t live as long as her oldest had. She can only ask herself why her children don’t seem to be able to see themselves to adulthood but can only be grateful that even in death he has someone with him.

The Russian woman knows that her husband sees her in little number Seven, in Vanya, no matter how little that is. Maybe their personalities aren’t so similar because Seven is shy but she’s got the sweetest heart and so clearly loves her siblings. She has the same smile that she has and her little doe eyes remind her of herself when she was younger. She’s so small next to her siblings, just like herself. 

So they see themselves in these kids, these grown ups. But so do the Hargreeves. 

They see how Luther looks like what the Danish woman would look like as a man and how Five looks exactly like a younger version of the Danish man who introduced himself as the woman's older brother. 

They see how Two has the same skin tone and facial structure as the Hispanic woman. 

They see that Allison looks exactly like the French woman and see the same in Claire. 

They see Four’s curly hair and slim build in the German woman. 

They notice how Six shares the same dark hair and lower facial features. 

They see Seven’s eyes and smile and short stature in the Russian woman. 

So maybe they don’t know them well enough to see what the women see, but they grow to see it overtime because they spend so much time there, in this suspended room in time.

The women insist on getting to know them and vice versa. They insist that they have to talk about their feelings and assure them or gently scold them, depending on the reason, for what they feel because god do these children need to learn how to talk more about their emotions in a healthy way.

They get closer to the children and start to really see their childish side. They all fight over the silliest things, and become pouty when attention isn’t being drawn over to them. They crave physical affection, even Five who won’t admit that his maternal uncle patting him and One of the head made him feel all gooey inside. They make faces towards foods that they don’t like and still prefer junk food over real food. 

So maybe it’s harder to let themselves act like children because they’re being conditioned to not “be childish” but even then they have their lapses in control. Four enters a state of panic after being reminded of his time in the mausoleum. One feels overwhelming guilt when he sees how Luther hurts Klaus and reminds himself that he’s the one that needs to protect them, as the leader and self proclaimed older sibling. Five feels himself cry for the first time in a long while when he sees how his siblings act towards him in the future and realize it hurts him deeply because he knows that he’s messed up their lives a lot but can’t they see that he only want to keep them alive, he doesn’t want to see them die again, he can’t-

But instead of being shamed into controlling their emotions, they are comforted and reassured. Four’s birth mother helps ground him and counts his breathing with him to keep him from falling further into his panic. One get’s reassured by his birth mother that his future self isn’t his current self. That everyone in the room has seen just how much he cares for his siblings and knows he would do anything for them. The twins uncle gives into his urge and hugs Five, whispering in a hushed tone that it’s okay to cry, to let it all out. He whispers that his older siblings are being idiots and if they knew just how much their actions were hurting you, they wouldn’t hesitate to apologize and hug you too. His words only make Five cry harder. 

So they are cared for and allowed to be themselves fully and can be childish to their hearts content. And their birth families watch on in amazement and adoration. 

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

I have so much more that I’ll probably add later, but basically I want them to be cared for, allowed to care for each other and learn to express themselves better. I want to see them get to have a good relationship with an adult and if possible their birth mothers. 

Pls share links and stuff if you get inspired, I’m not much for writing fanfic but I really do want to see something like this. I’d read the shit out of it. I have so much more that I want to add but I’ll probably do something about it later. 

[darlingbudsofrae]

Andrew Minyard Appreciation Post

Foxes Appreciation Series : || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6  || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 ||

I believe that even with all the overwhelming Andrew Minyard content, we can never give the love this precious soul deserves.

Andrew Joseph Minyard deserves all the love in this universe.

He is very loyal.

Like, because he was often left behind most of the times in his past, it’s kind of ironic how Andrew understands the concept of family.

How willing he is to fight for his family, keep his family- even if it doesn’t show in the most obvious ways.

Friendly reminder that Andrew Minyard strike deals with people because he thinks it’s the only way to make people stay.

Friendly reminder that he is willing to go through hell and back for his family to the point of even hurting himself.

Because he could give less shit if he gets hurt. This MF is willing to go all in in protecting “his” people even if it kills him because he just don’t see anything worth living his life all the while secretly doing the best he could because he wants his family to succeed and that’s just-

Isn’t it ironic that everything Andrew Minyard are for are also the same things that ended up hurting him?

Like this kid honors promises to a fault and ensures hope when necessary (eg Kevin and Neil) when his life consisted nothing of false hopes and broken promises.

Did you know that the second character in the book to say the word fine the most is Andrew? While Neil says fine as a defense mechanism, Andrew mostly says the word to assure others that they’re going to be okay when they’re overthinking.

He also really values consent and that first kiss with Neil, when he pushed him and said he wasn’t in the head space to give it? That scene is underrated af.

Also, for someone who got lied to all his life, Andrew is so honest. He tells the truth in all its ugly glory because better terrible truths than kind lies.

Honesty suited Andrew because he was an instigator at heart and his opinions were often unpopular.

Andrew Minyard is not a good person- doesn’t try to convince someone he’s a good person.

He threatens people, he can kill without a second thought. I think this is why most people view him as “psychotic” but if you do read the times Andrew act out on violence, they’re mostly because they’re provoked by inappropriate behavior slash words.

Like with Nicky, and the things he says about Neil and Kevin. I really like that Andrew acts on that because as violent as it is and as much as I love Nicky, he tends to oversexualize someone and say unnecessary and inappropriate things.

I love how Andrew doesn’t act like he likes people. Doesn’t feel inclined to make someone comfortable. 

And honestly, who can blame him when most of the foxes see him as a monster? Like I love the foxes but they’re judgmental assholes.

I really hate this about the books, like I can defend why the upperclassmen and even his own family sees him as such but it just gets to me.

Because for me, out of all the people there is in the world, the foxes should’ve been the first people to understand that Andrew was human with real feelings- that he didn’t have to act on a certain way.

I will never get over about how until the end of the book, the rest of the foxes still sees him that way.

As someone who went thru a lot of shit, Andrew was such a comfort character. Personally, I feel like his character arc was one of the best ones I’ve read.

He’s coping, still coping- and that’s okay.

Y’know what I love about Andrew most? He actively goes to therapy. In a way, despite seemingly giving up on everything, kid is willing to fix himself.

And maybe the results are slow or next to none but so what? He doesn’t have to recover immediately and honestly, reading AFTG back in a time when I was pressuring myself to heal fast because I was too frustrated with everything- reading Andrew was like getting washed by a cold bucket of water.

Recovery takes time. Healing is a process. And it could even take years and no matter how long it takes, it’s okay ✨

Also, another thing I like about Andrew’s character was that Nora made a point about not forgiving abusers. Most books tend to send that message (which is disgusting) but with Andrew’s character, it’s clear that you don’t have to attach yourself to your abusers.

Forgiving abusers is not a necessary part of the healing process. 

 This is getting dark so to lighten things up a bit, Andrew has a sweet tooth. He loves ice cream.

Also, he majored in criminal justice and I know Nora said he did that just to be a troll but I like to believe that deep inside, he wants to help those who are in a situation like him and actually make the world a better place.

Andrew knows what to do when someone’s breaking down. Like, with every character, his apathy aside, he always knows how to act.

Also, he’s one of those annoying even-if-I-don’t-make-an-effort-I’m-talented-af-and-can-still-perform-well-so-sue-me assholes and normally I hate those type of characters but Andrew was an exemption. 

Like, we do not talk enough about the fact that he asked Wymack to choose between numbers 1 - 5 and only let that number of goals in of the opposing team that night before shutting down the goal completely.

Or that he only let 13 of the ravens’ shots - the nation’s best team - in and that is oh my gods where do I even begin with Andrew Joseph Minyard being a superior goalie I cannot-

Also the fact that Andrew completely shut down the goal when Neil freaking asked him to- who is this man? 

What a simp. What power. 

I hope in the AFTG universe, someone out there is doing the god’s work and compiling his saves. Like, I don’t normally watch sports stuff cuz I hate sports but I would pay good money to see that yes sir I will.

We could talk about Andrew’s saves more but that just deserves its own post cuz it’s chef kisses

We do not talk enough about Andrew’s eidetic memory. Seriously, we don’t.

Also, you can say all you want that he’s an emo kid but kid has good fashion sense.

Andrew seriously has the best lines in the series. Did some of them made me choke and wheeze and cringe? Yes. But did most of them make me cry like a bitch and hit my heart right where it hurts? Also yes.

“Congratulations are in order, I suppose! Since I have none to give, I will tell the others to respond appropriately.”

Also, some of them were lowkey Shakespearean and I refuse to believe that Andrew doesn’t read Shakespeare-

Seriously, he’s so extra but he’s also so traumatized and such a gay disaster I can’t-

He’s five foot short.

[a-mythologynerd]

I just. I’m trying to view it like a bad but entertaining fanfic but the fact they do clearly understand the books and some of the scenes (obvious parallels and all) but have willfully misinterpreted the whole point of those scenes is so frustrating.

I always classify media into two types. Type 1: where the plot happens to the characters and Type 2: where the characters create the plot based on their actions and reactions. The second type is always more compelling for me because it relies almost totally on character development. The first is just “oh no! We are in a situation!” Which has its place but is not Six of Crows. The reason the show feels so empty in the crows scenes is because they’ve inverted the material and made it a Type 1. Now I’m only two episodes in and I’m not a total anti. A gal loves pointless entertainment even if it has a tendency to make her eye twitch but. I love all the crows for their complex stories and arcs. Kaz is my favorite though (that does not bode well for me huh). And now that we are getting some limelight and less shenanigans on these guys it’s becoming clearer and clearer the show does not care about what makes these characters tick or makes them compelling. I am frustrated and shouting into the void.

Six of Crows is very much the opposite side of Shadow and Bones coin. ON PURPOSE. It’s about nobodies who will claw and fight their way out and up. It is the embodiment of smiles with blood on teeth trope. Putting in some random guy to fight Inej who wants to own her and abuse her instead of Dunyasha is so insulting. I always adored the Inej and Dunyasha fight. The girls who are given nothing from the world so take something??? It’s such a beautiful scene of Inej making peace with herself and her lot and finding power in it after feeling aimless for a whole ass book previously. And my favorite bit that everybody always ignores is how she views it and Ketterdam as her last sort of performance for a city that she has grown loyal to and loves for the things it’s given her. The city which hurt her and doesn’t even know her, she puts on a show for. So… yeah dude with an animal head. Sure. That’s the same thing right?

And Kaz is not supposed to be clichedly tortured. He’s not supposed to be moody emo boy. He’s a grumpy wet cat of a person sure but it drives me nuts how much the fandom and now the show ignore that he’s not “Darkling 2.0 now with less human rights violations”. He’s traumatized sure but he laughs and jokes multiple times in the books. HE SMILES. Now those smiles are rarely not for violence or a facade but he still smiles. The whole way he works is he fools people into thinking he cares about nothing and is just a little shit until he goes shark eyes. It’s the false inconsistency that makes him scary. THATS THE POINT HE DOES THAT ON PURPOSE THATS HOW THE OOMEN SCENE WORKS BECAUSE HES SNAPPED IN A WAY NO ONE HAS SEEN BEFORE. BECAUSE. HE. CARES. so stop trying to make him emo sad boy number 13,000. He’s not. He’s compelling. And interesting. So please stop having his every interaction just him staring off into the distance. And I know it’s hard to make some of those points clear when it happens in his head during his pov but come on!! And no hate to the actors. They all have read and love the books and are trying their best. They are why some bits shine. I’m just frustrated that we get great little bits and interactions only to immediately watch that lil nugget of accuracy to the character be shoved under the rug for the mangled plot the show runners are trying to force.

They are massacring my boy

[magioftheseas]

The Capital Magical Defense Force

For @oumota-events

DAY 1: Magical Boys AU

Rating: T​+

Warnings: Violence, blood, death mentioned, darker implications. Yeah it’s one of those magical au. The daaaaark subversions.

Notes: This is the longest one because we’re starting off with a big bang~ It’s not that long though. It’s just not a ficlet unlike the others. I did really enjoy writing this though. It’s a pretty...fun...au. Yeah. Haha.

Ao3 Link

In just about every world, there are unseen forces to make sure a system works a certain way. That the cogs in the machine turn without fail and that any disturbances are dealt with promptly. These unseen forces can be mundane and dull—but they can also be fantastical...while still incredibly dull.

In this instance, there are two worlds. The dull, mundane one and the dull, fantastical one. The only way to transverse is through contracts between the respective denizens, and it turns out that said contracts are necessary to keep everything in order.

There are benefits, truly. If one world collapses, the other is taken with it. It is within everyone’s best interest that the denizens work together—even if certain manipulations need to be made. After all, the greater good is such a vague and nebulous concept. It’s more encouraging to offer personal gains.

Like, for example, keeping someone alive, be it from sickness or the aftereffects of a horrible, terrible, despairing accident. The desire to live is a powerful force shared among many, both dim-witted and intelligent. It’s an efficient deal to make, especially when the other side of the exchange is not only responsibilities, but special, magical abilities to deal with those responsibilities.

Shame, then, that one particular being blessed with those abilities, those responsibilities, that gift of survival...doesn’t seem to fully appreciate it. Certain arrangements have been made. That being has been assigned to the same areas as another being of a similar caliber, but far more keen to do what must be done.

This is as much an experiment as it is an effort to keep matters under control. Observations are to be as follows...

--

“In the name of the stars, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass!!”

The town hero known as Starboy was being filmed again. Floating about, sending so-called comet punch after comet punch. The monster squealed under the abuse, but it didn’t squeal as much as that fucking eyesore that tailed the magical boy around as he cursed colorfully under his breath.

“This jackass just doesn’t know when to quit!”

“S-Starboy-kun,” the thing whimpered. “Please watch your language! Kids idolize you!”

“Sorry!” Starboy exclaimed, focusing more on the fight thankfully. “It’s just—let me protect the city first!!”

With a battle cry, Starboy summoned all his strength for a starstorm, pummeling the monster more and more until it fizzled out of existence. Starboy was left slumped on the ground and gasping for breath, but still found it in him to whoop for joy.

Unfortunately for him, that moment of victory was short-lived.

“Geeeez, Starboy-chan, I thought you’d really get trampled this time! You didn’t even need any help!” Another magical boy landed on the scene, right next to where the monster had once been and plucking up the fragment which was all that remained.

“H-Hey!” Starboy shouted, more like wheezed. “What the hell—that’s not yours to take!”

“It’s payment for making me worry so much,” he cackled. “You really should be more careful! You don’t want to be killed in the line of duty, now do you?��

Weakened as he was from the fight, dodging Starboy lurching towards him was child’s play.

“D-Dice!!” that eyesore shrieked. “You and Starboy-kun should be working together! Why are you doing this?!”

Dice gave that thing a cold stare, but grinned in Starboy’s direction.

“Because I like you. That’s a lie. I like messing with you. Also a lie! I really—love you, Starboy-chan!”

“Quit messing around!” Starboy gasped. “Y-You—if you need those damn fragments, you don’t have to steal them! You’re a magical boy, aren’t ya?! You should be helping me defend the city! And then I’d split them with ya even!”

Aah. This guy...

“Oh Starboy-chan, I actually, truthfully loathe you,” Dice sighed.

“D-Dice!” the thing shrieked and without looking, Dice had fired a beam that knocked the pitifully contemptible creature out, much to Starboy’s dismay.

“S-SHIROKUMA...!”

Before he could go to help, however, Dice had seized the bow of his uniform, yanking him to not-quite eye level.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d stop bothering with that thing and join me instead.”

Starboy only scowled.

“Why the hell would I join you when you act like a villain! I-If I could, I’d beat your ass too...!”

Such a remark gets Dice shoving him back, knocking him onto the ground. Starboy glared up at him defiantly, his stare only darkening as Dice grinned.

“It’s a joke, obviously!” he chirped. “After all—what sort of desperate loser would want to ally with an idiot like you?”

Starboy shouted at him, but whatever he shouted, he was already long gone. Starboy shouted again but, being the justice-obsessed type, he switched gears to muster up the strength to go stumbling after the fainted Shirokuma. Scooping the pitiful bear head-looking creature into his hands, Starboy avoided the incoming paparazzi and gracious civilians and rushed off to safety.

The ideal worker. Starboy will be a great boon of energy in the future once his limit is reached.

--

“Dice is such a fucking dick,” Kaito grumbles, rubbing ointment onto his bruises. “We’re both working for the same thing but for no reason at all, he’s self-serving and a piece of shit.”

He observes himself in the mirror, rubbing at the circles under his eyes. He’s been going at this whole magical boy hero thing for almost a year. It’s getting harder and harder, but for the sake of the city, he can’t give up. He’s its protector, after all.

Still, it’s getting difficult. His wastebasket is filled with bloodied tissue and bandages. Shirokuma, at least, is currently resting in a bucket of warm water. Dice’s attack had been as sudden as it was vicious, and for what?

“Why is he such a dick?” Kaito asks, but Shirokuma hums.

“Some people...are just bad. It can’t be helped. I’m sorry if that sounds despairing, Momota-kun.”

“Bad, huh.”

It’s not the first time he’s gotten that answer. When he describes Dice to his sidekicks, he more or less gets the same response. Harumaki even goes out of her way to call Dice a supervillain, which Shuuichi agrees to, but...

Here’s a secret that no one else knows. The crack in the foundation so painstakingly paved for black and white heroism.

Dice has saved his life more than once. When blood rushed up his throat and his knees buckled in, Dice would swoop in and let him save face. It would be passed off as Dice once again taking advantage of the situation...but it always, always happens when Kaito is facing death head-on.

Dice is a dick. A self-serving piece of shit. Possibly a supervillain.

He’s also definitely looking out for Starboy. It’s happened too consistently for Kaito to be convinced it’s unintentional.

If Dice insists on helping him, then surely he can’t be a bad person...except he still acts like a bad person most of the time.

What a headache.

“Feeling better, Momota-kun?” Shirokuma chirps up at him in that big sweet voice that Kaito can’t say no to, even when he probably should.

“Never better!”

A thumps-up. A wide grin. Doing his damnedest to pretend like his lungs don’t want to collapse in on themselves.

--

“Starboy-chan is such a fucking idiot.”

Ouma slams his chest of fragments shut. He still hasn’t figured out what the damn things do, but Shirokuma insists on collecting them so they must be important in some sense. Sure, Shirokuma says that it’s something to do with negative energy and restoring balance, blah, blah, blah—but Shirokuma is a piece of shit liar. And Ouma hates liars.

But he thinks he hates Starboy the most. Or, at least, he finds Starboy to be the most frustrating dumbass in the galaxy.

Because it’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s obvious that Shirokuma is shady as all get out. It’s obvious that there is something deeply wrong with the magical boy system. There have been so many disappearances and it’s suspicious as all get out how Starboy in particular is being worked to the bone and pushed to the brink.

There’s something seriously wrong with all of it.

Ouma just needs to figure out what before everything goes wrong.

--

To become a magical boy, one needs resolve. To encourage magical boys, a wish is often granted to sweeten—and seal the deal. Ouma’s was a cowardly, stupid wish that he’s still kicking himself for to this day, although in hindsight he should be glad it was so simple. The worthless wish to live as everyone else was dead around him.

He’s still haunted by their faces. He should’ve wished for them but couldn’t. He was targeted and tricked, and now he’s stuck. But the least he can do is make everything difficult for those monsters along the way.

Starboy—aka Momota Kaito...well. Ouma doesn’t know what his wish was, but he suspects it’s as stupidly noble and short-sighted as he’s come to expect.

Oh, yes, he knows that Starboy is Momota Kaito. Who wouldn’t know that? They look the same—although Ouma suspects that magic is at play since no civilians have made the connection. Not even Saihara Shuuichi, a would-be detective.

It’s clear, however, that Saihara-chan has noticed the effects.

“This is the fourth time you’ve had to clear your throat, Momota-kun.”

Momota clears his throat again. He musters up a laugh.

“It’s just been dry. No big deal. You worry too much.”

“Gooooooodness, Momota-kun!” Ouma crowed, skipping in. “Are you dying?! Please, please don’t die! I haven’t even gotten to tell you how much I love you!”

Momota recoils when Ouma jumps on him. Saihara shrieks in surprise but Momota only growls as he tries to shake the brat off.

“Let—GO!”

Ouma does, but not without jabbing the back of Momota’s knee and causing him to topple over. Saihara rushes to steady him, shooting Ouma quite the ugly look. Ouma shrugs that off.

“Whatever it is you’re doing is killing you,” he merely states. “So, you should stop lest you traumatize my poor Saihara-chan.”

“I...” Saihara swallowed, looking like he’d hate to agree but when it came to Momota... “You shouldn’t overwork yourself, Momota-kun.”

“I’m fine,” Momota slurred. “Totally fine. I’m a goddamn Luminary, Shuuichi...” He says he’s fine while learning into Saihara. It’s a bright sunny day. People are no doubt stealing glances, and Momota no doubt has to hide his exhausted face in his sidekick’s shoulder. It’s a good thing Harukawa isn’t here.

Ouma scoffed. Saihara shot him another glare.

“If you’re just here to mess with Momota-kun, you can leave.”

Saihara’s hands tighten on Momota. Goodness, it really is like Ouma is the supervillain tormenting the tired hero.

How boring.

Ouma turns heel, smiling as he waves them off.

I shouldn’t bother. I shouldn’t have to bother.

--

No matter how many times he’s thought that, he ends up in this situation. With Starboy exhausted on the ground and a fragment pinched so firmly between his fingers that it’s this close to embedding itself in the skin. Shirokuma floats around Starboy.

“He’s getting close,” Shirokuma is saying. “He won’t be able to take much more. How despairing. So despairing.”

Ou—Dice swats the thing to the ground. It giggles up at him.

“You can’t save him, you weren’t able to save your other friends. Just give up, Dice-kun. Give into despair.”

It’s laughing, its laughter resounding even as Dice stomps the thing to bits. It’ll just reshape itself and find Momota again. No matter what he does, he can’t get rid of it. It’s part of a damn hivemind after all.

Sighing, Dice goes to Starboy once again, and Starboy is lying there almost prone. Looking painfully pale. His breathing is shallow. At least he’s still alive.

But for how much longer? And what am I even doing wasting my time with this idiot? No matter what I tell him or how bad he gets, he refuses to back down and Shirokuma just eggs him on.

He gets down, rolling Starboy onto his back. Starboy groans and for a moment, he blearily comes to.

“Di...ce... You...again...” There’s a couple of missing words. It’s clearly difficult for Starboy to speak. He groans, eyes screwing shut. When Dice helps him sit up, he coughs and there’s a thin stream of blood that trickles down his chin. “U-Urgh...hurts bad.”

“Well, yeah. You don’t take breaks, idiot.” Ouma tutted him. “Some of the monsters you take are mooks. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

“S-Shuuut,” Starboy slurs. He coughs again. “I’m...s’posed to be...a hero. A-A... Luminary.”

It’s because of shit like this that made it was so easy for Ouma to find Momota in the first place.

And Starboy—fucking laughs.

“Even through that stupid mask of yours, I can tell you’re disproving.” He musters up a bit more strength to speak, for all the good that’s doing him. “You’re really worried, huh?”

“I don’t trust Shirokuma,” Dice said simply. “You shouldn’t either.”

Starboy swallows. No doubt swallows back blood. He sucks in his breath. He shakes. He tries to shake his head specifically. Ends up slumping against him. Dice isn’t as gentle with him as Saihara was, but Dice still has little choice but to help him up.

“Stay with me,” Dice ordered. “You’re not allowed to die.”

He’s wasting his breath. Starboy’s definitely going to die at this rate even if it’s not today. All because—

“I’m a hero,” Starboy is slurring. “Heroes don’t—take breaks...they don’t leave people to die.”

“You’re not a hero,” Dice snapped. One step at a time. “You’re just an idiot.”

“It’s not...not about trust...” Starboy huffs at him next. “Not that...you’d understand that... Ouma.”

Dice doesn’t pause. Far from it.

...idiot.

Ouma Kokichi wonders if it’s a coincidence that he and Momota ended up in this situation together.

...

That’s right. Momota Kaito is going to bring you down. The hero! The Luminary! Won’t that be the Ultimate Despair?

(That’s how she would respond.)

Ouma Kokichi, always so close and yet so far, can’t focus on that right now. He has to save the life of a dying man after all. The results are sure to be favorable.

And yet, also so very—predictable.

Boring.

[problemswithbooks]

It all so black and white with fans in general I think endeavor is one of the best written characters in the series and I get the apologist label i understand with empathizing with touya but hori very obvious show the wrongs he committed he even admits this on national tv so I enjoy shouto pointing out both side but the Stans been at each other throats for years now even before the reveal

I guess I just don't understand why simply using the phrase "Dad was insane and ruined our home/childhood, but you chose to kill people" is suddenly Shoto 'staning' his dad, or reducing his abuse. Instead they seem to want him to say something along the lines of "you can't do this" because it's not openly blaming him for his choices. It fits more inline with their interpretation that Touya had no agency/choice because Enji abused him.

And that wouldn't bother me so much if this idea of "people are driven to make choices due to their environment" was applied to more then the LoV, but it's just not. Hawks was equally abused and groomed into his situation, but I never see them giving him the benefit of doubt or using his past abuse/grooming as a credible excuse. When it comes to Hawks, he chose to kill Jin--his environment and victim status play no role in softening his copiability. He needs to face more consequences and characters need to hold him accountable.

But as soon as Shoto says "Touya chose to kill" suddenly he's reducing his father's abuse and role in his fucking up his life.

It comes down to, these people like these characters and so certain rules apply to them, but literally no one else. And that's fine, except they then get mad when people who enjoy different characters do the same thing with their own favs. It's okay to write meta about what drove Touya or Shigaraki to kill, but not okay to explore why Enji abused his family (unless the answer is a simple 'he's a selfish bastard'). It's okay for the LoV to get support despite their bad behavior, but not Hawks. And if anyone is a little confused why this group of characters is treated differently then this other group and maybe doesn't agree suddenly they're stupid, can't read properly or at worst support abuse or police brutality.

I'm sure the Hero fans have also done similar stuff, but because I don't like using Reddit or Twitter, which is apparently where most of them hang out, I haven't seen it. But I do find it frustrating that neither side seems to understand they have very similar complaints (posting hate/negativity in tags, sending hate, mischaracterizing their favs as monsters) and should maybe try to be polite and not do those things to each other.

[fanmoose12]

also HUGE thanks to @tundrainafrica​ because i honestly would have never written this fic if it wasn’t for her awesome idea!!!!

He is floating. All around him is the vast see of nothingness, which surrounds him from all sides. It's not water, not quite - it's not as heavy. It's neither cold nor warm. He's sinking, but he's not drowning. He doesn't feel comfortable, but— he is content. Nothing can get to him here, nothing can hurt him, Levi likes that.

After all that's happened, Levi— Levi just wants to rest. Hasn't he done enough? Hasn't he suffered enough? Doesn’t he deserve some respite?

He lets the water drag him deeper. He wants to reach the bottom, wants for everything to end. He wants to disappear, hoping that wherever he'll end up, she will be waiting there for him.

Just when he's almost there, just when he's ready to let go, the voices appear. Some sound urgent, some scared, but Levi doesn't care. He doesn't want to hear them, he doesn't want to feel pain anymore. He tries to ignore the irritating chatting, grits his teeth in frustration, when he realizes that he can't move his hands to cover his ears.

Not able to hide from these voices, Levi has no choice but to listen. And when he listens - he recognizes one of the voices immediately. And, really, how could he not? He would sooner forget his title, his own name than the sound of her voice.

He knows it better that his own - it can be playful, excited, authoritative, tired or soothing. Right now, she sounds commanding, but Levi notices the slight tint of panic and fear too.

Is it a memory, Levi wonders. It must be. Initially he thought that the voices belong to those who are among the living. But if Hange is with them, then it most certainly isn't the case.

Maybe, she's calling out to him? He should hurry then. He can't wait to see her again.

It's a selfish act, he knows, but he's so tired of being good. He's sick of fighting. And right now, he can't even do that properly. He's just a dead weight, slowing everyone down. His times of glory are long gone, the future rests in the hands of those kids now. They're strong, they're more than capable. Levi believes in them. Regret twists in his chest as he thinks about the bright-eyed youth, but he has already decided. He won't be their weak point. He'll leave. He'll go and join the ones who are waiting for him.

He relaxes, feeling a liberating feeling of peacefulness. It's been awhile since it visited him. Levi embraces it and lets Hange's voice guide him.

***

He gasps and then wheezes, his mouth opens and closes, as he tries to take a breath. It hurts, every part of him hurts. Every muscle and nerve feel like it's on fire.

Why the fuck does it hurt? It shouldn't. He should be in a better place now, he should be at peace. Then why does his body feel like someone is ripping him apart? Why can't he draw even a single breath?

Levi wants to open his eyes, wants to see the fucker that has brought him back, that has taken him away from her, again, and hurl abuse at him. Trying to lift a single eyelid feels like an unattainable feat but Levi wasn't called humanity's strongest for nothing.

Looking up, he almost screams. Everything is so bright, he feels like his retina is burning. He hurriedly closes his eye back, deciding to focus on other sensations instead. It seems like he's moving. Which makes no sense, because he's sure he is laying down. And then— he feels a hand. It's warm and gentle, and it carefully pushes his sweaty hair away, before moving down to grip his palm.

And it's— it's impossible. This calloused hand with a scar across its palm, it belongs to Hange. He knows it with ironclad certainty. He remembers wrapping bandages around it, when years ago a glass from a broken test tube had cut it.

But it makes no sense. If Hange is here, if she's holding his hand, then why he's in such pain? Does the pain exist even after death? Did Hange feel it too, when she came here? Did she suffer just like him?

Even now, with agony soaring through him, Levi hopes she didn't. He hopes that whatever force is ruling there, it was kind enough to spare Hange. And if not, Levi is ready to shoulder all of her pain himself. He'll take it all, he just needs a moment to rest.

He relaxes under the soft touch, the pain diminishing slightly.

Too weak to fight, Levi lets the darkness claim him.

 ***

When he comes back to his senses again, the pain is gone, only echoes of that agony resonating in his body. Breathing comes much easier too, and for a moment he just lays there, gathering his strength. He hears a quiet muttering, and, curious, Levi decides to get a glimpse of his surroundings.

The world is still too bright, when he opens his eye, and after a moment of staring, Levi realizes that he's looking at a window. The sun is high in the sky, shining right at him. With a quiet grunt, he turns away. He shifts his gaze to his left, to the direction from which the muttering is coming from.

Jean and Armin sit next to his bed. And that can mean only one thing - he is still alive. Everything he experienced before it - Hange's voice and her gentle touch - was just a hallucination, something his broken mind had supplied him with to soothe the suffering.

It's a good thing, he supposes. He was given yet another chance in life, be should be happy. Instead, he just feels exhausted.

Putting his depressing thoughts aside, Levi gives Armin and Jean another look.

They are deep in conversation, speaking to one another in hushed voices. It's obvious they're troubled by something for they do not notice that Levi is already awake.

He clears his throat, attracting their attention. Instantly, their eyes snap to him. Armin bolts out of his seat, mumbling something about water.

He returns swiftly, pressing a glass to Levi's lips. With a quiet 'thank you' Levi finishes the whole glass in one go. He didn't even notice how thirsty he was. He clears his throat again, fixing the boys in front of him with the sharpest gaze he can muster, considering that he’s lying in a hospital bed with bandages all over his face.

"So," he rasps, his voice even quieter and more gruff than usual. "Where am I?"

"You're back at Paradis, Captain," Armin replies. "We transported you back after..." he gulps, looking away. "After everything was over."

Levi nods, absorbing the information. He doesn't need to ask Armin what exactly had happened. He doesn't want to know. He lost too much already, and he recognizes the sad, hollow look in Armin's eyes. Levi's sure his eyes look pretty much the same.

"We worried about you," Jean tells him. "You were out for almost a week."

"And you've been sitting here this whole time?" Levi asks, equal parts surprised and touched by their concern.

Armin chuckles, lifting his arm to rub at his neck. "It's not like there is anything else we can do right now."

At that, Levi raises an eyebrow. "Don't you have work to do? You're the only remaining commander after all," he doesn't know much about current situation, of course, but isn't there supposed to be some peace negotiations? Restorations of the island?

"Ah," Armin blushes slightly. "The transition of power, it's, um, it's a slow process."

Levi frowns. The transition of power? From who? As far as he is aware, everyone who had any kind of power, is gone. Pixis is dead, Dawk is too, and Hange... Hange is gone too. So who rules the island now? Historia alone? Why aren't Armin and Jean helping her?

Before Levi can ask all of it out loud, the doctor enters the ward. He tells the boys to leave, so he could conduct Levi’s inspection in peace. Once Armin and Jean are gone, the doctor sets to work.

He checks Levi's wounds and changes the bandages. He tells Levi about his condition, but his speech is so full of medical jargon that Levi doesn't understand the half of that he's saying. Doesn't matter, he'll just ask Armin to explain him, he decides, staring up at the ceiling, as doctor carefully touches his leg.

"Your comrades say it was almost bitten off by a titan," the doctor remarks. "You're lucky we were able to save it," Levi wants to scoff. Lucky? He's nothing but. "Unfortunately, even despite your enhanced regeneration process, you still need a lot of time to get back on your feet. I don't think you're ready to leave the hospital right now."

"Alright," Levi agrees. He doesn't really care about it either way. He used to hate hospitals, despised the constant boredom and the feeling of being useless, but now he doesn't care. It's not like there is a place for him anymore. He doesn't have a purpose, he doesn't have a job, and the only person he could see himself building a home with had sacrificed her life.

"You should rest as much as you can," doctor pats his shoulder lightly. Levi nods and quietly thanks him.

He closes his eyes. It doesn't take too long before he falls back into slumber.

*** By the time he wakes up again, it's already dark outside. The room is engulfed in shadows, the lonely candle on his bedside table being the only source of light.

There's someone sitting by his bed again. Levi shifts his gaze to look and breath hitches in his throat.

She's mumbling something with a puzzled look on her face. She's holding a stack of papers in one hand, and her other is stroking the back of her head with a quill.

Levi had seen this exact scene so many times that he's sure – he’s relieving the memory. What else could it be? He pitches his arm with two fingers, wincing in pain. Hange doesn't disappear. So, it's not a dream then.

Hallucination, Levi realizes grimly.

At that moment, Hange finally notices him. She lifts her head and her sweet smile takes Levi's breath away.

"You're finally up! When boys told me you're awake, I dropped everything and rushed here. But when I finally arrived, you were already asleep," she exhales after that, that same smile still on her lips. She puts the papers and quill down, and leans closer. "Do you need something? Water or, maybe, an extra blanket? It isn't really cold right now, but doctor mentioned you could develop a fever. Oh, and also..."

Levi just lets her ramble on, not really knowing what to do. Should he even answer Hange? Should he try to ignore her? Should he call a doctor and tell him that he's experiencing the symptoms of delirium?

No, he decides. If he does any of those things, Hange would probably disappear. And he doesn't want it to happen. Even if she's not actually real, he still needs her. Besides, Levi muses, as loses himself in watching her smile, he knows she isn't real, so technically he hasn't lost his mind yet. As long as he remembers that, there is nothing wrong in chatting with her. It's not like there's much to do in here anyway.

And that what he does for as long as he can keep his eyes open – chatting with Hange. Hange does most of the chatting, of course. He’s too weak still and talking was never his strong forte. He’s happy to just listen to her blubbering, although he can’t properly focus on her words yet, so he opts to silently admire her animated face.

Way too soon, his eyelids start growing heavy again. Levi knows he won’t be able to stay awake for long. He fights the darkness, though, afraid to lose sight of Hange. What if she won’t come back?

With each passing second, his fight turns more and more futile, and Hange quickly takes note of his sorry state.

“It seems like my rants never fail in lulling you to sleep,” she jokes. “I should leave and let you rest.”

No, Levi wants to protest. He wants to grab her hand and never let go. He wants to keep Hange by his side forever, even though he knows that she’s not real.

Unfortunately, he’s too frail to even lift an arm or utter a single word.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, don’t worry,” Hange promises, leaning in to press a kiss on his forehead. For a hallucination, her touch feels awfully real. His skin tingles in the place, where her lips touched it. “Go to sleep, Levi. I’ll watch over you.”

After her promise, Levi is able to relax. Hange promised him to return and she’s never broken her word. He trusts her this time too.

Knowing that there is something good waiting for him the next day, Levi lets himself get some rest.

 ***

He doesn't know how much time has passed, but when Levi gains consciousness again, Hange is back by his side.

She is writing something down, and Levi wonders if that's the notes for her titan research or is she filling commander's paperwork. He shifts to the side, so he can get a better look at her. The sounds of bed sheet’s rustling makes Hange look up. As soon as she meets Levi's eyes, she beams.

"Hi, there," she murmurs. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Levi answers. Much better now that you're here, he adds in his head. "What you've been up to?"

"Ah," she ruffles her hair and only now Levi notices how tired she looks. "There's been too much work lately. It's not as tiring as it was before— but it's still a bit too much."

Levi makes a considerable effort, grunts from exertion, but after struggling for a couple of seconds he finally manages to lift an arm and wrap his fingers around Hange’s hand.

"Tell me," he asks.

Hange looks at him for a moment, her eyes filled with so much emotion, which Levi is quite reluctant to decipher. Even if she is just an illusion, pondering on what was lost will only make regret that much stronger.

Then she nods, takes a deep breath and launches into her tale.

She talks about peace negotiations, pact with Marley and their promise to leave them alone in exchange for Paradis' help in restoring their lands. She waxes poetic about their technical achievements and speaks of inventions Levi has never heard of. She tells him about things called telephones that are used for conversing on great distances and gramophones that can play music anytime you want.

Levi has a hard time imagining any of those things, but he listens, hanging onto every word from her lips. It looks like Hange is especially impressed by these gramophones and Levi fleetingly imagines a life, where he could get this thing for Hange, so she could dance whenever she wishes to. It'd be nice to watch her spin around the room, humming under her breath. Maybe, he'd join her too, holding her in his arms, as they slowly move around.

He gets so lost in this little fantasy that he misses when Hange starts talking about her new experiment.

"Paradis decided to collaborate with Marley's scientists. Well," Hange's face twists into a grimace. "With those of them, who are still alive. We want to try and see if we can turn the titans back to their human forms. We're working with Connie's mother for now, but if we succeed, maybe, we can make shifters become fully human again. Get rid of that curse," a wistful smile appears on her face, as she speaks her next words. For some reason, it reminds Levi of their conversation in forest. His heart twists with regret at that particular memory. He should have run away with Hange then. It's too late for remorse now, though. Hange is gone, and the only thing Levi is left with is a specter that his broken mind had come up with.

His head starts to throb then and Levi knows he needs to rest again. He closes his eyes, letting Hange's voice soothe him.

Even as he falls asleep, his hand still continues to hold Hange's. She begins to draw circles on it, looking at Levi's peaceful face with a tender smile.

"It'd be nice, don't you think?" she whispers, knowing that Levi can't hear her anymore. "To get more time together. Fear not, Levi, I'm working on it. I’m not going to let our second chance go to waste."

 ***

Hange never appears during daytime, always coming to him only when the night falls. Levi doesn’t think too much about it, doesn’t question it. After all, his mother used to warn him that the ghost and apparitions reveal themselves only in the presence of night, when the sun is down and only pale stars illuminate the world.

*** It's maybe Hange's fifth or seventh visit, it's hard for Levi to keep track of anything, when his mind is still a mush because of painkillers, but it's only then when he notices that she doesn't wear the eye patch anymore. He looks closely, and the scar on her left eye is gone too. Levi asks her about it, wondering what that can mean.

"My patch?" Hange lifts a hand to her face, pressing fingers to her cheek. "What do I need it for? Since I've been turned into a titan, my eye has healed."

"A titan?" Levi repeats slowly.

"Yeah! Don't you remember? Me arriving at the heat of the battle and taking you away? I brought you to safety and tended to your wounds, before returning to the fight."

Oh no, Levi thinks, this is bad. He let his imagination go wild and his mental state is worsening. He understands the reasons, though. He misses Hange terribly, and so his brain latches onto every subconscious idea to try and persuade him that she's really still here. It's dangerous - feeding his insanity like this. He's still holding on, however. He still knows it's not real, still sees the line. He just has to be careful and not overstep it.

“A titan, huh?” he chuckles softly. “I’m sure you have a blast. Tell me more.”

Hange does.

“It was quite scary, being so big all of a sudden,” she confesses, telling Levi about her first transformation. There is a wide, enthusiastic smile on her lips, and Levi is hit by a strong wave of nostalgia at the sight of it. “But it was so exciting too! And I felt so powerful, it was really something!”

“Oh and then there was this boy!” Hange continues to gash. “Remember, that Marleyan fella? Who inherited the Jaw Titan? He grew wings, Levi! Just like a bird!”

At that Levi nods, he does remember something about a flying titan. His memories are vague, though, as he was already in too much pain to pay attention to anything around him. He remembers the feeling of soft feathers and a fleeting thought that if Hange were to see it, she would have lost her mind and pestered the poor boy for days on end.

Hange’s excitement dies down considerably after that. She doesn’t talk about what happened next, what was the outcome of the battle, and Levi wonders if that’s caused by the fact that he himself doesn’t know about it. If what Armin and Jean had told him was true, he wasn’t present at the end of it all. Maybe, it’s a good thing, Levi thinks.

He looks Hange in the eyes then, and the pain and sorrow inside her gaze makes his heart clench painfully.

“I’m so happy, Levi,” she whispers, and, maybe it’s a trick of light, but it seems as though there are tears in her eyes. “I’m so happy that you’re still here. And, perhaps, it is wrong, but I’m happy that I’m here too. After all we’ve been through, after all that we’ve done,” Hange grabs his hand then and lifts it to her lips, kissing his bandaged knuckles. “I’m so happy that we’ve managed to get a second chance.”

Levi didn’t think it was possible, he didn’t know there was anything left of it, but Hange’s words break his heart once more. He knows that none of it is real, knows that all of it is just in his head, but he wishes it to be true. There is nothing else he wishes for - just to get Hange back, to see her once more and tell her about his feelings. Just to receive a chance of building a life they both ached for.

"I love you so much," he murmurs, unable to keep in anymore. He had hid for too long, had run away from these feelings, he's not strong enough to do it any longer.

These are simple words that don't cover the half of what he feels to Hange, nevertheless, it's good to say them out loud. Even if he's too late and even though it's not real Hange who's sitting next to him, he's glad he finally did it.

It takes its toll on him, though, and, out of nowhere, Levi feels exhaustion wash over him. He falls asleep almost instantly.

And in doing that, he doesn't hear Hange's response.

***

After that night, Hange doesn't appear anymore. Levi tries not to be disappointed - after all, it just means that he's getting better, that he's not really losing his mind. But he still misses her. He finds out that sleep comes much harder to him, now that he doesn't have Hange's voice lulling him to slumber. And he feels unusually cold without her warm presence.

He thinks about it one night. It's dark in the room and no matter how hard he tries, Levi can't fall asleep. He remembers the stories his mother used to tell him and the books he read to Isabel.

It was the only type of stories his mother knew, there wasn't a place for fairy tales about princesses and knights in Underground. Meanwhile, Isabel was simply fascinated with grimy, frightening tales. She made him read them to her, until Farlan taught her how to do it by herself. After that, she started to gather the three of them in her room every week, so she could share with them her favorite stories. They used to sit in the dark room, with no candles and with curtains closed, and listen to Isabel's enchanting, low voice. Some of the stories were funny, some - exciting, but they never frightened Levi.

The gnawing hunger was frightening, the feeling of opponent's blade on your throat was frightening. Tales about ghosts and demons? That were children's stories, they did not scare him. After all, the real monsters and demons walked among them.

He vaguely remembers the sad stories. Those were his mother's favorite, while Isabel didn't enjoy them at all, saying that they made her eyes feel funny. Those stories told about ghosts - apparitions of those unfortunates who died while having some unfinished business. They continued to roam the land of the living, until they get the closure they need. Levi used to scoff at these tales, everyone had some regrets before death, but he was yet to see at least one ghost.

Now, though, he is inclined to change his mind. Maybe, there are such things as ghosts. Maybe, they do come back from the underworld to haunt their loved ones. And, maybe, his confession was the thing that was able to finally set Hange free. Maybe, that's why she doesn't visit him anymore.

If that's the case, Levi thinks, then maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

***

It's one of those days, when his mind refuses to keep quiet that Levi decides that enough is enough. It's about time he stopped wallowing in his misery.

He grips the metal railings at the side of the bed hard, pushing himself upwards. He grunts and curses, but after a moment of struggling he finally manages to sit up. Slowly, he moves his legs until they touch the floor.

Now, the hardest part.

He braces himself, using bed as his support. Doctor said his leg is almost healed, so Levi’s confident he can do it. He just needs to be careful and not put any weight on it. His healthy leg trembles, but holds him. Tentatively, Levi straightens out.

The door opens at that exact moment. Jean stumbles in, and the second his eyes land on Levi, they widen almost comically.

"Captain!" he rushes to his side, gripping his elbows. "You should be in bed!"

"I've been lying around for weeks now, and I'm sick of it. I'm going to walk around that room, and I don't want to hear your opinion on it. You can help or you can leave."

"As stubborn as ever," Jean huffs. Levi thinks of reprimanding him, but then remembers that technically Jean is not his subordinate anymore. He lets it slide, simply granting Jean with his signature tsk.

Jean smiles and takes off his hat and jacket. He comes to stand by Levi's side, hovering above him in case he falls down.

Levi takes his first step. It feels like a fucking torture. He grits his teeth and pushes on.

“Why are you here?” he asks after another agonizingly slow step.

“I promised to watch over you,” Jean answers. “Sorry for not visiting sooner, though. I was—” his hand on Levi’s elbow tightens and when he shifts his gaze from the floor, Levi sees how tense the boy looks. “I was needed somewhere else.”

Levi nods, his own face turning grim. “How is that brat doing?”

“She’s getting better, I think. She started talking again, albeit only with Armin. Historia helps a lot too, and even Annie tries to show her support. I heard them laughing the other day,” Jean’s lips curl into a smile. “She wanted to come to visit you, but now that Armin and Historia are gone, she retreated back into her shelf again.”

“Armin and Historia are gone? Where?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Jean wonders. “There is a peace conference at the capital. They’re going to finalize the treaty.”

“Ah,” Levi nods. “Armin is there as the commander then?”

“Not quite,” Jean grins. “He’s there to watch how the real pros do it.”

Who, Levi wants to ask. Is Jean talking about Marleyan government? He really hopes he’s not. He had seen some of them. He was not impressed.

“Where is Connie?” he questions instead. He has yet to see him, Levi realizes suddenly. And if Mikasa’s reasons are quite clear, why Connie hasn’t visited him even once? It’s not like Levi wants to see him or, god forbid, misses him. He’s just curious.

“He’s back at Ragako, didn’t you know? He’s helping with experiments. They’re trying to—”

“Bring his mother back,” Levi finishes. Now he remembers. Hange told him the very same thing.

It makes Levi freeze. How could Hange tell him about it? She wasn’t real, she couldn’t have known about real life events that he had no idea were happening. Perhaps, one of the brats told him, Levi tries to reason. Perhaps, they talked to him while he was unconscious. Perhaps, it was the way his brain had interpreted it.

“Captain?” Jean squeezes his hand, looking worriedly. “Are you alright? Maybe, you should get back to bed? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” persists, taking yet another step. His muscles ache and he’s feeling tired and dizzy, but he continues. He can do it.

“Just don’t push yourself too hard, alright?” Jean warns with an edge to his voice. “Or I’ll get my ass kicked, when our peace ambassadors come back.”

Levi wants to ask Jean about it, something about his words seemed strange. Thinking about it, though, makes him forget about his very important job. His leg twists, when he puts it the wrong way. He winces in pain, as the only thing that keeps him upright are Jean’s strong arms.

“Maybe, you were right,” he admits reluctantly. “I should rest, but!” he raises a hand, glaring at Jean. “Let go of my hand, I want to try to walk by myself.”

 ***

Another week passes and Levi gets strong enough to walk outside. He focuses on his recovery, mental and physical. Unfortunately, the wounds on his flesh heal that much faster than his broken heart.

***

Mikasa visits him one day. She sits on a bench next to him during his daily walks around the garden. Levi searches her face and scrambles to find some comforting words.

He can’t.

He wants to say that it gets better, that the time heals every wound, but after everything that he has lost, he doesn't believe a single word of this bullshit. Time heals nothing, and your heart continues to hurt and ache for someone who isn't there anymore. You can't just forget it, but you can try and move forward. Find something that will lessen the pain at least for a short while.

But Mikasa knows all of it already. Just like him, she's not a stranger to loss. Maybe, that's the price for their power, Levi thinks.

It's too depressing of a thought to share it with a grieving girl, though. And, besides, Levi was never a master of words, so he opts to just cover her hand with his. Mikasa looks up at him then, and he isn't at all surprised to see tears in her eyes. He doesn't see them fall, however, because Mikasa presses her face into his chest, sobbing quietly.

Levi holds her tightly, softly rubbing her back.

Staring at the crying girl in his arms, he feels something close to envy. He couldn't cry after Hange's death. He wanted to, needed to, but tears never came. Perhaps, he couldn’t cry, because his last words to Hange were actually true. She did take his heart with her.

***

Levi doesn't really know how much time had passed, but one night he wakes up and hears quite snoring. He looks to the left and his heart swells.

Hange is sitting on a chair beside his bed. She's bent over, her head resting on his lap, as she peacefully slumbers.

A fleeting thought passes Levi's mind - do ghosts even need to sleep? He dismisses it instantly, and then reaches out, touching the strands of Hange's hair. It's as soft as he remembers from the times when he used to wash and braid it for the night.

Hange seems absolutely real, and Levi doesn't know if he should thank his mind for this gift or curse its cruelty for playing such tricks with him.

She doesn't even stir under his touch, and Levi grows a bit bolder. He entangles his fingers in her hair and starts to play with it. In that moment, he is filled with so much love, affection and adoration that it feels like he's choking on it. With Hange gone, to whom he will give all of it now?

"Forgive me," the apology stumbles out of his lips unprompted, but once he says it, Levi can't stop. "I've never deserved you, I've never— never deserved your love and care. I shouldn't have let you go, I should have stopped you, should have given up my life and save yours. I should—"

"Levi?" too lost in his own thoughts and regrets, he missed the moment when Hange woke up. Now she stares at him, blinking sleepily. "What are you talking about? Did you have a nightmare? I'm here, with you, Levi."

"You're not," he answers sharply. "I know you're not, so don't try to bullshit me."

The mind can be such a cruel thing, Levi muses, as he watches Hange's face twist with worry.

She leans in, placing a palm on his forehead. "Do you have a fever? Maybe, I should call a doctor?"

"Stop it," Levi growls. He turns his face away, unable to stare at this vision - or whatever Hange actually is. "Stop it, I know you're not real."

"Levi," Hange's voice softens, but is still filled with worry. She cradles his face in her hands, and, instinctively, Levi closes his eyes and relaxes. "I don't— I don't know what's gotten into you, but I'm alive and I'm here with you."

"You're not," Levi whispers weakly, clenching his fist in Hange's shirt. "I saw you walking away right to your death."

"But I came back, don't you remember? Zeke saved me and turned me into a Titan, and I came back to you."

More than anything, Levi wants to believe her. But if Hange actually came back, then that's a miracle. And life taught him that such things do not exist.

But hope is another thing. It's a clingy, persistent feeling and even now it doesn't quite leave him.

So he looks Hange in the eyes and decides to give his hope the last chance.

"Tell me then," he challenges. "Tell me one thing I couldn't know about. Something only you would know."

"Oh, that's hard," Hange scratches the back of her head with a clueless smile. "We're so deep in each other's shit that it's near impossible to have some secrets."

Levi can't disagree with her. It is true, he knows almost everything about Hange. Except...

"Your scientific bullshit," he blurts out. "Tell me something about your dumb experiments."

"They’re not dumb," she mutters darkly, throwing Levi a look. "But fine! If that what it takes to make you stop this nonsense and believe that I'm actually real, then listen: recently we extracted three samples of spinal fluid – from Ms. Springer, me and a regular human. We tested it and found out that number of monocytes – type of cells that Marleyans discovered not long ago—”

Levi doesn’t hear the end of the sentence, because he’s too busy gawking at Hange like a goddamn fish. What the fuck are these monocytes? He had never heard about it, and even if he did, Levi is sure he wouldn’t have remembered the name for it.

And that can mean only one thing – that the miracles indeed happen, and that Hange— Hange is indeed alive.

With a broken, choking sound, Levi pulls her closer and gathers her in his arms. Hange’s hand accidentally brushes his wounded leg, and a sharp pain shoots through it, but Levi doesn’t care. She is there, she is with him, and he can’t, won’t ask for anything else.

“Hange, Hange,” her name falls from his lips over and over. He whispers it shakily, feverishly like it’s a sacred, holy thing. He had never believed in higher power, used to scoff at cultists and priests, but right now, as he holds Hange in his arms, he thanks whatever deity there is for this gift.

“Shh, I’m here, Levi,” Hange wipes something from his cheeks and only then Levi realizes that he’s crying. The sensation is so foreign, he doesn’t remember if he had ever cried before. But now, pressed against Hange’s chest, he starts to sob, letting out everything that’s been bottled up inside him for decades.

Hange lets him. She rubs his back and plays with his hair, whispering soothing words into his ear.

“I won’t leave you alone, I won’t let anything stand in our way anymore,” Hange’s words are fierce, honest and Levi believes her, of course, he believes her. He presses his cheek to her chest and listens to the steady heartbeat there, and it’s the sweetest goddamn sound.

He whimpers quietly, and Hange kisses his temple. “I bought a house last week,” she says, her voice quiet and soothing. “It’s on the outskirts of town. It’s peaceful there, you know, birds chipping and all that stuff. You can start a garden. If—” she stutters all of a sudden, and Levi looks up to find out the reason. Hange doesn’t meet his gaze, her eyes trained at something just above his head. There is a faint blush on her cheeks, and it confuses Levi.

“If?” he prompts, trying to catch her gaze.

“If you want it. To live with me, I mean. You didn’t actually answer me back then…”

“Asshole,” he glares at her. The effect is somewhat ruined by his red, shiny eyes and tear-streaked face. “There is nothing else I wish for.”

“Oh, that’s— that’s good,” Hange nods with a small relieved smile. Levi scoffs at the sight of it. Was she truly worried about his answer? Dork.

“I’m still needed in the capital,” she continues after a moment. “Armin needs me, and Historia too. And then there are these experiments in Ragako. It’s a bit too early to say,” she pauses, biting her lip. “But— I feel good about it. Maybe, we can really end this curse.”

“You can do it,” he says with absolute certainty. And it’s true, he does believe in her. Hange’s crazy smart and annoyingly hard-working. If anyone can break the curse, it’s her.

And even if she can’t, even if she doesn’t succeed, thirteen years is a long time. It’s much more that Levi could have hoped for.

He untangles himself from Hange, moving a bit to the side. Hange was bent over him this entire time, and Levi can only imagine how uncomfortable this position is.

He pats the place next to him. “Come here,” he beckons.

Hange frowns. “I don’t think I should. You— you’re still weak.”

“I don’t give fuck about that,” Levi grunts. “I need this— need you,” the words make him embarrassed, he feels so awkward, but Hange laughs, and Levi momentarily forgets about anything else.

She finally gets into the bed next to him, and Levi embraces her with a smile so rarely seen on his face. Now with Hange back at his side and with a bright future ahead of them, he’s sure that smiling will come that much easier to him.

[one-abuse-survivor]

This might be a weird question, but is it normal for one person to go off on/lecture the other over small things in a romantic relationship?

Yesterday, I was telling my dad that I wanted to dye my hair, and he told me he would ask my mom. Today, he told me that he asked her, and she “exploded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.”

He said that she just went off on him, going on and on about why it was a terrible idea. She didn’t stop there, though. She went on to lecture him for one incident, days ago, where he had told me that I didn’t have to eat a fruit after dinner (I was not hungry, but my mom would not stop harassing me over it). She basically told him that it was all his fault that I was not eating fruit anymore (I was, for the record, still eating fruit; I just had no appetite, so I was “only” eating two or three fruits a day).

When I asked my dad about this, he said that all romantic partners have flaws, so even if he had not married her, someone else would have had different flaws, just like how both he and my mom had their own flaws.

But it seems to my that the way my mom acts is a little extreme—she lectures my dad and me very often, and she always invalidates both our emotions. Both of us have some issues with falling asleep, and she’s always lecturing us for not listening to her and trying whatever “technique” she has. The thing is, though, that she starts acting all annoyed when we don’t do exactly what she says, even if what she says only makes things worse. She’s had an interest in spirituality, which is fine, but then she starts scolding us for not going by whatever she says.

A while back, we all got COVID, and she started getting mad at him for something and talking about how she needs to express her feelings. When it’s him, though, he apparently needs to just “change” his anger. He needs to just stop being worried.

Sometimes, she will even get mad at me for something, not because I did anything wrong, but because she was in a bad mood, and my dad will agree with her. Later, though, when I ask him, he tells me that he doesn’t really agree; he just didn’t want her on his case. I can’t even blame him because I do the same thing (my mom badmouths my dad a lot to me, and me a lot to my dad, and gets mad if we don’t agree with her).

My dad even helps me keep secrets from her—not about big things, but about little things that we both know will set her off (we dared to eat ice cream; I bought a shirt WITH MY OWN MONEY that was not on sale; other small things).

He even got her a new car for her anniversary, complete with a red ribbon, and while she was super happy, she later started joking about how it was the wrong color. He did so much, and this is how she reacts?

Is the way my mom acts really such a normal thing in romantic relationships (or parent/child relationships, for that matter)? I’ve never been in romantic relationship, and my only other examples of romance are my aunt and uncle, who constant have screaming matches and passive aggression so obvious even I can pick up on it, and my grandparents, who were in an arranged marriage. I just don’t know who to ask.

Is it selfish if I don’t think I want to experience this? I hate my mom’s lecturing as is—sometimes it hurts bad enough to make me want to S/H. I don’t think I could take it from a romantic partner, to. Does this make me a bad person?

I don’t think that’s selfish at all, nonnie. You’re not a bad person for not wanting to put up with a potential partner who will treat you like this. In fact, I’d be concerned if you said you did want to experience something like this in a romantic relationship, because a lot of your mom’s behaviours are red flags of abuse, both toward you and your dad.

Constant lecturing and accusations, controlling and criticising everything your partner does to the point where they have to keep secrets from you to avoid your reaction, and “exploding” with minor or unimportant things and pretending like your emotions justify those explosions while also getting mad if your partner disagrees with you or expresses their emotions in any way, are all red flags of emotionally abusive behaviour. So is thinking that people should always do what you think is best for them, and getting mad when they don’t. So is badmouthing victims to one another and reacting badly if they don’t agree with you. Here’s a post I think might help better understand which of your mom’s behaviours are not okay toward either of you.

Now, regarding your doubts about what’s normal in a healthy relationship. There’s some truth in what youd dad said about all partners having flaws, although I don’t know if “flaws” is the word I’d personally use. We all have things going on in our lives; be it mental health issues, financial issues, disabilities, bad relationships with family members, or literally anything else a person can go through: questioning parts of their identity (sexuality, gender, religion...), struggling with studying and/or work, wanting to give up a bad habit... being nitpicky with food or thriving in messy spaces... There’s no such thing as a partner who won’t have something going on in their life. If you’re in a relationship there will be moments when your and their needs clash or are incompatible, and you won’t be able to be the person the other needs in that moment. And if you’re in a relationship, you’re going to have to face many of these battles together, and put effort into seeing them through as a team.

But there’s a difference between the commitment to someone else’s struggles that comes with any close (not necessarily romantic) relationship, and justifying your partner’s mistreatment toward you because “that’s just how everyone is in one way or another, so I might just as well settle for this.” That is, in fact, something many abuse victims say when their abusive partner has normalised and justified their behaviours over and over again. 

I’ve been in a relationship for over six years now. That’s double the time I’ve been out of my abuser’s house and in recovery, so as you can imagine, my girlfriend has been very involved in this aspect of my life and has been there with me through many tough moments. And I’ve been there through her struggle with mental illness, too. And we were there for each other as we figured out part of our identities, and while we worried over exams, and a long list of things that have come up throughout the years and will continue to come up. And yeah, sometimes I feel really overwhelmed by the idea of cooking and she offers to do it for both of us to take care of me, and sometimes she hands me her money so I can pay for the things she wants to buy because she’s too overwhelmed to interact with strangers; and sometimes both of us are having an overwhelming day and we can’t help one another and it all sucks a bit more than usual. But we never demand that the other be there for us if the other can’t do that. We don’t demand that the other prioritise our needs to their own. And yeah, sometimes we can get angry because bad days exist and sometimes everything is too frustrating to handle; but when this happens, we just say, “hey, I’m angry/grumpy/frustrated/stressed out today, I need space or to be alone, please don’t touch me or talk to me for a while” and we establish boundaries and express our needs and emotions as openly as we can. Without being accusatory or demanding. Because you can be mad at someone, or having a bad day around someone, and still actively want to take steps to avoid hurting them. And someone can be mad at you, or having a terrible day around you, and still take steps to make you feel safe and respected. 

And, nonnie, the bad days shouldn’t make you feel like you’re only staying with that person because “no one will treat me better than this”. You shouldn’t have to wonder whether the good moments make up for the bad ones, because the bad ones shouldn’t leave you feeling miserable and unsafe. You shouldn’t have to constantly worry about everything you say or do making your partner explode. It’s one thing to take your partner’s struggles and boundaries into consideration and do things that will help them feel better, and another to walk on eggshells around them for fear of their reactions. And if staying in your relationship feels like you’re “settling with one person’s flaws so you don’t have to deal with someone else’s equally bad flaws”, then chances are you’d be better off without that person in your life, because romantic relationships (which, by the way, are not a mandatory part of life whatsoever) should bring good things to your life, not feel like a task or a burden. And if they feel like that, it’s completely okay to break up, even if you have kids. Especially if you have kids that are suffering that abusive situation as well.

I hope some of this helps! If you have more questions I’ll be more than happy to answer them. Sending support your way ❤

[carewyncromwell]

Zut alors! This art sure makes this Cinderella AU look like...well, a Cinderella AU, doesn’t it??

One critique I have about many Cinderella adaptations is about how the “ugly stepsisters” are either portrayed as one-dimensionally bad so as to make our Cinderella look more saintly by comparison or given just enough dimension that one could see them as secondary victims of their mother’s abuse and yet aren’t given an ending that frees them from it the way Cinderella does. And yes, obviously in many of those cases, the stepsisters jump in on abusing Cinderella too, but it’s a learned behavior the stepsisters acquire from their mother and, in some cases, one could also point to there possibly being an element of the child joining in on their parents’ abuse of their sibling, etc. as a method of self-preservation. There are a few adaptations where one stepsister “reforms” themselves while the other doesn’t, but in this story, I wanted to show that -- as unpleasant as the entire Cromwell clan is, including Carewyn’s cousins -- there’s some logic to how they behave. And in Claire Cromwell’s daughters’ cases in particular, they’re just as trapped by the expectations of their gender as Carewyn is, arguably more so because they’ve lived with Charles their whole lives and the importance of marrying well has been drilled into them much more than it ever was for Carewyn. Although it’s obvious how much worse Carewyn’s situation is compared to her cousins, I kind of liked the idea of showing how a character in the “ugly stepsister” role would feel, being constantly outdone by her relative despite her best efforts. And even in Carewyn’s canon, she does project a “perfect paragon” affect that irritates characters like Merula to no end, so this isn’t too much of a stretch. Doesn’t mean Iris is a good person or anything, but what can I say, I like giving my antagonists understandable motivations. 

In Carewyn’s canon, she becomes a robin Animagus. Part of it has to do with their size and coloring; part of it has to do with their symbolism (being associated with spring and, in the Christian tradition, selfless kindness, as they either earned their “red breast” when they sang comfortingly in Jesus’s ear while he bled on the cross or when they got burned fetching water for souls stuck in Purgatory); and part of it is because “Robin” was my deceased paternal aunt’s name, as well as my middle name! 🧡

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

On Charles’s instructions, Carewyn was returned to the tower room at the back of the Cromwell estate, this time with thick ropes tied her wrists together and lashing them to the legs of the cot set up in the corner. As Blaise finished securing Carewyn to the bed, he went out of his way to scold her that all of this was her own doing for trying to abandon her family before departing. 

Carewyn tried everything she could to get free, but within an hour, she determined that there was nothing sharp enough in the room that she could use to cut her bonds, even if she could move more than two feet in either direction. And so, in utter frustration, she collapsed to the floor, her eyebrows knitting tightly over her closed eyes. 

Talbott, she thought, please warn Orion...please, make sure he’s safe...

She wished she could simply have faith in Talbott, but being unable to do anything to protect Orion made Carewyn feel number and more afraid than she’d ever felt near the battlefield between Florence and Royaume. 

A moment later, Carewyn was startled by the sound of the door being unlocked. When it opened, she found Iris standing in the doorframe. Claire’s middle daughter was decked out in a striking dark blue and emerald satin gown and a dark blue feathered mask, and her dark hair was put up in a beautiful braided bun trimmed with peacock feathers.

“So you are locked up here,” said Iris. 

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very dully. “So I am.”

Iris’s face, for once, didn’t look particularly haughty. Her blue eyes, the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, swiveled over her cousin’s frame, taking in not just her bound ankles but the sewn-up back of her green dress. The dark-haired Cromwell looked almost disconcerted.

“This is your own doing, you know,” Iris said in a slightly higher voice than normal. “If you’d just left Prince Henri to me...done what Grandfather told you to do...”

“Blaise has more than given me that lecture already, thank you,” Carewyn said coldly.

Iris’s expression turned very offended. 

“So much for you not talking out of turn!” she said scathingly. “I would’ve thought you’d have learned your lesson, after what Grandfather did to you...”

Her eyes flickered over to Carewyn’s back again. Carewyn could see the discomfort and macabre fascination swimming in her eyes -- as if part of her wanted to see how bad the scars were, and yet the thought made her feel nauseous. 

Perhaps it was the compassion Carewyn felt, seeing her cousin struggle with feeling any kind of pity for her circumstances after how long they’d always hated each other...but she couldn’t help but address her a bit more gently than usual. 

“Just because Grandfather says something doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Iris scowled. “Just like you, to be ungrateful, after everything our family’s done for you...”

She turned her back on Carewyn as if to leave.

“I’m not just talking about myself,” Carewyn murmured. “I’m talking about you.”

Iris stiffened, stopping in the doorframe. 

“I heard Grandfather yell at you, when you first came home,” said Carewyn. 

“So what, you want to rub it in my face?” Iris huffed, sounding rather like a snake bearing its fangs after being stepped on. “Boast about how you always twist everybody around your little finger, without even trying?”

Carewyn couldn’t help but cock her eyebrows. “Boast? Iris, the only thing that’s twisted around here are the ropes that have been tied around my wrists -- and they hurt quite a bit.”

“You know what I mean!” said Iris impatiently. She crossed her arms, her shoulders sulking. “Stop being so...so bloody witty, will you!? You’ve always been so witty -- able to talk about absolutely nothing with complete strangers...even people you don’t want to impress! And then, all of a sudden, all those people can do is talk about you. Like Prince Henri...every time we talked, the conversation would always end up coming back to you and the dresses and shoes he wanted to make for you!”

Carewyn’s face became a bit more solemn. 

“The Prince and I are friends,” she admitted. “It was never anything more than that.”

Iris sniffed. “And I suppose it was ‘never anything more than that’ with Duke Lestrange either?”

“I didn’t even know Duke Lestrange,” Carewyn said exasperatedly. “And I had no interest in him romantically either. I think I made that quite clear both before and after you ripped my dress so badly that it exposed my undergarments.”

“And yet even then, you still charmed him!” said Iris, whirling around to glare at Carewyn. “You didn’t want anything from him, so why did you talk to him? Why did you smile and act all nice with him?”

“Because it was the polite thing to do!” said Carewyn, flabbergasted. “Because he was a guest! And one doesn’t have to get something in return to have a reason to show someone respect! It’s not something to be treated as a transaction!”

Iris’s face appeared more surly than ever as she looked away, adjusting the skirt of her gown. 

Carewyn looked down at her bindings and then back up at Iris’s back. She exhaled slowly through her nose, as an idea started to prickle at the sides of her brain. 

“...Iris...I’m sorry if I’ve wronged you,” she said softly. “I never had any intention to sabotage you...I know how much a proper marriage would endear you to our family.”

She took a deep breath. 

“If you want me out of the way...then I’ll go.”

Iris looked at Carewyn, startled. Carewyn stared her intently in the face.

“Just undo my bindings,” she said, “and leave the door unlocked...and when you and the others return from the ball, I’ll be gone. You’ll never have to live with me again.”

Iris stared disbelievingly. Carewyn’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, betraying some desperation. 

“Grandfather won’t have to know it was you,” she said. “No one would know except for me and you, and I won’t be here to tell anyone. Please...just let me escape.”

Let me get out to warn Orion. Let me save Orion. 

Iris stared at Carewyn for another long moment. Then, very slowly, her eyes narrowed. 

“You...you really want this,” she said lowly. “Don’t you?”

Carewyn gave her a very serious look. Iris’s eyes narrowed that bit more, darting from her face to down at her bindings and back. 

“...Well, then...”

She bent down, took hold of Carewyn’s bindings...and tightened them sharply.

“Ack -- !” 

Carewyn couldn’t quite choke back a yelp of pain. Iris shot back up to her feet, her eyes burning with resentment. 

“You probably want to live your own life just as much as the rest of us do,” she said. “Only you keep stopping me from starting my own life, by charming every man I could persuade to marry me. So I guess it’s only fair I make sure you can’t escape either.”

She strode for the door, snatching it up and glaring at Carewyn one more time. 

“At least tonight I won’t have to worry about you catching anyone else’s eye. You’ll be locked up here, far away from the ball, and unable to charm anyone.”

And with this, she slammed the door behind her and locked it with a loud CLACK. 

And so all Carewyn could do was sit helplessly on the floor, bound tightly to the bed, as the sound of her family’s carriages clattered off of the estate and toward the palace of Florence. Carewyn couldn’t even look out the window to watch them go. 

She tried several more times over the next hour to try to break free of her restraints, but as the sun grew lower and lower in the sky outside the window, she once again found herself falling still. All she could do was hope and pray and think of Orion...pleading with every entity of fate and justice that he was still alive. Soon enough she found herself falling off into a restless sleep in her uncomfortable position on the floor. 

This is why, when she heard a bizarre CRASH from downstairs, Carewyn was slow to react, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. It took her a moment to even gather her thoughts enough to try to escape her bonds again, so as to try to figure out what was going on. Once she did, however, she caught the sound of a voice calling out. 

“Miss Cromwell! Miss Cromwell, are you there?”

Carewyn’s heart leapt in a combination of disbelief and delight.

“Baroness!” she cried.

She tried to get up and run for the door, only for the rope around her wrists to hold her back. 

“Ack -- Baroness, I’m here!”

There was a sound like two sets of footsteps quickly climbing the stairs. Then, after a moment, she heard Talbott’s voice. 

“Carewyn, stand back! We’re going to get you out of there -- let me just adjust this -- ”

Carewyn was glad she was tied up away from the door when a few minutes later, it was thrown off its hinges with another CRASH. 

Talbott and Baroness McGonagall came running through the dust into the room. At the sight of Carewyn on the floor, Talbott immediately ran over to try to undo her bindings. 

“They’re -- they’re too tight!” he hissed in aggravation. 

“Leave it to me,” said McGonagall sharply. “Focus on the spell keeping that door off its hinges: once your concentration breaks, it’ll return to the way it was.”

She materialized a knife from the pocket in her gown and, with a strong SNAP, cut the thick cord attaching her to the bed, which helped her pull the rest of the bindings off of Carewyn’s wrists. 

Once her hands were free, Carewyn threw her arms around both her and Talbott’s shoulders, hugging them both in gratitude and relief. Within a second, though, she’d pulled away to look at them both urgently. 

“Baroness, we need to move fast...my grandfather -- ”

“Yes, Talbott told me,” said the Baroness curtly. “Quickly now -- ”

She swept back down the stairs, Talbott and Carewyn at her heels. Once they crossed the threshold, the door magically floated back up behind them, slamming back into place with just as much force as it had been blasted off. 

“The palace of Florence is at least three hours from here,” explained Talbott as they ran down the stairs. “I knew I couldn’t stay transformed that long, and I’ve never flown so far before -- didn’t reckon it’d be smart to try to fly somewhere I’ve never been and risk falling right out of the sky on the way, so I decided to go get the Baroness instead. Fortunately, on our way back here on foot, we collided with Badeea, and she was able to ride on ahead to the palace and tell the Weasleys the change in plans -- ”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “‘Change in plans?’”

Talbott smirked broadly, showing teeth. “Yeah -- the plan to bust you out of here.”

Carewyn gave a start. 

“It was KC and Bill Weasley’s idea,” Talbott explained. “After I delivered Cosimo’s message to you and took a break to recuperate from flying, I turned back into an eagle and headed to the palace. Figured Prince Henri would want to know the state you were in and might be able to do something to help. Unfortunately he couldn’t -- Charles Cromwell’s wealthy enough that he’s ingratiated himself to the King and Queen, and as your legal guardian, there isn’t much anyone else could do, unless you decided to run away. But Bill and Charlie didn’t like the thought of you being stuck there. Bill had already told Charlie to hold onto this coach he was fixing for the royal family, so they could use it to smuggle you out of the Cromwell estate and take you to their family’s house. And KC realized that the perfect night to do that would be the night of the ball, when the entire Cromwell family is supposed to be in Florence and you’d therefore be left completely unguarded. So Bill, Charlie, Badeea, and I decided to stay behind while everyone else at the palace headed out to Orion’s ball, so that we could come get you.”

Carewyn could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her eyes had gone very wide. 

“You...you mean you all put this together, just to help me?” she said shakily. 

Talbott’s face was very serious as they reached the ground floor. “Of course we did. You’re a good person, Carewyn -- you don’t deserve being trapped here.”

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with emotion despite her best efforts. 

“Talbott...” Her lips spread into a weak, overwhelmed smile. “I...thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Talbott said brusquely. “We’ve still got to get you to Florence.”

In the distance, Carewyn could hear the sound of a coach pulling up in front of the estate. McGonagall with her long legs reached the door of the manor first, and she unlocked and opened it, sweeping out into the courtyard. When Carewyn and Talbott darted after her, Carewyn gaped.

The broken royal coach she’d gone to help Charlie bring to the Burrow was as good as new, as clean, shining, and upright as it likely was when the King and Queen first purchased it. And sitting up in the driver’s seat was -- 

“CAREY!”

Charlie, dressed in a white-feathered black hat and a dark red velvet doublet trimmed with silver scales, dropped the reins connected to his and Bill’s chestnut horses and Badeea’s gray horse and leapt right off the coach and over to Carewyn. Jumping off the boot of the coach was Bill, dressed in a brown suede coat decorated with silver trim, and climbing out of the coach itself was Badeea, dressed in silver-dusted white satin. 

“Charlie!” cried Carewyn. “Bill! Badeea!” 

The Weasley brothers launched themselves at her, throwing their arms around her and squeezing tight. Unfortunately the wounds on Carewyn’s back made her crumple slightly, flinching away from their touch with a barely suppressed hiss of pain. 

“Carey?” said Bill, instantly concerned. 

“I’m all right!” Carewyn said very quickly. “I’m all right...”

Her blue eyes flooding with emotion, she threw her arms around both Charlie and Bill in return, squeezing them back. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she whispered. 

Bill’s eyes were very emotional too as he cradled the back of her head with his hand. The joy Carewyn felt just at the memory of her friends days earlier was back in full. She thought it’d be a long time before she’d ever see them again...and yet they were here. They’d come for her when she’d needed them most...

Badeea came up beside Carewyn, her dark eyes very concerned as she trailed a hand lightly along the stitching at the back of Carewyn’s dress. 

“Carewyn...your dress...”

The ginger-haired woman gave her a reassuring look. “It’s all right.”

She looked around at all of them, taking in their fine clothes. 

“Then...we’re all going to the ball ourselves?” she asked uneasily. “That’s the new plan?”

“Yep!” said Charlie brightly. “Andre had been working on some costumes for us, so we could all attend his mother’s New Years masquerade, before the whole thing at the border went down. He wasn’t able to finish any of them...but I borrowed a spare doublet from Andre’s closet for Talbott and Badeea was able to finish decorating the costumes that were closest to being done...”

He pointed out the “scales” on his doublet, while Bill held up the sleeve of his brown suede coat to show off the sparkly silver painted trim. 

Carewyn’s eyes widened. “That paint...is that -- ?”

“The paint Orion gave me? Yes,” Badeea said, beaming as she showed off the shiny “fur” detailing she’d applied to her own hijab. “It’s the first time I’ve ever purposefully applied my paints to fabric, but for a first try, I’d say it turned out pretty well. Your shoes and dress look even better, though...look!”

She moved over to the open door of the coach and pulled out a gray and orange gown and a pair of shoes. 

The chest was decked out with reddish-orange feathers arranged in a rounded heart shape, while the rest (made out of gray satin) was painted to look like it was covered in feathers. And the shoes...they were truly the most beautiful dancing slippers Carewyn had ever seen. The heels were made of colorful pumpkin diamond, while the shoes themselves, made of cloth, were nonetheless painted in a way that it looked like yellow, red, and orange stained glass. There was even a sheen on each panel, no doubt made with the slightest brush of the silver paint Orion had given Badeea, that made it look like it was sparkling. 

Carewyn brought up a hand to tentatively hold the skirt of the gown, staring in disbelief and awe. Badeea’s dark eyes were sparkling with pride.

“It’s a robin, see?” she said. “Andre thought it’d be the perfect way to apply your supposed ‘favorite color’ -- ash gray -- to your dress. He originally wanted to trim your shoes with more diamond, but after seeing everything on the battlefield, he was reluctant to spend any more money on materials. So I tried to make it look like it was made of diamond anyway...it didn’t quite work out the way I hoped, but I don’t think it turned out too bad.”

“Badeea...it’s beautiful,” breathed Carewyn, her eyes trailing over the “stained glass” slippers. 

Despite this, though, she whirled on the others with a severe expression. 

“...But I can’t go to the ball! My entire family will be there, as will Lord Malfoy and Patricia Rakepick -- none of them would let me get within twenty feet of Orion -- ”

“They will if they do not recognize you,” said McGonagall crisply. She turned to Badeea and extended a hand. “The mask, please.”

Badeea handed McGonagall a hand-painted robin mask to her. McGonagall then set about tracing a yellowish-gold spell in mid-air, which she then lightly tapped with the mask. In an instant, it sparkled with traces of golden light. 

McGonagall then placed the mask in both of Carewyn’s hands. 

“This mask has an illusionary enchantment placed on it,” she said solemnly, “one that will activate solely for you, while you are within the gates of Florence’s palace, for today only. While you wear it, you will appear, to the person seeing you, as a beautiful stranger. You will not look the same to any two people...meaning that, were anyone to try to identify you later, no one would be able to agree how tall you are, how slender, how old...not even any physical features like hair or eye color.”

McGonagall’s expression then turned very grave. 

“Just be sure that you leave the palace before the final stroke of midnight. Once the next day begins, my spell will break no matter what I might do...and if you’re still in the palace when that happens, then I daresay there’ll be plenty of people there who will recognize you.”

Carewyn nodded. Considering how willing Charles was to commit treason and murder, the last thing she wanted was for her grandfather to know she’d made it to the ball and who had helped her get there. 

“I understand,” she said.

“I will not fit in the coach with you,” said McGongall as she glanced at Talbott, “but I can maintain the illusion for the rest of the night, even from a distance. And I know my apprentice will do everything he can to make sure you get back to Royaume safely, once Orion is out of danger.”

Carewyn’s eyes became a little smaller and softer. “Thank you, Baroness...for everything.”

McGonagall’s usually stern face softened noticeably as she brought a hand to gently rest on Carewyn’s cheek.

“Godspeed, Miss Cromwell.”

And so Carewyn, Badeea, and Talbott all climbed into the coach. Once they were all inside, Bill -- playing the role of footman, snapped the door shut behind them and leapt up onto the boot of the coach. 

“Let’s go, Charlie!”

With a nod, Charlie bounded back up into the driver’s seat, snatched up the reins, and flicked them sharply with a “YAH!” The three horses charged off, pulling the coach right off the Cromwell estate and toward the reddening horizon. 

On their way to Florence’s palace, the group got themselves dressed. Carewyn politely averted her eyes as Talbott changed into the handsome purple velvet doublet Andre had been wearing when Carewyn first arrived at the palace, and then Talbott climbed out onto the boot of the carriage with Bill while Badeea helped Carewyn get dressed. 

When Carewyn took off her dress, Badeea saw her injured back for the first time. The artist’s gasp of dismay was silent, but she nonetheless trailed a cool, gentle hand along Carewyn’s bare back.

“I don’t think your gown will hide these,” Badeea murmured. “It’s cut low, to show off your back.”

Carewyn set her jaw grimly. “Then we’ll just have to leave them. Once I reach the palace and the Baroness’s illusion is activated, no one should be able to see them anyway.”

Badeea nodded grimly, her dark eyes very sad as she helped Carewyn pull the gown over her head.

“We all worried Lord Cromwell wasn’t treating you well,” she confessed, “but...I don’t think any of us thought he’d do something like this to you.”

Her usually serene expression betrayed a flicker of resentment. 

“He’s a horrible man,” she said very softly. “Just...horrible.”

Carewyn offered Badeea a weak smile, bringing a hand onto her shoulder and squeezing to show some reassurance. 

Charlie had never been to the palace of Florence before, but he was fortunately able to follow the many, many sets of long tracks left by other carriages and carts from Royaume that had already left for Florence’s capitol. He set the horses off at the fastest gallop he could manage without endangering his passengers, and within three hours, Charlie caught sight of some more carriages in the distance. He rushed to catch up with them, pulling up just behind them as they headed through the open gates of the Florentine palace.

The palace of Florence couldn’t have been more different than Royaume’s. While Royaume’s castle was white stone with extensive hedge gardens and many rounded towers trimmed with pointed dark rooves, Florence’s was made of tan-colored clay bricks stacked a mile high with geometric railings along the edges of towers and beautifully carved marble columns and arches framing the interior courtyard. It was also lit up with dozens of torches, making it blaze with golden light in the night. The warmer color palette, in contrast to Royaume’s palace’s pure white marble and clean lines, made Florence’s palace look significantly older, even though it was just as well-maintained. Carewyn couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of interesting histories she might read, if she could take the time to look over the yards of text etched into each column and wall. 

“I think I see Andre’s coach!” said Charlie.

He pointed out a coach parked almost directly in front of the grand staircase. Its coachman was tending to their horses.

“He must not have arrived too long ago,” said Bill. He looked at the others through the window of the coach. “Do you have the masks ready, Badeea?”

Badeea lightly waved the last mask she’d been painting back and forth to help it dry. “Just about...”

Carewyn could also see the white coaches belonging to the Cromwell family parked on the far right end. She could even see her horse among the white steeds pulling them -- it kept pulling at its reins tensely, as if not liking being lashed together with its fellows to the coach. 

Charlie pulled up in front of the castle, as far back and as far left as he could, so that they could stay close to the gate in case they needed a quick exit. As soon as they came to a stop, Bill pulled open the door of the coach. 

“Are you ready, Carey? Your hair and dress okay? Got your mask?”

“Yes,” said Carewyn. 

“Go on, then -- we’ll be right behind you.”

Carewyn nodded determinedly and quickly climbed out of the coach, holding her skirts up so as to keep them clear of her “stained glass” slippers. 

Charlie couldn’t help but gape. “Whoa, Carey...the Baroness wasn’t kidding! You don’t look like yourself at all!”

Carewyn blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah! You’ve got, like, blond hair and green eyes -- like some emerald dragon!”

“You look like a brunette to me,” said Bill sheepishly. 

“We can gush about the Baroness’s talent for illusions later,” Talbott cut them off brusquely. “Carewyn -- go find the King.”

Carewyn nodded. Turning her gaze toward the palace, she ran straight for the stairs, charging right past the guests that walked more leisurely up the stairs and ignoring how their heads turned in her direction. 

Orion...please don’t let me be too late...!

[scammydoesstuff]

So about that 'Blue Bloods' episode…

I recently saw something come across my dash regarding Alex Brightman’s guest appearance on the season 11 episode of 'Blue Bloods' (The Common Good) and it reignited the vehement response I had to the episode as a whole. And, since I have this blog now, I figured…fuck it. I need to rant about it.

So that's what this is.

Take what I say with a grain of salt, of course. This show is so clearly not for me and I acknowledge that, but I went to school for and got my degree in creative writing and so much of this episode pissed me off from a narrative perspective and I just really need to talk about it. Putting it under a Read More, though, so you can ignore me if you’d like while I rage to no one in particular. Apologies in advance if you choose to read on. I'm super long-winded. Luckily I don't have pictures and this is more of just a lot of text, so…it could be longer?

So, to begin, I’ll freely admit that I’d never seen an episode of 'Blue Bloods' before this and I’ve not watched it since. I mean, if the rest of the episodes are as badly written as this one, I have no interest to either, but I digress.

Overall my main problem with the episode was how desperately it avoided ‘showing’ over ‘telling’ and, as a visual medium, that’s kind’ve a big deal. We were told pretty much every detail that was presented to us. These people love to hear themselves talk, but do little to actually show things as they happen and I believe a part of that has to do with the focus of the show itself, which is definitely unique to this brand of television. By that, I just mean that it’s not the format I might’ve expected from a show like this. Most cop shows give a lot of focus to the cases, and the intrigue you get with the characters is how they apply their own skills and knowledge to solve them, with the hi-jinks they get into along the way being more of a bonus.

This is not that kind of show.

No, 'Blue Bloods' as a show is way more interested in the cops and their familial ties than it is about the actual job that they’re doing, as shown prominently with the political plot of this episode which was also very focused on the relationship between Tom Selleck’s character and his daughter and the wholly unrelated dinner scene where they talk about lent for 2 and a half minutes and acknowledge nothing else that happened in the episode. This show doesn’t care about the job of being a cop so much as it cares about the cops themselves.

Which would be fine if I gave a shit about cops, but I don’t.

You could argue that the mentor plot is the exception to that, but that entire situation had no real consequences for the cop in question, Jamie, abusing his power. It was entirely focused on how the situation affected him and how it was fine that he’d nudged this kid to get information which ultimately led to the arrest of Dion's brother, and Dion quitting the program. Hell, if Jamie had, in his final scene with Dion, owned up to his abuse of power and left the program — to then urge Dion to rejoin so that he can have that positive outlet in his life without him there — I would’ve been way more okay with it, but Jamie faces no consequences past ‘I don’t wanna see you anymore’, which I was never convinced he actually cared about in the slightest. There's nothing cathartic about it, it's just shitty and left me feeling frustrated at the lack of consequences for the cop.

But hey, you prolly don’t wanna read me going on and on about those parts. You prolly wanna know why I hate it despite Alex’s plot — which I fully expected to love because he’s perfect and gorgeous even when he’s playing a bad guy and he was just so adorable in his lil suit and they let him keep the scruff this time, and he was all handsome an— I need to stop. That could go on forever.

Anyway, to put it simply; it was bad, but I'll definitely explain why.

Now, I don’t think any of the guests in this episode necessarily did a bad job. They still acted well enough for what they were given. I just think they had a shit script that wasn’t interested in that story line. I mentioned at the top of this that this show cared more about telling than showing and that’s a huge problem when you want me to buy a character being the culprit in your murder plot. I need evidence, not anecdotes. Cuz, yeah, by the end of the episode, I didn’t buy for even a second that Ralph did it. And it’s not because he was played by Alex who is just charisma incarnate. I can believe him playing a bad guy. I also watched his 'Law & Order SVU' episode where he scared the shit outta me. He can play a creepy and violent character very well, he just wasn’t convincing to me as a bad guy in this show.

And here’s why!

First of all, he confessed at knife point. That confession would be thrown away IRL. It’s the same problem with using torture to get information. If a person’s life is threatened or they're being harmed in some way, they’ll usually say whatever it takes to get you to stop threatening them/causing them pain. Same deal here. You can’t convince me with a confession like that.

But they didn't seem to be interested in convincing anyone as far as I could tell. They just expected you to believe it because, ‘no, didn’t you hear? He said he did it, so he did it.’ They had so many opportunities to portray this character as the shitbag that we’re told he is. Hell, great way to really implicate him? Give him a female assistant that Donnie Wahlberg and his partner overhear / walk in on him berating for something small like getting him the wrong coffee or something. Then have them talk to that assistant later on and her mention some weird behavior from him on the night of Andrea’s death. It's cliché, but it's more than what we got.

Or you could have him talk to Meghan in a super condescending voice when he approaches her after her interview later on. Or, hell, have him refer to the murder victim in a condescending way even as he talks about her death. But no. The most we get out of him is that he's maybe a little snarky and smug when talking to the cops, but that’s not enough to convince me he’s a bad dude. Frankly, his producer buddy came off as more of an asshole, if I'm being honest. Just cuz (we’re told) his character did shitty things to her in the past doesn’t mean he’s still shitty. Show me he’s still shitty. I wanna see it and I know Alex is capable of a performance like that.

Second, it’s also just…obvious to make him the culprit if we're to believe everything we're told about him. He and Andrea are described as having had beef a little while before the murder with him being abusive mentally and physically. He’s known in the community to be a misogynist and an abusive person overall. He’s the obvious suspect, but if there’s anything that Scooby-Doo taught me, it’s that it’s never the most obvious person. Like, once in a blue moon, sure — but it’s rare.

So yeah, I don’t believe that Ralph did it. You wanna know who I do think did it?

Meghan.

Alright, so bear with me. This'll prolly sound a little conspiratorial, but hear me out:

She had the motive. She confirms in the beginning of the episode that she’s also a female gamer like the victim, but that she was ‘no Andrea’. Andrea was her competition. They were (supposedly) friends and stuck together as female gamers, but Andrea was still competition. With her out of the way, Meghan’s able to rise in the ranks, if even a little bit.

She had a scapegoat in Ralph — again, the obvious suspect given his tumultuous relationship with Andrea sometime prior — and an obvious grudge against men in their community in general. And, don’t get me wrong, men in gaming can and often are hella toxic — I’m not, in any way, denying that — but she got way more emotional when talking about the men in their community than when she was talking about her supposed friend lying dead in the adjoining room.

Speaking of the adjoining room, how did she not hear the murder happening? It couldn’t have been when she was down in the bar, cuz we see Ralph there too in the crappy CCTV footage that was supposed to show him being an asshole, I think (hard to really see). Was she just fucking around somewhere else when it happened? She doesn’t mention as much that I recall (correct me if I'm wrong on that, of course). And Andrea was strangled to death. I would assume that there would’ve been a struggle with that. Are you seriously telling me she wouldn’t hear that in her adjoining hotel room? Those walls aren’t that thick. I find that kinda hard to believe. And that she wouldn’t have found her till the next morning after that, also strikes me as a little odd.

Going off on some previous points, she shows very little grief over her friend’s death. Not just in the intro scene, either, but later on as well. (Side bar: that intro scene itself was very misleading. Don’t lead with a murder plot if it only takes up less than 10 minutes of the overall runtime, kay?) The show did a pretty bad job at indicating the passage of time, but it’s implied that the convention is still happening when Meghan gets the confession out of Ralph, so it would’ve had to have been the same weekend, or possibly the same week (though most conventions I’m aware of don’t last that long — it’s usually a weekend thing, at most Thursday-Sunday — but it could be similar to AGDQ, which seems to last about a week). So, if this is only a day or so later, why would someone who is supposedly grieving over their dead friend do interviews like nothing is wrong? Wouldn't you, like, reschedule or just politely decline and say you need time to process the shock? Like, when we cut to ol’ Donnie Wahlberg calling her after her interview, she doesn’t look upset — as I imagine she might if they’d likely asked her questions about Andrea / her feelings about the murder — and she seems cool as a cucumber when she asks Ralph to go somewhere private. In fact, the look on her face indicates pretty clearly that she’s planning to do something. Specifically, not that she's scared, that she's angry.

Finally, she’s the one who’s attacking Ralph when Donnie Wahlberg and company arrive on the scene. She doesn’t seem to have any marks on her indicating that he made any move to harm her (again, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't remember seeing her with any marks / cuts), but he’s got a clear, bleeding cut on his face. She attacked him first and was going in for the kill.

Or…was she? Cuz right before Donnie Wahlberg pulls her into that bear hug to stop her from the attack, she doesn’t do a great job of actually trying to kill Ralph. She was close enough that a quick dart at him would’ve probably been enough to at least injure him pretty significantly — maybe even fatally — and would’ve surely led the cops to pull them apart to secure him, but she kinda just hops around a bit and screams before lunging for him. That’s a really weird way to attack when you actually want to kill someone.

But, then again, I don’t necessarily think she did want to kill him. I’m convinced she wanted that confession, but that she also wanted him in jail and was playing the part of the super sad and hysterical victim who was just so overcome with her grief that she wasn’t in her right mind. I think that’s what they were going for in regards to her character in general, but it came across as less sincere in the performance and more like the character was putting on an act. They then cart Ralph off while comforting her — despite the fact that she disobeyed a direct order from police, which should lead to her being detained as well! — and that plot ends.

So, she gets what she wants in the end. A person she despises is now in police custody, her competition is out of the way, and the publicity she might get for bringing that ‘murderer’ to justice might eventually lead to her own career getting a nice boost. I dunno, it just strikes me as her having a great reason to have initiated this over Ralph just being a misogynist who 'was really trying to kill Meghan and just got the wrong girl'.

So yeah, with what the show presented to us, I believe Meghan’s the real killer. Again, if they’d done more to show me that Ralph was a bad dude or that she was more affected by her supposed friend’s death, or if they'd just given that plot more room to breathe to show those things, I might’ve been more inclined to buy the narrative they were pushing but…as is, I don’t believe it.

That’s pretty much all I wanted to say on the matter. I had a lot of issues with the domestic abuse plot line too, but they barely gave that 5 minutes of the overall runtime, so does it really matter in the long run? This is just…my thought process of the only part of the episode I watched for and how disappointing it was for me. And yes, I timed each section of the episode to figure out how much time was given to each of the 4 plots, plus the dinner scene at the end, but not counting the intro theme, and the murder plot got just over 8 minutes, of which Alex was on screen for half of that time. He got less than 5 minutes of screen time. It was definitely worth it just because he’s wonderful and I just like seeing him on these shows, but from a narrative standpoint, it felt pointless.

Okay, I’m done. Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Unless y’all wanna talk about this some more, cuz I’m so down for that.

[feysandfeels]

ACOSF: very long, very spoilery review

No one asked me to do this, but I need to talk, discuss and get it all out there.I am still very much feeling the high of this book, but I thought I would share some of my opinions. These of course might change as time passes and I reread the series and the book. But as of now here is where I stand.

If you did not like the book or had many issues with it, maybe this isn’t the post for you.

For reading purposes I will divide this in different sections that I hope can effectively tackle what I want to talk about. 

When I say it’s a long post... I mean it’s long. 

II. Side Characters // III. Future Books.

I. Plot:

From the get go it became obvious that we would face an ACOMAF type of book, in which the development and advancement of the plot would stem largely from the characters. Where MAF created a more equal ratio between action and character, even if it prioritized character, SF really created a 70-30 ration, 70 would be character and 30 action. 

I’ve been seeing a few reviews where people say that there was no plot just sex and Nesta. I disagree. Nesta’s development was the plot. And it makes a lot of sense, to me, why we did not experience a lot of “action plot”: She is not a working member of the Night Court, at least not in the way the IC is in this book, so therefore she will not get full access into the different things that are at play.  Since Nesta is not a working member it makes sense that she is detached from what is happening, apart from the “please help us find these things”. The most action we get comes from Cassian who is more involved in the politic side of things and even then it was explained that he was needed for #InternationalRelationshipsWithEris, because he is a working member of the court. You can tell that they chose him for that because they literally had no one else: Feyre couldn’t risk people finding out she was pregnant, Mor had her own task and is not going to meet regularly with her abuser, Az and Rhys are fucking overworked and Amren is not a people’s person. I would have loved to see more of his work as a general when they are not at war -that we saw more in WAR- we get mentions of what he does but I wished we had gotten more on that front.

 Nesta: I have never hated Nesta, I simply could not see the logic behind her actions and her behavior. I now do. I understand why she came to be and I value her so much more now. Nesta showed another face mental illness can take, how a deep sense of failure can affect you, the darkest thoughts that you are afraid to voice, she voiced. She moved forward and then made mistakes, showing how healing is not linear. Her journey made a lot of sense to me. Her rage made sense to me, her sexuality made a lot of sense to me. I could empathize with her and for that I will be forever grateful, because sometimes rage that comes from a sense of failure is what you will also find in me. 

Her insecurities concerning Cassian, her feelings of unworthiness regarding Feyre, the guilt she felt when she thought of her father, her lack of control regarding the trauma she went. Nesta took all that and made it rage. And I could hardly judge her for that.

Thanks to the way she talked about the mating bond when Cassian was like “we’re mates” I could understand better why Feyre got so upset that Rhys didn’t tell her. The argument of it being tied to their humanity was very interesting.

Also the way that she relates to her power, having lack of control and understanding of what it is (and according to Amren, respect) and having that power being death. You cannot control death, you cannot fully understand it, and yet you have to walk each day with that presence. She has been marked by so much death and grief that I thought it was very appropriate that her journey is marked by her own fear of death and of that which she cannot control: death that now lives in her. There is so much to unpack in that aspect alone.

I loved that final sequence when she gives up her cauldron based powers because those came from rage. She took them when she was raging (and rightfully so) but those nurtured the fury and death she carried with her. So to have her literally give up her death (rage) powers to give live to the sister that literally gave it all for her was a beautiful poignant crystal clear moment –and hella intense too–. There is a sense of gratitud that I feel having read her story. 

Cassian: He was always God Tier for me. His warmth, openness, support and strength spoke to me on a personal level. He is truly the person you want in your life. And I love that we got to see him flawed and make mistakes and be aware of the role he has been playing (regarding Mor and Az, which I think is quite important to the development of that situation). 

As the person closest to Nesta in her recovery, I think it is very important that he knows the deep failure that Nesta is feeling and the sense of not being useful when they should have been. It makes it more clear why he was the one that could actually help her overcome those feelings and the storm they create in her. Now, the way he was supportive of her seems so realistic to me, the frustration, the anger, the wanting to shake the person: all of it happens in real life. You can have a lot of patience and want what’s best for them but some times to yourself and those who are not the person you are trying to help, you can show the frustration of wanting to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, but needs to. 

Finally I LOVED that there was acknowledgement of how observant and intelligent he is. Being a good general is not an easy task and I’m glad they explicitly said it, because Cass being understood as the dumb jock is done at this point. 

The sex: To me sex in SJM’s books are always more than just the wink wink nudge nudge-read it with a glass of wine-moment. They have always been a mechanism for us to get to know more about the characters and where they are in their journey. Even when they were just having sex, the way Nesta describes how open she is with Cassian is a pretty big tell of the groundwork that is being laid for her to start to understand what she feels for him. I think it is interesting to also see it as a reclaiming of her body and an exploration of her body with someone she trusts, as opposed to the way she was using sex to forget and to try to feel. Also, and I’ve said this before the fuck buddies -> lovers is an interesting dynamic, specially specially when every time they are together you know they both want more but they think the other doesn’t! That’s just *chef’s kiss*

The wider conflict: I think this book in the action-political plot was the ACOTAR of the problems we will face in the next ones. In the next one it will be like “shit what did we unleash” and start a political-spying plot. The characters that we all hope we will explore are more connected to the larger schemes that are taking place so we will see an expansion of that. Because this book was very self-contained. Think Guardians in the MCU, but here we have the clues and the basic groundwork for where the “action” part of the story will take is. I do not think it was lacking because from the get go it was shown that the main focus would be Nesta’s personal journey.

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (29)

Author’s Note: Happy Halloween! Sorry this is so late everyone. I am currently writing my thesis for graduate college (the very reason why this chapter is not longer) and it has been sucking up ALL of my time in combination with Covid-19 face-to-face teaching and virtual teaching. In short, my life has been a walking list of “to-do’s” which causes me to neglect my writing. This chapter is dedicated to zeidika (hope you are reading this) who reviewed my story back in July. I occasionally think about your message and it keeps me going through stressful times. I hope your upcoming graduation is a memorable moment and that your son is doing well. You inspire me too! Congrats on the outstanding GPA! I am hoping to follow you soon with graduation!

Please let me know what you guys think. More action-packed chapters coming your way soon (hopefully).

P.S. While you are waiting on more chapters of A.S., go check out my new mystery/horror fiction story, “Beneath the Harlow Grove” by @anerdinallherglory on Wattpad.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

Chapter 29: A Generation of Weaklings

Sasuke blasted through a few too many red-dirt mountains in Kaguya’s core dimension. With every blast, he felt more like himself. Something chemical happened in his brain when he tunneled raw chakra through his veins; it helped him adopt the right mindset. Sasuke found that the quickest way to erase his thoughts was to surrender them to his shinobi persona who had to be focused. That chakra felt like a jolt to his nervous system, reminding him of himself and his shinobi goal.

Of course, now that he was less distracted, he found himself too depleted of chakra to do anything more than take a breather. Now that he was in the core dimension, Sasuke would have to adjust his plans. Previously, the Uchiha had been trying to cross into the desert dimension without going through the middle dimension. Now that he had jumped ship and escaped here by instinct, he was going to have to do this whole thing in reverse. Logically, his next step would have to be crossing into the desert dimension and then overpassing this core dimension directly to Kunagakure. All this would require a lot of chakra.

Just to speed up the process, Sasuke momentarily considered swallowing one of the chakra pills that he had swiped before his cold exit hours before into this dimension. It might be a good idea for experimentation purposes, but Sasuke knew enough about shortcuts to comprehend that chakra pills would do more harm than good, which is why they were typically reserved. It was best, the Uchiha decided strategically, to take the pill when he was at his chakra max, so he could ultimately top it off and have just the right amount to make the jump.

And besides, Sasuke just didn’t have enough time or chakra to experiment recklessly. He would get one shot to try it before he had to wait a significant amount of time for his chakra to replenish enough to try it again if he failed. Not to mention in what ways he would have to recover from whatever side effects he would suffer through from abusing the chakra pills.

Sasuke pinched his nose in concentration and tried his best to expel Sakura from his mind while he waited. And it worked just enough, for the most part…consciously—until he fell asleep that night and dreamt of her, his suppressed thoughts confronting him in his subconscious. He had developed a habit of dreaming about Sakura lately, so this wasn’t something new to him. His dreams of her usually involved her imminent death; an enemy threatening her life in a way that Sasuke was too late to prevent. This was the case. Usually. But something about that kiss earlier had unnerved Sasuke, transforming his instinctual focus on her from one of concern to one of…how would he describe it? Desire? Hope? Longing? None of those words seemed acceptable to the Uchiha; he hated to have to admit to any of those feelings even when dreaming.

In this dream, he was back in that damn medicine preparation room, glaring into Sakura’s green eyes after that unexpected kiss. But this time, instead of sensibly leaving, the Uchiha gave in to her desperate pleadings, taking her chin between his fingertips and bringing her mouth back to his. In this dream, Sasuke kissed her. Was kissing her frenziedly, hand suddenly twisting in the pink fuzz at the nape of her hot, flushed neck. Was, until a hand clamped firmly on his shoulder, jerking him abruptly back away from her. When he turned, Sasuke was face-to-face with himself. His conscious self vs. the subconscious.

When Sasuke woke, he laughed derisively as he realized he would always be the one to get in his own way in both reality and fiction.

“Good,” he said aloud to the airless dimension, suddenly frustrated for fantasizing about the opposite scenario of the one he had chosen. He hoped Kaguya, or others like her, somehow were able to hear him through this connection of dimensions. They would see just how determined he was to rid the world of them; how dedicated he was to protect those he loved. So much so, that he would sacrifice and surrender every aspect of his life to this goal.

Sasuke stood then, forming the hand sign to split the dimension in the space before him until raging sand materialized before his eyes. He decided he would just not sleep; not unless he was so tired that he wouldn’t even have enough left in him to dream.  

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sakura was a quick learner. The medical ninja gave herself that credit at least as she imitated the slow intake and exhale of breath that professed sleep. This certainly wasn’t her first kidnapping. Half a year ago, Kido had done just exactly that and as soon as his posse realized she was awake, the show had begun. Sakura’s poison-trained system had finally started to break down whatever sleep-induced toxin Mako had spiked her drink with. With no conception of how long she had been unconscious, Sakura had become cognizant and immediately began to mimic an undisturbed state. This time, she was set on listening. This time, she would assess and strategically plan.

She had been waiting to hear the answer as to “why” she found herself in this particular situation as she was dragged, then hoisted over someone’s shoulder. For a blurry second, Sakura was taken back to her drunken episode several weeks ago when Sasuke carried her home after the medic had decided to deplete Tsunade’s alcohol stash. The only similarity between this state of stupor and that one was the pounding headache that made Sakura want to vomit. That was when memory caught up with her and she began to “act.”

She was exchanged from one shoulder to the next and Sakura realized suddenly that she had been carried by Mako up until this point--that bastard--and was being surrendered to someone else. She didn’t know the voice.

“Great job,” a guttural accent commended Mako for his successful abduction. Sakura planned on commending him herself once she regained the upper hand.

“Just shut up and walk,” came Mako’s voice, in a tone that sent shivers down Sakura’s spine. She had never heard him speak like that. How could she have been played by him this whole time?

Sakura began to second-guess her decision to pretend the longer that they walked. In cases of abduction, it was well known that a person’s chances of survival drastically dropped if the kidnapper succeeded in moving them to a second location. But Sakura thought of Isao, her patients, her coworkers, and even Sasuke and resolved herself. It was better for them if she could allow these maniacs to believe that they had got her. What they didn’t know, was that their mistake would be getting Sakura just far enough away from civilians where she could cause some real damage. She had handled Kido; she could take care of these two as well. Neither of them could have anticipated her other skillset; Mako didn’t know her well enough.

When they had dropped her not so gracefully onto her back an hour later, Sakura bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a pained groan or facial expression to give away her performance. Other voices chimed in then, and Sakura realized her adversaries had just doubled.

“About damn time,” someone drawled as she was dropped. “You couldn’t have taken care of this sooner?”

There was some shuffling as her capturers arranged themselves in what sounded like a cramped space.

Mako announced: “She’s surprisingly resistant. Not to mention Uchiha’s been around just until recently.”

That particular statement wounded Sakura a little more than the fall she just sustained. Of course, this was all about Sasuke. She should have known. Kido had kidnapped her for this same reason: to lure in Sasuke, kill her in front of him so his eyes would change. Sakura was starting to get pretty annoyed with people trying to use her to get to Sasuke—as if she would ever let that happen. When would they learn that things weren’t so black and white? Mako’s previous statement the morning of her capture began to make more sense to her now: “Well, it’s obvious that he likes you. To be honest, I thought you were already a couple.” And Sakura cursed her mouth for confiding in him because now she identified his interest as a predatory investigation.

“Or maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough because you liked her,” came a response from a voice Sakura seemed to recognize for some reason. It was different from the rest—distinctively female. Sakura mentally raised an eyebrow at that fact.  

“Believe me, that’s not the case” came Mako’s defense. “Ashuwa just didn’t do the trick on a medical specialist as we had hoped.”

And then Sakura was cursing. Cursing a stream of silent words that wouldn’t do her any good to express verbally now that she was getting information. The bastard had even convinced her that Sasuke should take it. She thanked the universe for Sasuke’s non-allergic reaction to it.

“What ended up working?” came the female voice again, expressing honest curiosity.

“Tea and kindness,” Mako stated unemotionally, eager to move past the topic. “Now let’s get on with this.”

“Of course,” said the female again, tossing what sounded like clanging metal onto the floor at his feet. “You have been given a position among us as promised for your service. Welcome.”

Sakura couldn’t resist. She snuck a peek through the corner of her eyelashes at them then and did not like what she saw. She was in a small gathering room with a domed ceiling, one of the many adobe homes on the outskirts of the Sand Village. She had also miscounted by 1. There were four of them, an extra silent companion seated & leaning against the wall farthest from her, seemingly uninterested. In the same second, Sakura also noted that Mako had bent down to retrieve something she recognized, a headband with a foreign symbol etched onto it—the same symbol she had seen on the headbands of their assailants back at the Tanigakure lodge. She made the connection: these were the same ninja who had followed Sakura and ambushed her and Sasuke in the night. The ninja she had recounted to Gaara, who was supposedly on their trail. How did they manage to get past him?

Just as Sakura thought this, an unexpected thud came from the ceiling accompanied by the crumbling sound of sand. Quiet consumed them as no one moved. Sakura observed quietly as all ninja revealed their weapons in silence as if they were snakes quietly coiling back to strike.

The man in the corner nodded toward the door, and the ninja closest to Sakura’s head disbanded from the group and disappeared within a second. Once outside, the same ninja began swearing loudly at some surprise. Everyone in the room relaxed as a child’s vocal squirming reached their years. The shuffling continued as this child was being brought inside.

“Damn kid must have followed us!” the returning ninja said in annoyance. “Got some bite to him.”

If Sakura hadn’t been laying down already, she would have collapsed in shock and fear at the memorable voice of the child they had just apprehended and threw down next to her. “Get away from me!” Isao shouted, the boy swinging a kunai out in front of him. They laughed wickedly at the boy’s ferocity.

Okay, show’s over.

Protective instincts kicked in swiftly as Sakura successfully reached forward and stole the kunai away from the child in less than a blinking second. There were unanimous intakes of breath throughout the room as Sakura managed to get Isao behind her and compress the blade threateningly against the esophagus of the man who had touched the both of them—it all happened within a microsecond.  Sakura’s sudden revival activated the group’s defense and they were upon her, but she let out a snarl, drawing blood against the man’s throat.

They immediately stopped their advance when the man she had ensnared began to laugh, throat nicking against the knife as he did so. “Do it already,” he breathed through his laugh. “My death will be a part of this effort. It will only help us in our cause.”

Sakura was certainly tempted by that. The way he had roughly handled Isao seconds before with his colossal insensitive hands was like a fresh and bloody burn on her skin, painful and needing the immediate relief of this man’s execution. But something in his words froze her hand. A cause?

“Glad you are finally awake,” came Mako’s distinct tone, a vicious friendliness warming the words again.

“Shut up you liar,” Sakura spat viciously.

“If you let him go, we’ll tell you why we are going to kill you,” came the female’s voice, and Sakura flashed her angry green eyes over in the woman’s direction. Her face and hair were covered, and Sakura acknowledged the same black shemagh that had concealed her attackers in Tanigakure.

Fat chance, she thought. Sakura immediately assessed her chakra levels and was aggravated by how slow chakra was reacting to her body’s summoning of it. Mako was a fellow medic, and Sakura deduced that whatever he had given her had strategically messed with her system and chakra connection. Sakura mutely criticized herself for trusting Mako. How many times would she be tricked in her lifetime? Probably many more, but she would learn from them all. Oh well, she thought. She had had worse odds before. Her only additional complication was Isao because now she was responsible for herself and the 11-year-old boy who had pursued after her. Had he somehow witnessed Mako’s abduction of her?

It was at this moment that the woman at the front of the room began to take off her mask, and Sakura almost dropped the knife altogether. As the black wrap was loosened and it slumped around the woman’s neck, Sakura immediately recognized the face of Hisa, the female medic ninja who had been her assistant throughout Sakura’s entire stay in Kunagakure. Even Isao behind her, gasped when he saw the woman who had helped take care of him.

Sakura’s moment of surprise was all it took for the ninja she stood behind to reach his hand lightning-quick between his own throat and the kunai. He grabbed on to Sakura’s wielded wrist with his left hand and flung her forward over his shoulder. She mentally cursed as she went flying toward the forefront of the room, landing painfully into the opposite wall. She practically went through it, and the side of the adobe house collapsed around her. As she fell, Sakura realized that the brute force used against her revealed their intention to truly kill her. They weren’t planning on preserving her, let alone sparing her life.

Sakura had been launched farther than she initially realized because when she managed to rise from the dust and sand, she winced at the other consequences of her distraction that was now beyond reach. One by one, the villains stepped through the new door that Sakura had made, carrying Isao with them. In the next second, Isao was tossed to the sand, screaming threats and clutching at the thug man’s foot that suddenly pinned down his chest. When the beast applied pressure to the child’s sternum, Isao began to moan in pain.

The sight enraged her, and she broke her silence. “You’re wrong if you think this plan of yours will work!” she screamed at them. “I am nothing to Sasuke. Nothing to anyone, do you hear me?!”

All but the quiet man snickered in response to her declarations, but she continued, seething through her teeth.

“He will not come to save me! You will not get what you want by using me! Let the child go!”

“This isn’t about Sasuke,” replied the wraith-like man who came last through the shattered side of the building’s exterior wall. For the first time since her awakening, the still man walked to the head of the party and addressed her. “Neither is it about the Hokage, or even the Jinchurki. This is about you.”

The night suddenly seemed starless, dark, and void of all sound save the squealing wind. As the stranger spoke this truth, three of the other members flanked his sides before fanning out beside him like Tamari’s fan, creating a close-knit semi-circle. The phantom-like man stood casually in the middle, his face cloaked in the combined darkness of night and the face wrapping he wore. As Sakura looked closer, even this man’s eyes, the only thing that could be seen between the black fabric, seemed like depthless holes of nothing. This man reminded Sakura of a walking desert mirage, some sort of shadow demon hiding in human clothing.

Sakura gritted her teeth as her body instinctively begged her to flee. Isao’s need for her overpowered that. She would die before abandoning him.

“Me?” Sakura asked instead, revealing her honest surprise. “What do you want with me?” It was a trick, the kunoichi told herself. What could they possibly have to gain from killing her when much more powerful figures literally walked side by side with Sakura? There was nothing to gain besides Sasuke’s, Naruto’s, or Kakashi’s ultimate death, defeat, or capture.  

“Your efforts to fix the ‘mentally ill’ goes against the philosophy of our newly founded group,” came Hisa’s poison-dripped answer. Sakura noted that they all took a step toward her in synchrony, tightening in on her a little closer. This practiced pack was testing her and Sakura took a step back to match their own. She was smart enough not to let them surround her like the meal they believed her to be. Sakura felt suddenly empathetic for those mother animals who felt torn between their captured young and their own safety. Let them believe that she was this helpless observer who reeked with fear.

“And what philosophy is that?” She asked, imitating the breaks of a trembling in her throat. She practically seeped the question with distress. It must have had the effect Sakura wanted, for her enemies smiled in response and took another step toward her.

With an insanity that Sakura had not heard in his statements before, Mako declared emphatically, “Progression!”

Sakura couldn’t wait to punch his teeth so far down his throat that Mako’s vocal cords and epiglottis would permanently suffer damage.  

Sakura stammered again, portraying the weakness they wished to see. “Pro--progression?” Another step back. Just a little more.

“Whether or not it is your intention, you will create a shinobi generation of weaklings,” stated the leader again. He essentially breathed more darkness, because the night around her suddenly grew thicker. Was she imagining it, or could this be some sort of jutsu?

“How do you figure that?” she questioned, adding a nervous laugh to her annoyed tinged inquiry. Sakura’s exasperation with their reasoning was starting to make her focus waver.

As she asked, Sakura concentrated on her chakra. She was calling it, calling it, calling it, but it did not spring forth. She would have compared the sensation to drawing blood from a syringe, except her chakra was like liquified cement and the syringe was the size of a pen. If she chose to use it, the Strength of a Hundred Seals just might flood her chakra paths and burst through whatever plug the medicine had caused, or it could potentially well up like water in a dam and she wouldn’t have any access to it. Medically, that might be a concern. And it had only been a few weeks since she had last used her reserves to assist Sasuke crossing dimensions, so would the risk be worth the additional amount behind her forehead?

In an eerie declaration, the masked leader stepped toward her again and said, “If you go around curing the next generation of their anger and pain, brainwashing them with this vision of peace, there will be no more progression.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she asked, all pretense gone now. The confidence in her tone made them stop their encroachment. For a second, Sakura didn’t look so weak to them. They glanced at the leader, the shadow-man, and then again at Mako because Mako knew her best out of the group; he had also drugged her.

“The medicine should still be working. We must hurry though. It won’t last all night.” Listening to this, Sakura inhaled and exhaled, willing the small drip of chakra to pool more heavily in her palm. She would only have one shot before she could collect enough chakra for another one. Sakura took another step back. And another, drawing them away from Isao and his captor. Just a little more. Keep them talking.

“There is peace in the world now,” Sakura baited. “There’s no need for children to suffer through trauma alone anymore.”

The leader did not hesitate a second before responding with the practiced mission justification of their group: “Without anger, hatred, and pain, there is no incentive for war between villages. And without war, there is no need for young shinobi. You will create a generation of weaklings who cannot defend our borders. The world of Shinobi as we know it will disappear.”

Sick freaks, Sakura thought. She was their target because she worked with children? They were afraid that children would be weaker without pain? “The world would be a better place,” she commented, “if there weren’t people like you in it.” Sakura didn’t care to listen to this nonsense anymore. She hated to kill them, but they weren’t giving her much of a choice.

At exactly this moment, Isao had somehow reached into his pocket for another kunai, stabbing it into the foot that held him down. Apparently, the ninja had been distracted by the rest of the pack’s slow pursuit of Sakura and the conversation. Isao left his mark, slicing it clean across the top. The ninja screamed which turned the heads of all those before her. Isao bolted up before anyone had the chance to stop him.

On his feet now, he charged the group and Sakura watched in panic as the ninja he had left behind now followed, brandishing a sword of his own.

“Kill that brat!” came Hisa’s order.

And then Sakura was in the air, her fury propelling her forward and then down on top of them.

Mako let out a cry of alarm, the first to notice her above them. The kunoichi had just enough for one hit, and Sakura prayed the sand wouldn’t buffer too much of it. She fisted the meager amount of chakra between both of her palms, fingers interlocked to make a combined fist. She brought them down as hard as she could at their feet, making it through several feet of sand before she connected it with the ground. Sakura was not able to see the damage done, because not only did sand fill the air, but all light blinked out and a shroud of complete blackness consumed her.

[itsclydebitches]

Godddddd I'm so upset that I dislike yen this much, doing main quests in skellige and Freyas ppl were doing stuff and she again disrespected other cultures with Geraly being against, "I may be inhumanly beautiful" I know she's meant to be confident but wowww. She's not confident and worried for Ciri she just comes off arrogant and selfish and vain. Like, fuck.

The ultimate mood, anon. My Witcher fandom life would be so much easier if I enjoyed Yen ... but I just do not lol. Remember how I mentioned that things were going to get even worse than her stealing and using a potentially dangerous artifact? Yeeeaah. She also resurrects Ciri's friend to torture him for information, all while destroying another sacred garden to get the power to do it! It's not even a "She's so evil and I love it 😏" situation for me because the game tries so hard to convince us that she's still The Best. Geralt's sexy soulmate, Ciri's adoring mother, the baddest bitch around who gets things done and does it with an effortless confidence... all while ignoring how horrific her actions and attitude are. Oh sure, other characters speak ill of her at times, but considering how much Geralt is written to adore her, no matter what you choose, that's all undermined. I love morally gray/evil characters, but I've never enjoyed them when the text refuses to appropriately acknowledge that side of them. Nothing is more frustrating to me than a story that frames disliking a character as the unambiguously wrong thing to do, especially when the text is piling up reasons to dislike them and, as a result, ignoring or shrugging them off their actions as not that bad. Yen is a rather extreme example of that for me. Despite her attitude, her choices, and other characters outright going, "Why do you like her?" the story as a whole works under the assumption that it's correct to like her anyway because Geralt loves her. And he loves her for... reasons.

They do meet before the wish, but only just. Major "The Last Wish" spoilers in this paragraph, so feel free to skip. Basically, Geralt and Dandelion run into trouble with a djinn, he goes to Yen for help since she's a sorceress (first time meeting her), he instantly falls for her because she's gorgeous and such (there's an elf there who is also madly in love with Yen. Men just... fall for her, instinctually), she heals Dandelion, Geralt agrees to pay her, but Yen has already decided on the payment she wants. She takes control of Geralt's mind and forces him to attack the town to seek revenge on those who have insulted her, resulting in him waking up in prison awaiting execution for "his" crimes. Meanwhile, Yen has gone after the djinn for herself because power/trying to regain her ability to have a kid. Geralt escapes, finds her failing to master the djinn (an attempt which btw has endangered the whole town) and despite what she's done to him, Geralt tries to get Yen to escape with him. She refuses, set on capturing the djinn even though it's obvious she can't. So as a last resort he uses the final wish to bind their fates together, saving Yen from the djinn in the process. Aaaaaand then they have sex.

So yeah, their rocky relationship is one of the main reasons why I can't enjoy Yen. For some their tumultuous history is evidence of realism, for me it's evidence that they're not actually very compatible and they're only together because a) that's the fantasy trope: protagonist men get together with the hot sorceress and b) because the magic is literally ensuring that they can't escape one another. I mean, canonically their fates are tied together by magic and canonically they spend about 20 years swinging between passionate love and fearsome fights... but there's supposedly no connection between these two things? No chance at all that they keep coming together because magic is drawing them rather than because they actually want/should be together? I wrote a meta a while back about the short story where they meet, which includes a present day scene where Geralt is criticized by another character — Nenneke — for running out on Yen. Thing is, he tries to explain that he left because she was "too possessive" and this is... flat out ignored. By both Nenneke and the fandom. There's a strong trend of ignoring Geralt's words in favor of a pro-Yen interpretation of events. He says he left because she was too possessive and she treated him like ____ — he's not allowed to finish the sentence and say what she treated him like because Nenneke interrupts him, saying she doesn't care about his version of events. Major yikes imo! She turns a claim of being possessive into Geralt not being man enough to stick around. The fandom likewise turns this into a case of Geralt getting cold feet and running out because he's a bastard who hates commitment. Likewise, Nenneke and the fandom claim Geralt is trying to get Yen money as a way of appeasing his guilt for leaving, he claims he's doing it simply because he still cares for her — even if he doesn't want to be with her — and knows she needs it. Geralt's words are frequently dismissed, in the same way others characters' opinions of Yen are dismissed. Any mark against her is treated as either a lie, or a convoluted claim that they don't really know her... never mind that an understanding of why she may act this way doesn't excuse the behavior itself. (Plus, the whole "Yen had a horrible upbringing, so of course she struggles being kind" perspective always fell flat to me when so many, including witchers, had horrendous upbringings too. The whole point is this world is a mess and most everyone suffers). It's supposedly true love, yet if someone came up to me and went, "I magically tied my fate to this woman to keep her from getting herself killed and we've spent the last couple decades having what many would term a rocky relationship, to put it kindly. I left once because she was too controlling. She once cheated on me. I likewise hooked up with others during our frequent breakups. A mutual friend used magic to get me to have sex with her — also while my lover and I were broken up �� and though I view it as a dumb decision I'm happy to forgive her for, my lover is ready to commit murder because again: possessive. A lot of the time we're only a family because of our daughter. I once thought she'd horrifically betrayed us both. She didn't, but it says something that I was so ready to believe it, huh? Hmm? Permanently separated? Of course not! I love her. We're destined to be together after all :)" I'd be like, "Uh... you sure about that, dude?"

Not that Geralt doesn't make his fair share of mistakes in the relationship — he absolutely does — but I don't think it helps his case that he's immature in other ways and, frankly, that he's a very strong, badass witcher. It's easy to turn the hints we get about their relationship into a simplistic "emotionally naive man can't give the poor woman the commitment she wants" situation. Given Geralt's status as the badass fighter of the tale, it's likewise easy to dismiss his admissions of her being "possessive" and his general discomfort. He's the man. He's the witcher. If he's making any claims about how Yen isn't treating him well, they must be excuses, or exaggerations, because real men, especially physically powerful men, would do something about that — a something that's not sneaking out in the middle of the night. A lot of people read Geralt leaving as the ultimate proof that he's an immature bastard who doesn't deserve her. I read him leaving and think, "What were you trying to get away from? What was going on that made you think you could only leave by sneaking out without a word?" To me, that doesn't read as someone who felt safe, comfortable, and respected enough to do anything but slip away and try to wash his hands of things. And I'm not just pulling this "Geralt is at least somewhat afraid of Yen and isn't comfortable establishing boundaries with her" reading out of my ass. When Yen wants Geralt to kill the golden dragon for her and he refuses, saying he doesn't care anymore, his thoughts are:

He expected the worst: a cascade of flames, flashes of lightning, blows raining down on his face, insults and curses. There was nothing. He saw, with astonishment, only the subtle trembling of her lips. Yennefer turned around slowly. Geralt regretted his words.

And everyone is like, "See! Yen has improved so much. Geralt nearly made her cry, but she's supposed to be the bad guy here?" Meanwhile, I'm going, "Uh... anyone want to unpack why he expects fire, lightning, insults, curses, and blows to his face for telling her no? Why he's astonished that she wouldn't use her magic against him? Anyone think that Yen refraining from attacking Geralt when he refuses to murder on her command is a pretty low bar? No? Just me?"

Geralt and Yen's relationship makes me uncomfortable and a great deal of that discomfort derives from how much of the Witcher fandom shrugs off the fictional warning signs. I mean, I post primarily about RWBY. We watched a man in that show try to sneak away with his kids when his villainous wife planned to use them for a eugenics plan... and the fandom still blames him for that, refusing to admit that he was in an abusive relationship. Because that doesn't happen to men, right? I'm not saying it's the same for Geralt and Yen, simply because they are written to be soulmates. An abusive relationship was, quite obviously, never the authorial intent. However, I am saying that the a "This isn't a healthy relationship" reading is there, it exists as an interpretation, and both the story and fandom's tendency to dismiss it is something that hasn't helped me enjoy Yen's status as an otherwise well written, complex character. Their equality supposedly stems in part because they're both so flawed, yet each time I see a list of Geralt's supposedly equal faults they're... lacking imo. "Geralt bound himself to Yen without her consent." Yeah, to save her from dying from the djinn she was trying to enslave, after she refused to leave, while her actions threatened a whole town. "Geralt ran off without a word." Mmm hmm, anyone care about why? And my personal favorite is a scene you may not have gotten to yet (or may not get depending on your choices), but suffice to say, Yen is supposedly justified in physically attacking Geralt if he dares to challenge her in any way. That's the main takeaway across the fandom: If Yen is pissed off, you must have done something to deserve it which, in the relationship deliberately written to be "stormy," is something that sets all the alarm bells in my head off. Honestly, it kinda makes my skin crawl to go, "Geralt didn't deserve that" and get responses back of, "Yeah he did because he [insert basic human action here]." The Witcher world is hard and cruel, absolutely, but that doesn't mean I personally enjoy seeing an equally messed up relationship presented as something that's enviable in its flaws. "That's actually true love because the magically bound man who often expresses discomfort with his lover, written by a male author with a very iffy perspective on women, says it's true love." Crazy theory here, but... maybe it's not?

Idk, lots of rambling on my end tonight! For me, Geralt/Yen reads as something rather tragic which, in a canon that unironically upholds the relationship, and in a Yen-adoring fandom, doesn't make enjoying her character any easier. I keep coming back to Witcher 3, the comics, the show, even the books going, "Maybe I'll like her this time?" but nope, still trying lol.

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Captivity [Teaser!]

Word Count;; 1.5k [Teaser], 10k+ [Full Fic]

Genre;; Yandere, (eventual) Smut

Pairing;; San x Reader

Summary;; Teaser for a much larger work in progress called Captivity that was a Valentine's Day request (College stalker/kidnapper Yandere!! San for ur Valentine’s Day requests?? (Smutty pls) tyty💜💜) and was the basis for San's yandere profile.

Warnings;; Yandere! Right off the bat!

~~~

Notes;; Day Four of the Halloween 2k20 Prompts!

My Masterlist

   "We could run away together."

   What had started out as a college prank had become your worst nightmare. How it had escalated from a joke to an all-out kidnapping with a side of aggravated assault baffled you. You suspected, however, that it was never just a simple prank. In fact, you suspected the "masterminds" behind it had every intention of kidnapping you from the get-go.

   While they had tried to keep their identities hidden, you had a strong feeling you knew your assailants. There were only so many idiots that would try something like this. To your surprise, they were pulling it off rather well. They must have studied for once in their pitiful lives… or they had help, which was much more likely.

   Some were weaker in personality than the others and just went along with it because they didn't know what else to do. Then there were the leaders, the ones that had planned this from the beginning. There were three that you knew of that had taken charge, with six scared pathetic losers that did their dirty work, bringing it to a total of nine idiots holding you hostage God knows where.

   And then there was him.

   He had avoided you at first, uncomfortable with the prank but going along with his fraternity brothers all the same. Once it became clear that this wasn't a simple joke, he started visiting you with extra food and clean water. Once the demand for money was declared and their ransom demands sent to your parents, he lingered outside the miniature holding cell that you had now occupied for an extended period of time, keeping you company with his silent presence. He guarded you every night and limited the need for the others to come around by handling every aspect of your care.

   The others… they all underestimated you. It had taken just three days to identify each and every last one of the fuckers, but you humoured them and pretended to be clueless, pretended to be helpless and vulnerable and stupid because you knew it would lower their defenses. You knew they would fuck up and when they did, you'd escape this shithole once and for all. Within the first few days of your imprisonment you had come up with a plan - you just had to wait for the opportune moment to strike.

   He, however, was being careful. He wouldn't talk, not willing to risk you recognising him. He wouldn't even look you in the eye when you rambled at him for hours. Loneliness had hit within the first week. Any form of socialisation had to be enough so you latched onto him. It didn't take much for you to delude yourself into believing this captor wasn't as bad as the rest, that this one was on your side. The more you found comfort in his looming silence, the closer you felt isolation's teeth nipping on your heel.

   It was never enough. You needed more. You needed words and expressions and warmth but he refused to provide them. Cautious of your ever churning brain and wary of your vigilant gaze, he kept himself hidden behind a mask both literal and figurative.

   But even with all his precautions, there was a strong sense of familiarity to him. You knew this man, this much you were certain of. Considering the amount of effort he put into remaining anonymous, he had to be someone you knew well, perhaps even someone you cared about. This simple fact alone wounded you graver than any of the physical assaults from the others ever could.

   Even with all his secrecy, you felt close to him. You felt safe with him. Everyday he provided for you and every night he stood guard over you. The others dwindled away and soon all that was left was him. There was some comfort, though small, that you could squeeze out of that first visit of the day, the one he made every morning when he brought in your scraps for the day. Dim light engulfed him from behind and, in those bleary seconds as you first awoke, you imagined him to be your saviour.

   Then one day he walked into your cell and you felt your world shatter in front of your eyes.

   It had been eight days.

   Eight endless days and seven restless nights.

   Eight days spent in this small room that reeked of stagnant water, rusted metal, and rotting wood.

   Eight days of brainstorming and scheming, of creating elaborate and fantastical plans for every type of situation and possibility.

   Eight days of threats, degradation, and abuse.

   Eight days of torture.

   Eight fucking days of surviving and now you were slated to die in this pisshole.

   No longer did he try to hide his identity - there was no longer any reason to. It didn't matter if you saw their faces, if you saw his face. You had reached the zenith of your hopes and it was time to come back down to reality. Plummeting from the safety of your imagination, you fell through dark clouds filled with all the ominous signs and obvious warnings. Further and further you fell until you could see the cold, hard earth and all its truths.

   There would be no ransom from your parents, not when they were facing bankruptcy. There would be no stealthy escape on your part, not if you hadn't managed it thus far. There would be no tearful confessions from your classmates where they begged for forgiveness and leniency, claiming it was all just a game gone wrong. There would only be more and more darkness and despair until it consumed you whole and there was nothing left at all, not even your thoughts.

   It was the end of the line on this highway straight into the bowels of hell and you had arrived at your stop. It was the end of the road and all you had was your broken spirit, exhausted mind, and bruised body. Your room was no longer a prison but a death chamber. They were going to kill you in this shithole of a room with no windows and no light and no fucking fresh air and the bearer of your fate was none other than San.

   Game over.

   "So it was you. This whole fucking time it was you."

   "It's not what you think."

   "What else can it fucking be, San?"

   You spat the words out like venom. He winced at your outburst, going so far as to take a step back. The surprised hurt that graced his features sickened you. If anyone should be upset here, it was you. San had been your friend for the past two years of your university life, acting as both a study buddy and a confidante, and yet here he stood before you as your tenth kidnapper.

   "We'll talk more once you've calmed down."

   "Fuck you, San! Once I've calmed d-? Where are you going, you fucking cunt! Don't you dare fucking walk out on me, you piece of shit! You owe me more than this!"

   His expression soured as he turned on his heels, fingers interlocking around the door's handle. If there was ever a chance to escape it was now but all you had on your mind was unloading your frustrations and fears and anger onto him with both your words and your fists.

   You tried to stand but your legs buckled under you. You'd gone too long without the proper necessities. You needed more food, you needed space to move, you needed medical treatment for the wounds inflicted upon you during those first few rough days. Pain jolted through your body every time you moved, every time you breathed.

   Collapsing to the floor, your tears moistened the gritty tiles as you reached for him. He stopped but didn't face you, his back to you serving as a barrier. Light from the hall illuminated his figure, creating a halo around his smooth edges. Like a statue he didn't move a single inch, not even when your fingers brushed against the fabric of his pant leg. From your position on the cold ground, he seemed to tower over you. He felt unreachable, so far above it made you dizzy just to look up at him.

   "I'm not getting out of here, am I?" You cried, forcing the words out around your broken sobs. Your exertions were catching up to you and you were starting to feel heavy. It was only a matter of time before your body gave up.

   "No."

   "I hate you, Choi San."

   The last thing you heard before your unconscious won the one-sided battle for control was the lock of the door.