#and you exercising your human right to make art without them makes them suffer

[featureenvyproductions]

This post touched on physical media for drawing which is good but I want to add my ramblings about physical drawings as well because these days there's a lot of emphasis on drawing digitally, to the point where I think it's been an actual decade since I've come across a tutorial where someone has drawn things physically on paper....Like, don't underestimate the power of drawing on paper and learning to use physical media. Yeah it's not going to do anything in terms of your popularity 👀👀💧 but at the moment, you've also got an extra layer of protection between you and AI since the best physical art AI could probably do with current technology is something akin to "printing" out a picture with a writing utensil of some sort since mimicking real physical technique from photos of paintings or drawings is quite a bit harder than weighting pixels and outputting them into a file.

I'm also telling you this for corporate reasons. The way the world is going, there's going to come a day when there are no free programs for drawing, and certainly tablets and computers won't be free or cheap, and they're going to demand all your personal information to even boot up. You'll be locked into selling all your data and locking yourself into subscriptions just to have some artistic expression. Do you want that? Adobe and apple can do a lot but they can't fucking take away your paper and pencil. You should learn to use them if only to take back power from corporations. It's why even though I do use digital tools a lot for comic color because it's faster and I'm just one person, I still do almost everything else physically (ink/pencil/layouts/etc). I have a box the size of a large coffin with all the comic book pages I've drawn in my adult life, and the only way Adobe is getting their hands on them or removing my access to them is by banging down my front door or burning my house down.

Sure, technology makes our lives easier, but if you learn to use physical mediums, no one can ever take art away from you or keep you from creating it (at least not EASILY without some seriously oppressive changes) and it's going to be a very long time (maybe not even in our lifetimes) that the corporate ability to do so is finally nerfed.

And yeah you don't need fancy shit. I do all my rough sketching on printer paper with a mechanical pencil, or with a cheap ass sketch book I carry around. Especially if it's just for you practicing and no one is going to see it, you do not need fancy things. Your ancestors ground stuff up and dipped their hands in it and smacked a cave wall. This is your RIGHT to make shit by whatever means necessary whether you think it's instagram worthy or not. (I even outlined what you can use for animation from dollar tree if you're broke in a series of posts if that's a thing you want to do https://www.tumblr.com/featureenvyproductions/752966738522619904/my-thoughts-on-how-to-do-basically-kinda-cel?source=share)

And that's another thing too, don't worry if it sucks. I promise it doesn't, because you made something. And also even if you think it does because you're not meeting your goal or whatever, you have to shake the 10000 bad drawings out of your wrist before you get to the good stuff. Even someone like me who's been drawing [seriously anyway] for 25+ years has to warm up a bit before churning out something serious. Just do it I promise it's fine. (And also if you have the ability to take a figure drawing and/or life drawing class do that because in my experience it helps)

(Also not that I'm that great at art still compared to a lot of artists, I have been at it for a long long time, so if anyone who sees my stuff ever wants to know how I did something, please ask me, I will tell you free tips, I love info dumping, there is no such thing as a stupid question,,,,the greatest compliment is being asked how I did something,,,you do not understand,,,,to me democratizing art means ensuring YOU no matter who you are, can make some of it)

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard)

Aaron Rutten (free)

BoroCG (free)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates)

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, ect Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Libresprite (free, for pixel art)

Those are the ones I can recall.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

Years ago, Russiagate enthusiast David Klion really uncorked one.

It’s incredible how many years I wasted associating complexity and ambiguity with intelligence. Turns out the right answer is usually pretty simple, and complexity and ambiguity are how terrible people live with themselves.

This was handy to me, in the sense that it perfectly encapsulated the exact opposite of everything I believe. I remember reading this and turning it around in my head, over and over; I imagine a sociopath viewing it the way Patrick Bateman viewed that business card. It’s perfect. I mean, the sentiment behind it is utterly demented, but it’s still perfect, beautiful in the same way a virus is beautiful under a microscope.

I don’t even really know how I’d go about defending the essential concepts of complexity and ambiguity in the abstract. I guess I would point to the indisputable existence of chronic and intense complexity in our world. Like the complexity inherent to the proof for Fermat’s Last Theorem, primogeniture in the British aristocracy, the relationship between extradimensional geometries and the potential for reconciling general relativity and quantum mechanics, the linguistic dynamics of the Voynich manuscript, microtonal music, the geopolitical conditions that led to the Yemen-Saudi Arabia conflict and the tangle of alliances involved, Brownian motion, the anthropology of the Kula ring, programming a physics engine for a 3D video game, technical architecture involving uneven distribution of load-bearing elements in a limited space, escaping saṃsāra, parsing the various levels of linguistic etiquette in the Korean language, solving the Riemann hypothesis, rendering realistic computer-animated human faces in variable lighting, the history of anarchism and its various schools, the line of succession for the office of Holy Roman Emperor, Hungarian language case structure, Bernoulli’s principle, Microsoft Excel, black holes, the internal politics of the Chinese Communist Party, the legacy of brutalism in contemporary architecture, Finnegans Wake, cricket, Heiddegger’s dasein, making the perfect pizza dough, and literally every other thing that has ever crossed the human mind. You can wash your hands of nuance all you like; you live in a world that will always defy your clumsy, reductive efforts. Life’s complexity is irreducible.

But it’s not just that complexity is ubiquitous and inevitable. It’s that complexity is good. Complexity is what makes life interesting, and complexity is what makes art enjoyable. We have brains that have developed an exquisite ability to parse complicated, multivariate information - the fact that you are reading these words right now and understanding them is a miracle of raw processing - and we crave the opportunity to exercise them. We create all manner of strange hobbies specifically because they’re intellectually taxing, like those guys who do Rubic’s cube-style puzzles that have dozens of blocks. Overly simplistic games like Tic Tac Toe quickly bore us, and we go looking for deeper challenges. We inject our art with symbolism and reference in order to connect with it on a deeper and more satisfying level. Recently, the dominance of simplistic stories of good heroes and bad villains has robbed movies of some of their essential power. The injection of absurd rules into what stories can be told in Young Adult literature has rendered the genre a wasteland. Morally, the ability to traffic in complexity is absolutely essential, as the basic task of ethical development lies in expanding the moral imagination, and you can’t achieve that unless you’re willing to imagine that there are things about another person that go beyond your simplistic impressions, that they suffer under problems that are too (yes) complex for you to fully understand. Life would be powerfully boring without complexity.

Ambiguity, meanwhile, is just the state of most of life. We’re ambivalent, about most things, most of the time. I think that’s good, but either way - it just is.

I was inspired to remember Klion’s little koan by this bizarre piece of therapy-speak nonsense from Adam Grant in the New York Times. Grant is one of those 21st-century hucksters who peddle pseudo-psychology to unhappy people, dressing up everything they already want and think and feel in a patina of legitimacy derived from self-help ideology. The modern American cult of therapy takes a useful and necessary medical practice, meant for specific contexts and purposes, and generalizes its habits to the entirety of human life. Its folklore exists to justify what insecure people can’t justify for themselves. Narcissistic personality disorder is thought to occur in less than 1% of adults, and yet every ex-boyfriend in this country suffers from it. Curious! But not actually curious, given that an army of opportunists have built careers out of telling people just that kind of story - everyone you don’t like is a sociopath; every time you don’t get everything you want, you’re experiencing trauma; every conflict you get into, about anything, ever, is evidence of a toxic personality in the other person. Are you sure your boss is just another human being with legitimate pressures and needs, and your disagreements the product of the inevitable friction that results from a universe where friction is inevitable? Or could they be operating under the influence of the Dark Triad??? Sure. Why the fuck not. This is what therapeutic rhetoric has become, in this culture, an excuse architecture for every spare selfish impulse you ever have. And people like Grant get rich peddling it.

(That word, toxic - I think it’s a fallen soldier, at this point, a write-off. It has been applied so liberally, and so witlessly, that it no longer has any value. I’m sure I’ll still use it, out of habit, but today it suffers from a uniquely intense combination of lack of meaning and relentless overuse.)

Grant’s concern today is, I’m not kidding, the evil of ambivalent relationships. He presents several studies that show that, when we traffic in ambiguous interactions with other people, the stress takes a physical toll. He writes, “The most toxic relationships aren’t the purely negative ones. They’re the ones that are a mix of positive and negative.” Puzzlingly, Grant does not define what the actual boundaries of an ambiguous relationship might be; how would such a thing be quantified? InterPersonal Ambivalence Units (IPAUs)? I’m torn here, because taken literally that line means that the most toxic relationships are those that do not fall clearly into a binary of perfect affection or perfect enmity. Which, of course, is a category that includes every human relationship, ever, in the history of human relationships. To read more generously, we might take it that Grant means that relationships that don’t pass a particular threshold of certainty when it comes to friend or enemy status are the most toxic. But where is that threshold? If we’re going to be justifying all of this with reference to scientific research, shouldn’t there be some level of scientific precision in the essential question of what relationships are actually toxic? The studies here don’t inspire me with confidence; they’re exactly the kind that keep failing to replicate, and when you check how they’re operationalized, it’s always some sort of dubious self-reported scale. I don’t know. I’m confused as to who and how this helps.

The notion that human relationships fall simplistically and reliably onto a linear spectrum of “positive” and “negative” is so fundamentally contrary to my lived experience that I don’t really know how to begin here. We have multivariate, inscrutable, often unknowable personalities; these personalities are shaped by innumerable Byzantine internal forces and by a relentless stream of formative experiences. The notion that any two personalities are going to interact with each other in some kindergarten polarity of positivity and negativity seems farcical, just mathematically. And, personally, I find that ambiguous relationships can be among the most stimulating. In particular, they can be very sexy - when you’re first getting to know someone who might be (but might not be) a potential romantic interest, that ambiguity, that not knowing, is one of the best parts. Of course, sometimes the way that not knowing plays out is that you’re interested in them and they’re not interested in you, and it hurts. But that’s how it goes; it’s precisely the chance for failure that makes success sweeter. [...]

I would like to summon a charitable reading here, but there’s a kind of too-cute maximalism that makes it hard. Grant writes that “Even a single ambivalent interaction can take a toll.” Even a single ambivalent reaction! My God! What are we to take from this information? I’m not sure if this is common knowledge, but we are a mortal species with finite lives that evolved by chance on an indifferent rock in a universe devoid of transcendent meaning, cursed to watch those we love die around us until we die in turn. We exist on a planet where our genetic endowment compels us to be selfish in pursuit of food, sex, and status, and there are 7 billion of us, all competing for limited resources and jockeying for status in competitions that are often inherently zero-sum. I’m going to go ahead and suggest that never having a single ambivalent interaction is perhaps an unrealistic expectation for anyone. And this gets to this paradox of self-help woowoo that I’ve talked about before: the vision of healthy human life becomes so unattainable that people end up developing guilt and shame over their inability to live without guilt and shame. Being “self-actualized” is just another unfair expectation nobody can reach. Which is perverse! I genuinely cannot comprehend what supposedly-therapeutic purpose is served by telling people that even a single ambivalent interaction is going to “take a toll.” Who is this helping?

Ambivalence is an invitation for rumination.

Well, yes, Adam. Yes it is. You’ve got me there. So, how could rumination be bad?

We agonize about ambiguous comments, unsure what to make of them and whether to trust the people who make them. We dwell on our mixed feelings, torn between avoiding our frenemies and holding out hope that they’ll change.

Again, this is presented as though what’s discussed is obviously something that we must try to avoid at all costs. But why? Is agonizing over things really that bad? I think I’ve done a lot of growing by agonizing over things in my life. That’s just part of the endowment of being a person, agonizing over things. Why are mixed feelings unhealthy? In a world this complicated, with relationships that are so full of interlocking and unconscious dynamics, aren’t mixed feelings unavoidable and ultimately benign? And why are we assuming that our “frenemies” are the ones who have to change? Is there really no chance at all that we’re the ones who should change? This gets to another point of mine about all this weird “everything is therapy all the time” self-help horseshit: life is full of zero-sum interactions between people with competing and legitimate interests. [...] This whole world of pop psychology insists that the individual is sacrosanct, that anyone who deals with insecurity or anxiety or self-doubt is the victim of injustice, and they are entitled to do whatever they want to self-actualize. But what do we do when two people are trying to self-actualize in ways that conflict with each other? I have no idea, and I don’t think these gurus know either. [...]

And, as I so often do, I have to say to this general ideology: the purpose of human life is not to feel comfortable all the time, bad and dark feelings are an essential part of being a person, and while you are entitled to having your physical self protected, your material needs met, and your basic autonomy respected, you aren’t entitled to never feel pain, sadness, insecurity, anxiety, self-doubt, or that you’re “invalid.” Society could never accommodate such an entitlement, and it’s a bad goal anyway.

[holisticdentaldonvaleaus]

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At Holistic Dental Donvale, we understand the apprehensions many humans face almost about dental visits. That's why we provide Sleep Dentistry, a modern-day approach that guarantees your comfort and relaxation at some stage in your complete dental device.

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Sleep Dentistry Melbourne, moreover known as sedation dentistry, entails administering sedatives to sufferers to set off a state of deep relaxation at some stage in dental treatments. Unlike modern-day anesthesia, which renders sufferers subconscious, sedation dentistry permits you to stay conscious and responsive on the equal time as feeling simply comfortable.

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Before your technique, our skilled crew will take a look at your medical information and speak your problems and options regarding sedation. Based on this evaluation, we will decide the maximum suitable sedation desire for you. At Holistic Dental Donvale, we provide severa stages of sedation, which include:

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[portraitmypet]

Miss Your Pet? Our Artist Can Help

When you're feeling down, when you're feeling stressed, when you just need someone to be there for you — that's the time when your pet can come into play. Pets are great company; they provide comfort and love without judgment or expectations. They can also make us laugh when we're sad and give us something fun to do during our free time. Plus, training pets is a great way to spend time together!

If you're missing your pet right now and looking for ways to stay connected even if they aren't physically with you all day long (or every day), this list is for you:

Pet cuddles! Your pet will always be there for a cuddle session whenever it's needed. If it's been too long since the last cuddle session and things have gotten stressful at work/home/life in general, try giving them a call up on their favorite place on the couch or bed next time they have some free time on their hands - even if it's only 15 minutes out of an hour window between meetings... well worth it!

Playtime! A little roughhousing never hurt anyone - especially if it means spending quality time with Fido outside instead of stuck inside all day long working double shifts at two jobs (which happened recently). You'll both feel better afterward because exercise releases endorphins which help fight stress hormones related conditions like depression and anxiety disorders like PTSD from military service members returning home after overseas deployment combat zones around world today .

Do you have a favorite photo of your pet that you just can't stop looking at? Hire an artist to turn it into a work of art!

Art is a powerful way of expressing our emotions and making a memory last forever. If you have a favorite photo of your pet, why not turn it into pet art? It’s a great way to decorate your home, show off your love for animals, and also make someone else happy! Your pet will be remembered fondly each time they see the artwork hanging in their home.

My family has always loved animals, and I've had pets my whole life. My mom even works at an animal shelter!

You love your pets, and they love you. But what about when this bond is broken? Our artist can help bring your pet back to life.

We've all heard the story: a friend or family member passes away, then suddenly comes back from the dead as an animal. It sounds crazy, but it happens more often than you'd think!

My family has always loved animals, and I've had pets my whole life. My mom even works at an animal shelter! When I was younger we had a dog named Spock who was a rescue from Florida (no relation). His favorite thing to do was chase balls around outside; he also liked to play with my sister and me by hiding under our beds when we weren't looking so he could jump out and scare us into giggles. He lived until he was 15—not bad for his breed—and died peacefully in his sleep in 2004 after suffering from arthritis for years prior (we're still not sure why).

After working with hundreds of clients, I've found that many people share my love of animals, and spend almost all their spare time with them.

After working with hundreds of clients, I've found that many people share my love of animals, and spend almost all their spare time with them. This can be a good thing for your health! In fact, research shows that pets have a positive impact on our health and well-being. Pets can help reduce stress, anxiety, depression and loneliness when you're feeling sad or down. Pets also encourage exercise and activity which can improve your physical health as well as make us feel more energetic overall. Additionally having an animal companion means that you will live longer (and happier) than those without pets in their lives!

I hope this blog has helped you see how much pets can mean to humans—and hopefully inspired you to go out and get yourself one today :)

Often, the memories we make with our pets are some of our favorites. Our pets bring us so much happiness!

Pets often become a part of our family and, as they grow older, they become less energetic. The joy and love they provide us can be just as important as their ability to entertain us. Pets give us something to look forward to every day, even if it’s just playing fetch or watching them run around in the yard. They teach us responsibility; we need to take care of them and keep them safe from harm. Pets also provide comfort when things get tough; we can talk about our worries with them without judgement or criticism.

Even if you aren’t able to spend as much time with your pet due to work or other responsibilities, don’t forget about how much they mean to you! Think back on all the memories you have made together over the years; these are some of my favorite memories too!

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[danielxricciardo]

Can you do one with Max, with 46 and 55 from angst list?

Summary: You are suffering from depression and Max tries to be by your side

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression

Word count: 3.6k+

46. “I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

55. “You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay.”

Depression feels like a lot of things.

It feels like sadness, which is what everyone will tell you. It's a pretty common thread.

"I'm worthless."

"Everyone thinks I'm a horrible burden."

So on and so forth.

Everyone in the world is happy but you, and in the end, you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong in this otherwise glorious and happy place. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you are lying there on your bed in the same unlaundered pair of pajamas, wondering why you are even allowed to keep living any longer. Some meteor strikes or lightning bolts should be reserved for people like you because you are taking up space and oxygen and food and other resources that real, happy, productive people need.

It feels like emptiness. You have all these possibilities and none of them seem interesting. You could do some art, or play some music, but that just doesn't feel right. There's no joy in it. You could have sex with your significant other, but you can't muster up the desire. You could play video games, or read a book. But what's the point? There's no real benefit to all of it but passing the time. You could get up and make lunch. But no, you're not that hungry, and if you close your eyes, time will pass a little faster. You can lie there. That works. It doesn't require active effort to do something fruitless. Everything is as empty and fruitless as lying and staring out your window at the clouds and the shifting shadows of tree branches, and so why do anything else?

It feels like fatigue. Standing up out of your bed requires the same amount of bodily effort as climbing several flights of stairs. Managing to get dressed and walk outside is like running a race. Heaven helps you if you try to go to the store or a friend's house -- that may as well be on the other side of the continent. Every step is heavy. Every muscle motion requires ten times the work it used to. Exercise becomes difficult, and control over your body expires quickly. You become clumsier, so heavy lifting is right out. You daze out randomly, daydreaming, even dozing, so biking or running is hard. You feel most at home when you are entirely relaxed, so you lie down...and don't get up again until something like your bladder compels you.

It feels like a loss of control. You have no idea why your brain and body are doing this. You don't want to feel sad. Nobody wants to feel shitty and tired and empty all the time. People will look at you and say, "It's like you don't want to get better." Those people are idiots. You truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul, have no idea why this has happened or what to do. It's not logical. It makes no sense. You woke up like this, or it crept in overtime or something like that. It's like a fog, a force of nature that sweeps in, occludes everything, and there's not one thing you can do about it from where you stand. Trying feels like taking a paper fan outside and trying to blow away the morning mist. Someone has tied puppet strings to your brain and is playing this hideous dance with it, and you don't have the scissors to cut them away. The dance doesn't make sense; it's arbitrary and rhythmless. If you had any sort of reasoning behind it, you could take control. But you don't.

It feels like desperation. You can't find a way out. You lie there at night, keening into your pillow like a wounded animal, making all sorts of noises that no human being should be able to make. You claw and scratch at the sheets, or at yourself, as the pain wrings itself out through bodily expression. The tears won't stop. You don't know why. All you know is that it hurts, it really and truly hurts, and you think if it goes on any longer, you're going to die. Right there. Bleed out on the floor. So you grab up your phone, and you call someone at 4 AM, and you beg them to please just make it stop. You bury yourself in books and movies because at least then you can imagine something else than yourself. You read nonstop. You have to have your fix. It's like an addiction, no, more like a life support machine. Otherworlds, fantasies of happiness, and real experiences that aren't your horrible existence become the iron lung keeping air flowing in and out. You are alive because you can stop thinking for a while. Your friends come over to comfort you. Their stories keep you sane and well, like dialysis for all the toxins in you. Your mind has failed at being independent, and now it relies on a thousand little machines to keep itself running. You rely on one machine until another comes to save you. You read books until your friends come by. You stretch out your time with friends until you have to bury yourself in a movie again just to keep the thought of real-life away.

It feels like untamed anger. Your friends can't keep this up forever. You fall further and further, and you eventually start dropping commitments. You have become That Person, the flake that everyone knows will back out. People start getting annoyed at you, annoyed at how they have to spend so much time just keeping you afloat, annoyed at how often you're causing them trouble by constantly disappearing and backing out of appointments, and so on. Your workplace gets annoyed at your lack of productivity. And then you can't take it anymore, and you want to scream at them, grab them by the throat and shake them because IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! You start having twisted fantasies, the ones where you walk up to that person who keeps telling you he can't do this anymore, you're just too unreliable, putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Just to make him know, for once, that FUCK HIM, your problems are REAL, DAMMIT, REAL, and he better FUCKING RESPECT that. And when you're gone, he'll fall to his knees and cry, and he'll say, he wishes he had understood, that he didn't mean to be so unkind, and the scar on his heart from his own failure will remain fresh and knotted for eternity. And then you shake yourself out of the daydream, and you wonder why you have turned into such a horrible person, someone who even considers ending their own life just to spite another human being. Then it creeps back in, the knowledge that the world is getting fed up with you...and the cycle begins again. You start thriving off these daydreams, because at the very least if you can't be happy, you can throw caution to the wind and get the petty, oddly satisfying revenge buried under all those layers of morality that are becoming worn and flaking away. It's just a fantasy, right? And it helps pass the time...

It feels like forever. You have forgotten what it's like to truly be joyful. You can imagine it, but it's not really you in those thoughts. This is who you are. This is your life. This is you.

It feels like you have only one thing truly under your power: your existence. You cannot choose what life throws at you. Your brain and body have betrayed you. Your friends have worn away, and you've fled from your job and any commitments you have.

It feels empowering. You can jump whenever you want.

But he accepted you the way you are. He never reproached you for negatively influencing his mentality or life, even though you knew he felt it too. He always listened to you, he was with you even at 2 in the morning when you were crying on the bathroom floor with your knees to your chest, and you knew it wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to go through, basically, what you were going through. But no matter how much you told him you could do it without his help, Max was coming back more insistently than ever.

He came up with the idea to start therapy. "You have to find out why you feel this way. Go at least once, see how it is, if you don't like it or feel that it doesn't help you, you will give up, okay?" That was a year and a half ago.

The psychologist gave you a diagnosis from the first session: Major Depressive Disorder. Sure you knew what the three words meant, but you didn't know what it meant to have a label on your condition.

"A major depressive disorder is characterized by one or more of these depressive episodes. the diagnosis of major depressive disorder requires depressed mood or anhedonia which is the loss of interest in pleasure and five or more signs or symptoms for the SIGECAPS mnemonic for a 2-week period. (SIGECAPS) Sleep Disturbance, loss of Interest, feeling Guilty, feeling fatigued and low in Energy, having decreased Concentration, decreased or increased Appetite and been agitated and slow and having Suicidal ideation."

It sounds incredible to you. Suicidal thoughts? Not everyone has a thought, somewhere, behind their mind 'What if I disappeared?'

You were prescribed Prozac and Zoloft and it helped. You weren't always sad anymore, you could go to the races with Max and support him as a normal girlfriend does. You apologized to my friends who tried to help me and whose lives you made impossible and you managed to get back to work, from home anyway. Sure, you still had moments when you felt like you weren't 100% yourself but not like before. You did therapy twice a week and the psychologist was happy with your evolution.

But being the stupid ass that you are, you stopped taking the medication. You took the last pill on Friday. Because you were fine. You felt ok, everyone around you told you you were better, you were doing amazing, so you were cured, right? Or so you thought. Saturday was normal. Sunday was not. Your mood and energy were very low. You woke up at like 2 in the afternoon. That is not unusual for you. You’re used to it. You were sad. You were exhausted. You knew that feeling like this was “no excuse” so you tried to force yourself to do it anyway. Typical of your life. You feel like you had already taken so much off work because of the triple-header, you were for three weeks attached to the hips with Max.

The only thing you thought of was dying. And that terrified you. And Max senses something was wrong. But he didn't want to tell something and ending up being wrong and you being upset by his misinterpretation. But, yes, he sensed that you were becoming your old self.

"Hey, babe," he snapped you out of your daydreaming. A tragic one, where you were finally at peace and Max was crying for you. You were on the verge of crying yourself at the mere image of Max in your head. But you pushed it far from your mind, somewhere in a dark corner for you to find it at an appropriate time to fantasize about your dying. "How about we go to a picnic? It's sunny outside."

Yes, the wheater was amazing. It was finally summer and you could go outside and spend some time with Max. But your brain literally is tricking you into thinking you don't deserve to enjoy the sunny day. Why? You don't have an answer.

"I'm not really in the mood, Max. Sorry."

You are not in the mood. That was his affirmation. You are not ok.

"You feeling good?"

"Yeah. Just tired I guess."

"But you just woke up."

You shrugged. He was right. You just woke up, so why do you feel like you were carrying a ton of bricks on your shoulders? You couldn't walk. You almost felt like 18 months ago. And that is when it hit you. And Max, at the same time.

"Still taking your meds, I hope."

Silence. Your mind was like overcrowded and you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed your head and pulled your hair because you wanted it to stop. You were thinking that you didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to think. You didn’t know how you felt. You were like anxious-depressed-angry-miserable-irritable all in one. Your head was spinning with thoughts. Thoughts were talking over thoughts. So fast that you couldn’t even make out one complete sentence. It was just too much for you to handle. You just wanted someone to kill you.

Max came to you and he hugged you so hard you thought he could crush your bones right there and then. You calmed down eventually. But now you were embarrassed. Because Max saw you, again, at your lowest. Because you promised you'll get better, and for a while, you were better, but now you are fucked and back into square one. All those money on therapy and your pills, for what? For you to stop taking them because you thought you were feeling better? Well, you definitely were not ok, nor you'll be. So, yeah, being fucked sounded good.

Max brought you the medicine and a glass of water. Taking the pills again? For what? The pills only fuel the feeling that everything is fine and that you are a normal person. Nothing was good and you were not a normal person.

But you took the pills. And you looked Max in the eyes and you wanted to die. He seemed crushed. He was sad, devastated, maybe angry but definitely disappointed. In you. Because maybe you don't realize this, but while you were doing good, he was doing great. He knew you could be on your own so he stopped worrying that much, and that could also be seen in his driving. He was winning more races, he was at his best and now he was at his lowest. Because you were at your lowest; co-dependency and shit.

"I'm sorry, baby. I thought I was doing well enough to stop taking the meds," you say in a broken voice but the tears are yet to appear. He stroked your hair and kissed you on your forehead.

"You should have told me. You don't have to go thru this alone. I am here."

"Yeah, you are here. But you don't have to be!" you snapped. Irritability, one thing your depression came with. "I am just a burden for you. And no, this does not come from the fact I stopped taking my pills. You took care of me like I was a child, and, fuck it, you don't deserve this."

"Stop talking like this, alright? If I would suffer from depression you would have done the same thing. You would have taken care of me. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong. To be honest, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you, but I don't want you to be. It's obvious that I would never get better. This is me. I am fucked in the head, half wishing I was dead and I am just bringing you down."

"Don't tell me this is a fucking break up, Y/N." he narrows his brows and looks at your features to make sure you were being serious.

“I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a break-up or a suicidal vocal note?"

You broke down. Crying can be cathartic and healthy, but if it goes on too long it can lock your body in a feeling of despair. Even if your mind works through the problem that caused the crying, because your body is still feeling the physical effects it will cause your mind to revert to the negative state. It's not sadness. It's dread and paralysis. You had a certain feeling of emptiness and purposelessness.

“You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay,” you say between sobs.

"You want me to find you a reason to stay alive or to stay in this relationship? To be frank, I can name a thousand reasons, but it all depends on you."

Max hugs you from behind and you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was stronger than ever. You allowed yourself to inhale Max's scent, a soothing scent you could get drunk on.

"I want to believe you love me. I mean, I love you and I consider you the love of my life, you know? We are so young and I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna marry you someday, even if right now you don't think you're gonna make it till tomorrow. So, yeah, this is reason number one," he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "This is not the worst you have been through in life. Remember where you were 18 months ago; you had no idea what was wrong with you. Now you know and you know you can be better. I know you get sick of those pills, but maybe, in the future, you won't need them. Isn't that exciting? This was reason number two," he said and pressed another kiss to your cheek. He was going to do that every time he would give you a reason. "Have you been to all the beautiful places around the world? Sure, you came to a few Grand Prix, but you never saw Great Ocean Road in Australia, you know Daniel promised he would take us there someday. You never saw Pamukkale in Turkey or Japan in Cherry Blossom season or the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. There are many places you need to visit, baby. So, yeah, this was reason number three. I don't know if you want me to continue but I can give you one more reason. Reason number four. Do it for you, baby. You deserve to live and be happy. I know you can be happy and I promise you I will do my best to help you. You just have to take it one step at a time. You just have to let me in. Let me help you, baby."

You turn around, facing him now. You loved him, with all of your heart. You love him for who he is. You love him because he literally came into your life as your lifeline. You love him because he helped you crawl up the deep bottomless abyss of depression. You love him because he had the patience and the audacity to bear with your depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, your phobias, your mood swings, your temperamental and short-tempered nature, your overthinking, your being overprotectiveness, and possessiveness. You love him because never once he thought of giving up on you in your hard times. You love him because he stands by you like a rock of unwavering support and he’s someone you can fall back on. You love him because he listens to you talking non-stop about your past, your pains, your fears, and your losses without complaining even once. You love him because he rediscovered you and helped you find yourself again when you were lost in darkness. You love him because he filled you with confidence and hope and strength and belief and determination. You love him because he believes you are the best when you set your mind on something and no one can stop you from achieving your goals. You love him because he is protective, caring, understanding, loving, and easy to be with while never being too suffocating or taking up your space. You love him because sooner or later he does everything you ask of him and does with his whole attention. You love him because whatever endeavor he engages in, he likes to give his 100% and hates doing half-hearted things. You love him because he can decode the nuances in your voice and judge your mood just perfectly. You love him because he read you like an open book and he can hear your silence. You love him because he never doubts your loyalty, your intentions, your hard work, and your million issues. You love him because no matter how busy he might get he never forgets that you are waiting for his message or his call. You love him because he keeps you in his priorities. You love him because he gave you a passion you never knew you had. You love him because he very strongly believes that you deserve the best of everything. You love him because he is empathic, kind, magnanimous, thoughtful, and down to Earth. You love him because he has eyes for no one but you. You love him because he wants to see you healthy, wealthy, prosperous, famous and he wants you to hold back at nothing, for no one, he wants you to be a Go-Getter. And most importantly you love him because no one ever loved you like he did.

"I will let you in," you say and you kiss him hard. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused."

"Don't be. It happens."

[zulivaris]

Art Block tips that helped me

 I’ve recently experienced art block after 3 or so months of overcoming my last one. Thankfully this block only lasted a few days thanks to some things I’ve observed and noted down from the previous time. So I’m sharing these few tips in hopes that it might help someone get unstuck :D!

First and foremost if you’re tired, sad or anxious don’t be surprised that you can’t make art, go and take care of yourself by treating yourself with kindness and patience, the sketchbooks and canvases will wait for you :)

The tips are under here:

Separate art studies from the creative time:  When you do art studies you’re there to focus on specific things, learn and understand how things work so you can apply them later in your art. Studies take a lot of energy and focus and are the opposite of the creative "flow” of making your own pieces. If you combine the two the results are either unfocused studies or stiff drawings. When you sit down at your desk ask yourself “Do I want to learn something new or do I want to create something of my own?”

When you have an idea don’t be afraid of being messy: Let’s say you want to make a picture of several cats kolo dancing in the moonlight. How do you go about doing this? Well since you came up with the idea you already have a vague image in your mind, sketch it out with simple shapes, stick figures, circle and spheres etc Don’t worry about cat anatomy, or the dancer’s moves, sketch out the essence of it. This method removes the need to be perfect or accurate. 

Ok after the messy sketch then what? Well now that you have sketched out the essence of your idea (and hopefully had fun doing so) now you go on to look for references! You put the creative process on pause and you can do a few brief studies if you need to: anatomy, color schemes, values, poses. Pick out a few of your favorites but don't obsess over them, they are a guide, a tool.

You know much more than you think. You’ve probably been drawing for a few years now. You’ve probably done some studies and drawn more than one type of subject. Then you have already internalized some of that information. I used to be obsessed with capturing the minute detail of the subject, and not be able to draw ANYTHING without reference. Instead of a useful tool, references became another obstacle to my creativity. That’s perfectionism my friend, and that’s no good. Here is an exercise a good friend of mine offered: Draw a few characters, animals and objects from imagination. Make sure that the subjects have no personal value to you (no ocs for example) so that if you make a mistake you won’t feel bad about it. Make the process relaxed and comfortable, pour a nice cup of joe, listen to your favorite music ... You will notice that you do indeed know how to draw some things without reference, and it’ll help with your confidence. 

The more you do studies the more you understand This seems evident but the more you understand your subject the freer you can be and the easier it’ll be to draw it from imagination in the future. If you really struggle with something to the point of frustration (as in you can’t get it right even with reference) It means you have to study it. Have a study list, for example: hands, perspective, color theory etc. And one of those days you want to study pick something from the list, and look for videos on youtube or useful sites like line of action etc. Only study one thing at the time. You can go from studying hands to studying arms since they’re more immediately connected, but you can’t study hands and then jump to learning perspective right after. Trust me you can learn perfectly fine with the resources online, and I’m sure you’re clever enough to do it :D

Mistakes don’t mean you “suck”  I’ve noticed that the two most common causes for art block are perfectionism and lack of self-confidence.  The two can often go in tandem which is worse :’D But let me remind you of something, you can fix your piece along the whole process. Use erasers, lasso tools, liquify , select, paint it all over etc If something looks off to you then you also know deep inside how to fix it. Useful ways to see what clunks: flip canvas horizontally (helps with placement, proportions), turn the image to grayscale (helps to check values and where your eye tends to look), look at your image in thumbnail size and ask yourself if it’s clear, see the pose’s silhouette and ask yourself if you can tell what the character is doing etc. Don’t fret, everything can always be fixed :)

Perfectionism, sometimes it stops you before you begin Perfectionism causes you to overwork a piece, it makes you draw less, it makes art stressful, it brings insecurity. Let’s remove it with a simple exercise. It can be combined with the “draw things from imagination” once you’ve drawn something you like: dont do line art, don’t shade it, keep it as simple and crude as possible and then...post it. Yes, post it. You’re not at your best? You’re only human, this will help you embrace that very human side of you. You make mistakes. So what? The more mistakes you make the more you know what you need to study and the better at art you become. Mistakes are there to show us what we need to learn. See them as another tool and not a sign of failure.

Make the process as enjoyable as possible: You like art. You love drawing. Never forget this. Otherwise why are you drawing if you don’t enjoy it? It’s easy to fall prey to the mentality of those relatable memes that “art= suffering” or “I can’t even draw the other eye”. No no no my friends, these messages are fueling your insecurities instead of overcoming them. Let me tell you what, art is fun. It is. Art is fun, because I decided to make it fun again. And you should decide on that too. Personally I adore lineart but my hand-eye coordination is lacking to do it digitally, so....I just skipped it. Yes. I skipped it. I do the sketch, I clean it up a bit and then jump onto color which I adore. It allowed me to draw more and more freely. When I draw I listen to music, make strokes with the rhythm, I take breaks often and I drink my favorite iced teas. If you don’t like coloring do it in grayscale, if you love lineart then do that etc It doesn’t mean you won’t learn your weak points in the future with studies and practice, but you won’t let your weaknesses prevent you from drawing at all. No no, you won’t let them. You draw because you want to, despite of them.

Don’t wait for inspiration, provoke it  Inspiration is not a divine and capricious muse. You make inspiration. It’s easy just collect all the things you like, music, artists, objects, characters, animals, patterns, plants etc Make boards on pinterest or similar sites, combine things you like. You like suits? You like birds? You can draw a bird in a suit, or a bird-inspired suit design, there is frankly a lot of ideas that can spring up from little things like these.

When a project stops being enjoyable either pause it for now or move on to the next thing. Pieces aren’t precious. They’re not “the one time I got x right” they are one of many. This advice goes mainly to hobbyists who can afford the luxury of passing to a new project. I have a WIP of a character who is overly complicated (I enjoy a challenge from time to time) sitting for half a month. I sometimes come back to it and add something... but as soon as it starts to create discomfort and insecurity instead of enjoyment I move onto something else. In the meantime I created 3 or 4 new pieces. If I had waited on finishing that piece I would have been severely creatively and physically exhausted. The art comes from you, not inspiration. The more art you make the better you become.

That’s about it :D I know it’s long but I prefer to be thorough and cover all the possibilities. If you have read of this: Thank you so much I hope this helps you at least a bit, if it helps only 1 other person I’d still be very happy. Have a nice one, and kick art block’s butt!

[ninma]

A look at Dream's punishment through irl rules and taking into account UN's rules regarding prisons. Because it is just interesting and it proves how there is NO justification for it. But mostly because it's interesting to look at and you may learn a thing or two.

I have seen too many times people trying to justify Dream's punishment. I did research and read through multiple articles and documents (over 73 pages of two different documents) about the more legal sides of his punishment. While Quackity's physical torture is obvious, I am here to address that even before that it was still very illegal. I know it is fictional! This is just a look into the real life facts and rules regarding prisons because it is interesting to look at Dream's punishment and Pandora's Vault under the light of these. So keep that in mind while reading this!

Welcome to my ted talk with actual facts and be prepared for quite the ride!

While yes, he has done bad things...however he has not done something so bad that he deserves a punishment so cruel that it's considered too inhumane for even mass murderers. Like actually! Stay tooned and you'll see what I mean.

His sentence is indefinite solidary confinement. Which is defined by the united nations as:

"the confinement of prisoners for 22 hours or more a day without meaningful human contact."

This means his punishment fits the definition for all his time (including visits) except when Tommy was locked inn and now with Quackity (although I'd consider the last one a turn for the worse). Now that we have that cleared up- lets get into the rule breaking. But first, let me introduce you to The Mandela Rules!

"The Mandela Rules reinforce human rights principles, including

 the recognition of the absolute prohibition of torture and other cruel, inhuman

 or degrading treatment or punishment and effective guidance 

to national prison administrations for persons deprived of their liberty"

Now that we have established that, lets get into this concerning fact train!

Rule 43

1. In no circumstances may restrictions or disciplinary sanctions amount to torture or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.

The following practices, in particular, shall be prohibited:

(a) Indefinite solitary confinement;

(b) Prolonged solitary confinement;

(c) Placement of a prisoner in a dark or constantly lit cell;

(d) Corporal punishment or the reduction of a prisoner’s diet or drinking water;

(e) Collective punishment.

Yeah...pretty clear breaking of 4/5 there. They can't even break e! Not to mention the pretty explicit breaking of d that was probably a surprise. You can count it as them breaking 4/4 if you count the fact that they can’t even break e. Rest assured my friend, this is just the beginning.

Rule 44

For the purpose of these rules, solitary confinement shall refer to the confinement of prisoners for 22

 hours or more a day without meaningful human contact. Prolonged solitary confinement shall refer to 

solitary confinement for a time period in excess of 15 consecutive days.

Already broken this one too huh. Even visiting days counts because I don't think anyone has been there for hours and I also don't think Sam's interactions would be long enough or count as meaningful human contact. The time with Tommy and Quackity is the only time it dosen't count as solidary. So this is getting...very much concerinng. But this is still only the start.

Rule 45

1. Solitary confinement shall be used only in exceptional cases as a last

 resort*, for as* short a time as possible and subject to independent

 review, and only pursuant to the authorization by a competent authority. It

 shall not be imposed by virtue of a prisoner’s sentence.

2. The imposition of solitary confinement should be prohibited in the case

 of prisoners with mental or physical disabilities when their conditions

 would be exacerbated by such measures

Woops...so not only is it illegal as a punishment...but also the "he is a psychopath" argument (which is already a bad stereotype, but I won't get into psychology here. It's a common misconception and c!Tommy not knowing is almost to be expected. However please do not say that someone, character or real person, have a mental disorder or illness without proper knowledge about psychology and in the case of characters we shouldn’t put labels unless the writer has said that they have taken mental disorders or illnesses into account when making the character) just got yeeted out the window. Actually that argument just took a loop and now is an argument for the other side. It makes sense because as it says: it exacerbates their preexisting mental illnesses. Which is why it's prohibited. 

"In no case may a detainee’s contact with the outside world be

 dependent on his or her cooperativeness, be used as a disciplinary

 sanction or form part of the sentence."

  - Special Rapporteur on Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, Civil and Political Rights, Including the Questions of Torture and Detention, ¶ 43, Comm’n on Human Rights,

“…The medical officer should visit prisoners held in solitary confinement

 every day, on the understanding that such visits should be in the interests

 of the prisoners ’ health. Furthermore, prisoners held in solitary

 confinement for more than 12 hours should have access to fresh air for at

 least 1 hour each day” - Subcomm. on Prevention of Torture [SPT]

Wow Sam...it is almost impressive in a dark way just how explicitly these are broken. The Warden's very punishments for disobedience just straight up counts as torture. And for the obvious record I highly doubt Quackity's daily visits to the green bloob counts as anything but 'the interests of the prisoners' health'. You can disagree here...but I am being very sarcastic.

Rule 22

1. Every prisoner shall be provided by the prison administration at the

usual hours with food of nutritional value adequate for health and

strength, of wholesome quality and well prepared and served.

Raw potatoes every day for the rest of your life..eehhh no thanks. If Dream ever gets out he will probably join me in the 'eating potatoes trauma' box. As funny as that sounds, it isn't a joke. I was force fed potatoes as a child and I hated it to the point where it gave me a mental block that stops me from eating them as my body just does not want to swallow it. It's a problem. But I can joke about it. Maybe Tommy will join us too, although it wasn't really the eating potatoes that caused that trauma...rip. Rest in anything but potatoes.

Rule 42

General living conditions addressed in these rules, including those related

to light, ventilation, temperature, sanitation, nutrition, drinking water,

access to open air and physical exercise, personal hygiene, health care

and adequate personal space, shall apply to all prisoners without

 exception.

I think it's pointless to say more on that topic as it's pretty much already summed up. Let us now move over to what are probably some of the qoutes so specific that it's scary.

“Furthermore, [the Committee] is concerned about the use of solitary

 confinement for indefinite periods of time.... Full isolation of 22 to 23

 hours a day in supermaximum security prisons is unacceptable

(art. 16).” - Committee. against Torture [CAT]

Oh wow.. talk about on the nose. I should've just started with this one as it pretty much says pretty clearly how it is unacceptable. Like yikes...can you get more specific? It is just downright ridiculous at this point. (-_-;)

“Solitary confinement, when used for the purpose of punishment,

 cannot be justified for any reason, precisely because it imposes severe

 mental pain and suffering beyond any reasonable retribution for

 criminal behaviour and thus constitutes an act defined in article 1 or article

 16 of the Convention against Torture, and a breach of article 7 of the

 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights."

Ahaha...ha....yeah for those who justify it...the convention against torture is very much against it being justified...Imagine if the characters could read these rules, that'd be interesting. Although I am pretty sure they don't follow realism for the imprisonment. As I have already said; this is just an interesting look at the irl rules and how Dream's punishment and Pandora's Vault stand under light of them.

“No prisoner, including those serving life sentence [sic] and prisoners on

 death row, shall be held in solitary confinement merely because of the

 gravity of the crime.”

 - Special Rapporteur on Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment

Like...there are no loopholes here. It is so extremely clear that it truly is darkly impressive how the characters don't seem to have a second thought about this. How do you accidentally sentence someone to a lifetime of torture without realizing? If they do know...It'd be very dark.

Btw Tommy's exile and his time in prison doesn't count as solidary confinement. Just to clear that up.

It amazes me how badly they break these rules...I know they probably didn't take the realism into consideration. However it is still kind of darkly impressive. Especially considering how scary specific they break them too. Even though this is just a interesting (I was about to write fun, however I wouldn't count realizing how inhuman the prison is is 'fun'. But it is interesting) look at Dream's punishment and Pandora's Vault under the light of real life rules for prisons. (lol my paranoid self have said this so much)

These facts also proves how saying it's justified...is kind of morally bad. Not attacking anyone! I just want to also say how while it is pure fiction and the characters in the story can have whatever opinion they want as they are characters. However when it comes to fans approving and justifying it without taking time to consider how it really isn't something that can be justified (real or no). You can have whatever opinion you want, however just maybe take some of what you have learned today and reflect over it? To think twice after having received new information dosen't hurt. I am not here to tell you what to think, so rest easy. Only to share some facts^^ (*so obviously scared of offending anyone*)

I recommend taking some time to look it up yourself if you want to look further into it. The psychological aspects of it is also interesting to look at!

I hope you have learned something here today and found this post and my research interesting! I spent hours on this so I hope you have enjoyed this! I originally posted this on reddit and I was very surprised at how many stopped by to read it and therefore I choose to post it here as well because you learn something and hopefully also gained a new perspective. 

Ninma over and out!

[hotchley]

like blood underneath your fingernails

Honestly, I’m quite proud of this one. It’s been in the works for a while, and I finally have a title (from Looking Too Closely- Fink) and I both did those flashcards and emptied the dishwasher, so it’s here now. It’s been proofread!! Once. In the car.

The writers (according to the internet) did not deal with the aftermath of Scratch’s initial... thing. So I took it upon myself to write the case after. It got dark, but I had fun writing it. And it has low-key Mortch vibes... a lot of other amazing writers have also written fics linked to this, so you need to read those too because they’re just the best

OH!! This is not a Rossi-friendly fic. I have tried to explain why he responds the way he does, but it does come off as Rossi bashing, so if you reallllly love him and think he was a great friend to Hotch... skip on this one.

Trigger Warnings: dissociation, aftermath of torture, a slight reference to suicide and child death, canon-typical violence, cases involving kidnappings and murder, blood, dark themes, other canon-typical darkness, hallucinations

read on ao3!

He cannot close his eyes.

Because when he closes his eyes, he sees one of them, falling to the ground as the light leaves their eyes and the life leaves their body because his worst fear has never been his own death. It has always been the death of the family he is meant to protect- whether that was Sean, or Haley or the team. 

He hears the fear in JJ's voice as Spencer, her little brother, the boy that has always been too young, the man that he has never succeeded in saving, falls to the ground, eyes never opening again. 

He tastes the horrifying and coppery tang of blood as Derek is shot right in front of his eyes, the blood splattering onto his cheek and every sentence Reid has ever spoken about the bacteria and pathogens in blood springing to the forefront of his mind.

He smells the bitter and disgusting sage that Peter Lewis uses to torment people and turn them into brutal murderers that cannot stand the sight of their own hands or wrap their heads around their actions because they had always been normal and good, and it hurts because he's already a killer, never once normal or good.

He touches the knife that was slid towards him, the metal cool against his warm hand and the weight a comforting thing that make him feel like he could regain control of the situation he was in, despite the thoughts of George Foyet that fill his mind, and he wonders whether Scratch is impotent.

He closes his eyes and he no longer knows what is real.

It is why he is returning to work only ten days after the case. He had wanted to take the usual five, terrified even of that small number because he couldn't trust himself. The doctors that assessed him in the hospital wanted him to take thirty. Ten, and a passed psychological evaluation, had been the compromise.

He wonders if the team knows how he lied. They must do. They aren't stupid. He wonders if anyone will call him out on it, or if they'll once again be so terrified of the humanity he wants nothing more than to cling to that they will simply watch and wait until he shatters again.

The steady ticking of the clock is the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. When he flicks the light on, he sees there are still five hours until he needs to wake up. For a single moment, he closes his eyes, contemplating whether or not attempting to sleep is a pointless exercise. He swears he can still taste sage and opens his eyes again.

A silent house is not necessarily a bad thing. It means Jack is sleeping through the night, no nightmares about the gunshots haunting him. And it means the extra locks on the door, the obsessive way he checks every window is locked as soon as the sun goes down, are doing their job at keeping the monsters out of the only home Jack has real memories of.

Aaron creeps out of bed, grabbing the jumper that was folded at the foot of his bed. Once he's put it on, he sighs to himself and counts to five. For each number, he tells himself a fact that cannot be disputed. That grounds him.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old. 

He is standing inside his bedroom, in his apartment, which is located in Virginia.

The windows of that apartment are locked from the inside.

Just down the hallway, his son is sleeping peacefully, untouched by the monsters that strangle his father every single day.

He creeps down that hallway, taking comfort when the same floorboard that always creaks does just that. Normally he would avoid it. But lately he's been finding every opportunity to do something that Peter Lewis would have no knowledge of, if only so he can convince himself he's fine.

Jack's door is slightly open, allowing some light to enter. Aaron nudges it gently, making sure he doesn't wake Jack. The door doesn't make a sound, and his son carries on sleeping. He never looks so similar to his mother as he does when he sleeps. Haley slept on her left side, a slight smile on her face, and Jack does the same, unless he has a bad dream.

But even then, he is so much like his mother that his tears can be turned into something beautiful. Aaron was the exception of their little family, having always expressed his emotions so honestly, the few times he let himself do that, that there was no way it could be anything but ugly and human.

He's too big for the chair in front of Jack's desk, but he sits in it anyways, turning it so he can face Jack's bed. On the table is his latest art project- a collage of things that remind him of the people he loves- and Aaron finds it difficult to look at. Because his son has painted his mother as a perfect angel, and his father a superhero.

One day, Jack will realise his father is the furthest thing from the superhero and he will hate him for destroying his childhood and taking his mother from him before he was old enough to understand that people were mortal. Aaron is mentally preparing for that day- there are already so many letters that will never excuse or justify what he did hidden in his office drawer- but until then. he will allow himself this one good thing.

He will allow himself to sit, and take comfort in the steady rise and fall of Jack's chest. He ends up staying there until sunlight starts to stream through the window, and then he takes his leave. 

Seeing Jack, sleeping so calmly and normally, reminds him of why he's going back to work. Because if he hurts the wrong person there, the team won't hesitate and they'll do it. If he hurts Jack- and he knows he's weaker than the man that refused to harm his son, knows that it will be Jack- there will be nobody there to end his pain and suffering. He'll be forced to live with it.

A minute before his alarm is set to go, he turns it off, and then he goes about morning like it is any other day. 

He doesn't feel like himself till he puts the watch Dave got him when became lead profiler on, tightening the strap till it mirrors the feeling of holding the knife. And he wonders whether the team are discussing his return to duty the same way they had six years ago. 

They are. Aaron's absence meant more paperwork for the rest of them, as there is no way the team are going to let him handle it when he comes back, so every single one of them are in an hour earlier. It also means his return will be as smooth as it can be.

Even if they don't all approve.

"It's only been ten days," Derek says. "He needs more time."

"Does he? He came back thirty-four days after George Foyet stabbed him in his apartment and his wife and son were sent into Witness Protection, and he was fine. This is like child's play compared to that," Dave says, fiddling with a paperclip.

"Ex-wife," Reid corrects quietly. 

The three of them are sitting in the bullpen, looking towards the elevator every few minutes. Kate pretends she's not listening, and Derek pretends he believes her.

"Was he fine? He looked us in the eye and asked why a man that had lost his wife and child was still alive. He walked into a hostage situation unarmed. We all pretended he was fine because we needed Foyet to strike, but I'm not making that mistake again. Not after what happened when he did end up striking," Derek snaps.

Spencer swallows. Dave just raises an eyebrow. It's almost funny. Spencer views Aaron as a father, Dave as a son. Either way, they both believe he is perfect. Able to come back from anything and everything with nothing more than a broken ego. But Derek remembers what Foyet's body looked like, and he remembers how Aaron had shattered in his arms for those few seconds.

"If you want to ruin his first day back, then be my guest. But you need to trust him the same way he trusts us. After all, you care more about him than you do your job," Dave says, annoyance bleeding into his tone.

And Derek gets it. He really does. He had wanted to believe Gideon was invincible when he came back after Boston. Everyone had. So they hadn't done anything, and he had just gotten more and more reckless with his actions until innocent people ended up dead and Hotch got suspended. And then he ran. 

He isn't going to let that happen again.

"This isn't about not trusting him. This is about keeping him safe. And you're right. I do care about him more, because the last time I didn't, he almost retired. So we either do the opposite of what we did last time, or we let history repeat itself."

"Derek, you can't force him into anything. He passed his psych eval, so Cruz can't do anything either," Spencer says. 

Derek softens as he turns to him. "I know pretty boy. It's not about forcing him into anything. It's about making sure he knows that we're here if he needs more time, or if he needs a break. And don't get me started on that psych eval. I saw his answers. They're too perfect. He's lying."

"So what are you going to do?" Dave challenges, and not for the first time, Derek wonders how Aaron kept his sanity working with him, Jason Gideon and Max Ryan at the same time without any of the other members to meet his eyes with the same exasperated look every time one of them reverted to the old fashioned way of doing things.

"Be the friend he trusts me to be," Derek says. It's his own challenge. Dave prides himself on being the only one to call him Aaron. To people outside the team, Rossi seems to be the only one that Aaron trusts enough to be vulnerable with. 

But Derek knows better. Aaron will never be completely open with anyone, but he still feels like he has a duty to be the hopeful and undamaged boy that thought he could save the world that Dave recruited. He still has a duty to be the father that Spencer never had and thought he'd found in Gideon. It is only with Derek that he allows himself to do his own type of falling apart: one that is contained and messy and ugly. Somehow both terrifying and anticlimactic

It was Derek that stopped him from running into a burning building all those years ago. It was Derek that was voluntarily told about Haley leaving. It was Derek that stepped up as Unit Chief and pulled him off Foyet's dead body. Not Dave and certainly not Spencer. So he won't let them influence his actions. Not this time.

Hotch does blink. But only when he thinks nobody will see him do it.

Dave keeps eye contact for a few more moments, but this time, Derek does not break it. Eventually the older man turns around and heads to his office. Derek sighs, knowing fully well that Aaron is going to end up doing the paperwork anyways.

"Is he going to be okay?" Spencer asks, sounding so painfully young that Derek has to look at him to remember he wasn't the new recruit anymore.

"Dave? Yeah, he'll be annoyed, we'll get a case and then everything will be fine," Derek says, smiling so Reid doesn't worry.

"No I meant Hotch. Will he be okay?"

Derek can't tell him the truth. "Of course he will. He's Hotch."

"Why are you lying to me?"

He knows there's no point in trying to deny it. "I'm not trying to patronise you or keep you in the dark. It's not that. It's just- I don't know. It's stupid, but I want to shield you from his mortality and flaws and imperfections for as long as is humanly possible. You are always going to have a different relationship with Hotch because of how much younger you are, and I just don't want to be the one that ruins it."

"So you want to protect me?"

Derek nods. "I guess."

"Thank you. Nobody ever did that when I was younger," Spencer says.

Kate breaks the ensuing silence by asking for Spencer's opinion on her consult, and Derek starts watching the elevator doors again. They don't open until precisely nine, when Hotch steps off, dressed in the same suit and tie he wears every second Monday of the month, carrying his briefcase and acting like nothing happened.

He gives them a slight smile as he passes them in the bullpen, and even those few seconds are enough for Derek to see that he hasn't been sleeping.

When Aaron sets his briefcase down, Spencer looks to him, nervous. Derek gives him a small smile, even though they all saw him as he entered. It's only been ten days since they last saw him, but his suits seem to hang from him more than before. Dave looks out at them, and Derek starts to count.

He counts to three hundred, and is immediately struck by just how fast time can go. Three hundred seconds is five minutes, and yet it feels like no time has passed. But when Hotch looks out at them, as he always does, everyday, without fail, ten days feels like a lifetime.

He is terrified as he stands, but he fights through the fear and goes up to his friend's office. The door is open, so he walks in without knocking. When Hotch looks at him, he closes both the door and the blinds. Hotch swallows as the sound of them closing fills the air.

"I don't want them profiling this conversation," he explains.

Aaron just nods. "Thank you."

"You don't need to pretend with me," Derek says.

Aaron looks away, and Foyet's presence, usually contained to the self-deprecating voice in his head telling him he's no better than his father, seems to fill the room. They both know why he doesn't pretend anymore.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I don't expect you to tell me the truth, because I wouldn't, if I was you. I'd be too terrified. But I remember what it was like seeing Spencer and Emily. So if you do want to talk, then I'm here. Always. And I won't flinch."

Aaron knows this to be true. When they finally got back to Quantico after Jason's death, Derek found him sobbing in the men's bathroom, the barriers he had spent so long piecing together completely breaking when he opened his drawer and found a photo from the early days, where Jason looked happy and hopeful. He hadn't said anything. Just sat beside him, and offered a tissue. 

"I know you won't."

Derek sighs, not sure what he's meant to do. "Aaron-" he starts, not sure what he's going to see next.

"I can't trust myself. I- I don't know what's real, and I keep trying to do the grounding things that the bureau therapist said I need to, but I don't know if they're working. I have post-it notes all over the apartment and I have my five facts, and I have things I can touch, but Scratch knew so much, I can't- I feel like he's everywhere and he knows everything."

It is so honestly vulnerable that Derek wants nothing more than to flee, if only so he can cling to the Aaron that existed when he first joined the unit for just one more moment. But he made a promise. And he has no idea how he's meant to keep it, but he's going to.

He holds his hand out. When Aaron doesn't take it, he leans over the desk, gently linking their fingers. "I'm here. With you. Scratch can't get our body temperatures perfect. He can't know that I'm always slightly warmer and you're always colder. He can't know that twelve years ago, I called you darling because I didn't realise it was you."

Aaron chuckles slightly. "Derek."

"You don't need to say anything. I messed up after Foyet. I won't do that again."

He shakes his head, finally meeting his eyes, and the fire in them is almost enough to convince Derek that everything is going to be fine. Almost.

"You did everything you could after Foyet. If you had tried to do more, I would have stopped you. We both know that. You did everything right, everything perfectly right and you cannot feel like you failed because you didn't. Do you understand me?"

Derek swallows. “Yes. But you need to understand that if you need anything- and I mean anything, whether it’s for me to take the reins for a bit, an unofficial firearms certification, or even just to do the grounding techniques with you, I will.”

Aaron nods. “I know Derek. I know. Thank you.”

Derek gives him the most convincing smile he can, leaving the door open because Aaron hated having it closed. As he exits. Dave steps in, and he sees as Aaron morphs back into Hotch to be the man that Dave needs him to be. It hurts to see, but he understands why it happens.

He doesn’t believe in God. He hasn’t for a while. But he needs to do something other than stare at dead bodies, so he prays that the team remain grounded for a few days. Not for too long because then Aaron will get suspicious and realise that Derek had been forging Rossi’s signature in order to transfer their out of state cases to other teams, but long enough for him to get settled once more.

Or as settled as he would ever be.

It’s probably why, only minutes after Dave leaves Hotch’s office, smiling, whilst the other man just looks exhausted, JJ comes rushing into the bullpen. There are five files in her arms, and she looks frantic. 

“No,” Derek says.

“I’m sorry, but we need to go on this one. It came directly to me. It’s- just look.”

He doesn’t want to, but as JJ goes to give the files to Dave and Aaron, he does, if only so he can gauge how much support he will need. And as he opens it, he understands exactly why they’re going on this case. Why, even if JJ had tried to hide it from Hotch, he would’ve said they had a duty.

They have four victims. All blonde women. All mothers. All divorced. Killed by a single gunshot to the head. No evidence of sexual assault, but they were held captive and tortured for three days before being dumped in their home. All found by their ex-husbands, who were only there to drop the child off.

Hotch does not show an ounce of humanity during the journey there. It terrifies Derek. Hotch only refuses to show how human he is when he’s close to falling apart. Too close for anyone to feel comfortable. Instead, he keeps his tone detached and professional. Derek pretends to not notice the way Aaron pushes down on his stomach, over the biggest scar Foyet left. Aaron pretends he doesn’t see Derek watching him.

When they get to the station, Derek knows it’s going to be a long case. Him and Reid are sent to the coroner’s office, whilst JJ and Kate are tasked with searching through their victims history. Which means Hotch and Rossi are left to interview the husbands. JJ and Derek- the most attuned to Hotch and the thought behind his actions- make a silent agreement that they will do whatever it takes to make sure Rossi doesn’t go too far. Whatever that means.

They fail because they don’t get the chance to speak to him before they leave the precinct.

And when they return, Dave is nowhere to be seen, and Aaron is sat in the conference room, clenching his jaw and hyper focused on the details in the case files.

“Did you get anything from the husbands?” JJ asks, tone gentle.

Hotch shakes his head. “They’re grieving, and terrified for their children. But they’re not guilty. They all loved their wives.”

Nobody bothers to point out all four couples were divorced.

"Where's Rossi?" Reid asks.

The tension in Aaron's shoulders increases.

"Hotch," Kate says, the only one that can.

"He accused one of the father's of committing the crime," Hotch says.

JJ and Morgan give each other identical looks. Kate looks horrified, and Spencer is stunned speechless.

"What happened after?" she prompts.

Hotch doesn't speak. Kate sighs, then leads JJ away. As she passes Spencer, she asks him to follow her because Hotch and Morgan need to speak alone. He nods and leaves without another word.

"Aaron," Derek says.

"I ended the interrogation and dragged him out of the room. And then I punched him in the face because those women remind me of Haley and those fathers remind me of myself and every accusation he made reminded me of the months after her death and I couldn't do it."

Derek wants to punch Dave himself. He must have known what he was doing, and in some strange and obscure way thought his actions would help the situation. Clearly he couldn't have been more wrong.

"You didn't cause Haley's death," he says, for lack of any other words.

"I did. Maybe I didn't put the gun to her head and pull the trigger, but I did cause it. That's not what I'm scared about though."

"What are you scared of then?" Derek asks, well aware that they're in the middle of a police station where anyone could hear them, but needing to take advantage of Aaron's vulnerability before he let his mask slip back into place.

"Scratch. I punched Dave and it felt like Scratch was laughing at me, egging me on to hurt him more. The worst part is that I almost did. Punching him felt good, and then I panicked and now I don't know- I don't know whether the only thing I did was punch him or if I did something more."

Derek curses under his breath. "How long have you been feeling like that?"

Hotch shrugs. "I couldn't- I forgot what time it was when I stumbled back here. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, the words almost reflexive because of every apology Aaron has ever given him. "We just need to ground you."

He takes Aaron's hands, noting that the muscles are moving the way they should be. It's a small thing, but it's a good thing, because it means he's wearing the wrist support when he needs them and doing the physical therapy.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

Aaron does so willingly. “Derek, we’re in a conference room.”

“That’s good. Can you give me four other facts that prove you’re here, in this moment with me?”

"My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am forty-four years old. We are in a police station. You are Derek Morgan. There is a door behind you and a window behind me- the window is locked, but the door is wide open. We can both see if someone walks in."

"Show off," Derek teases.

Aaron manages to smile slightly. “Thank you,” he whispers after a moment.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Derek says. He means it.

This time, Aaron’s laugh is self-deprecating. “I’m a horrible person to look after.”

“Not to me you’re not. How do you feel now?”

He shrugs. “Better, I guess.”

“Drink some water. Slowly. I’ll go check on Dave.”

“Do you think he’s going to hate me?” Aaron asks.

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend. Of course not,” Derek says. He keeps his tone light, but deep down he’s afraid that Dave will. Not forever, he could never do that, but for long enough that something else goes wrong.

He finds Dave in the bathroom. 

“Hotch told me what happened,” he says.

“And what? You’re here to tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed because he’s fragile and hurting? Did you tell him that he shouldn’t have fucking punched me in the face because of something I said to a suspect?”

“Those men were not suspects and you know that,” Derek snaps. He sighs. “I wasn’t coming here to tell you that you shouldn’t have pushed. I came to see whether or not you were okay.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. Derek sighs, again.

“He saw Scratch when he punched you. Now he’s worried. And he’s falling back into old patterns. I told him he didn’t kill Haley and not only did he not believe me, he flat out disagreed and said he did.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dave asks. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Derek wants to shout at him. He may be tired after this one event, but he’s not been the one picking up the pieces and gluing their fragile leader back together for the past few years. Dave doesn’t get to be tired. Not whilst Derek is still the only one able to do anything.

“I don’t know Dave. You’ve known him the longest. It was you that found him in the immediate aftermath. You took the gun from him- rather poetic given the last time an unsub targeted him, you told him to take yours- and got him to speak.”

Dave blinks a few times. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought being hard on him would bring him back, but I was wrong.”

“It’s okay. You just need to correct yourself now,” Derek says, for lack of any other words.

“I just want him to be the boy he was when he first joined the unit,” Dave whispers.

Derek did not know the boy his friend was then, but he does know the Aaron that existed before Boston. The Aaron that held a baby Jack in their arms like that one small child was enough to remove every piece of darkness to exist. The Aaron that had grabbed Haley’s hand and taken her dancing so they could spend a bit of time together.

"We all do. But he's gone now. The only thing we can do is try to save whatever pieces of him live in the Aaron that is sat in the conference room, beating himself up over something that was not his fault because of your misplaced comment," Derek says. They have a killer to catch. There's no time to entertain this.

"I know. Thank you. For doing what the rest of us are too afraid to," Dave replies. Derek shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

Something about the dynamic between the two men has changed, and everybody has noticed.

"Somebody has to," is all he can say, before he leaves Rossi to wash his hands and search for the man that had promised Aaron everything he could ever want, all those years ago when he first recruited him for the BAU.

There's an empty glass of water beside Hotch when Derek returns, and he's silently thankful that for once in his life, Aaron listened. He's deep in conversation with one of the police officers, so he refrains from making any comments, but when Aaron turns back towards the table, he goes over without a second thought.

He tells himself it's because he wants to know what happened just then. Because he wants to know whether or not they have any more information that can be used to their advantage. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that learning about the case means he doesn't have to focus on the minute tremble of Hotch's hands. Doesn't have to see the hollow look in his eyes- a look of a man so defeated that he has no reason to try anymore.

The problem with being a profiler is that you rarely fall for anyone's bullshit- including your own.

“Did the officer have some additional information?” Derek asks.

Hotch hears him, obviously, but does not respond.

“Hotch,” he repeats.

“No. He didn’t. He wanted to know why you were holding my hands.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “And what did you say?”

“That ten days a man that managed to turn people that would never dare hurt another person into horrific killers drugged me, causing me to hallucinate the deaths of the same people that are solving his case for him, and as a result, I cannot always tell when things are real,” Aaron deadpans.

For a moment, Derek honestly can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. Then Aaron gives him the smallest smile, and he relaxes slightly. The last thing they need happening is officers spreading even more rumours about the types of cases the BAU work on.

He starts to reply with a joke of his own, then sees Aaron’s smile fade away like it was never there. He wonders how instinctive the action is- how many times was that little boy told he was too much, and how many times did he fade into the background like he didn’t even exist?

Without turning, he knows it’s Dave.

“I’m going to see if Spencer needs any help,” Derek says.

For a moment, it seems like Aaron is going to beg him to stay. But like most of his displays of humanity, it passes in a second, and then he simply nods, not even trying to fight.

“Aaron,” Dave says, walking over with purpose.

“Rossi don’t. Please,” Aaron pleads.

“What you did was stupid. But my actions were also uncalled for,” he says. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a proper apology. Aaron accepts it because there’s not much else he can do. Dave pretends it’s going to fix everything because it’s the only thing that will get him through the case.

“Do you seriously think the fathers are to blame?” Hotch asks.

Rossi shakes his head. “Not anymore. I just needed to be sure.” He also needed to be sure that Aaron was fine, and given his response to Rossi’s accusation, he can’t say he’s convinced.

"Good," Aaron says, and the smile he gives Dave is so small and subtle, but so full of love, that for a single moment, the older profiler is able to convince himself that the fragile collection of skin and bones in front of him is still the hopeful boy that joined the unit. But then the moment passes and he's left feeling worse than before.

When the team come back, picking up on the cues that both Hotch and Rossi laid down, they go back to acting like nothing is wrong. Like the women in the photos are victims that deserve justice, and not the mirror of the same light they failed to save five years ago.

There are no breaks in the case, and they return to the hotel defeated and miserable. Budget problems mean they're doubling up. Part of Derek wants to switch rooms with Dave so he can keep an eye on Aaron, but the bigger part of him knows it would be a terrible idea, so he texts him saying that if he needs anything, no matter what time it is, he'll be available.

Aaron mouths the words thank you once he's read the message. Derek counts it as a win, and he tries to remain calm when Dave texts him saying that when he entered the shower- after Hotch- although the water dial was set to be normal, the water ran hot. Too hot.

He refrains from commenting the next morning, when Aaron clasps his glass of freezing water like a lifeline. In some ways, it is. And he knows what it's a sign of. He isn't sure whether it's caused by something in particular, or if he's just overwhelmed, but the hotel dining area- where Kate and Spencer would both hear- isn't the place to ask.

They get to the precinct, and it becomes clear that nobody there has slept. Another woman was found dead a few minutes before they got there. The father and son are sitting in the same conference room the BAU were working out of. For a moment, Aaron looks like he's going to kill the person that sent them there. The lead on the case quickly intercepts, saying they moved the boards and evidence files, and he relaxes slightly.

But before anyone can sleep, he removes his blazer and tie, before unbuttoning his top button and rolling his sleeves up. And then he walks into the conference room. Derek blinks, then it clicks. Aaron looks like a father. Someone both people sat in the room can trust. JJ hands him the information on the file, and his breathing stops for a moment.

The father and son could have been Aaron and Jack. If Aaron's eyes were darker and Jack's hair lighter, they would be the boys smiling in the photo provided with the file. He wants to take over the conversation Hotch must be having, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. How many cases are going to hit too close to home before Aaron gives up? Before it feels like every victim wears Haley's face? 

How many more times can Aaron Hotchner look into the darkest parts of humanity before his hands stop going cold at crime scenes and Derek Morgan needs to take his place in some weird parallel of the events that occurred after Boston? 

When the father and son leave the room, he jumps out of his chair and runs over.

"We will catch this man. And if you need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me," he hears Aaron say.

He sighs to himself.

The father shakes his hand and leaves, guiding his son with nothing more than a gentle hand to the back of his head. He sees Aaron swallow. 

"You know you can't promise things like that," he chastises, not truly meaning it.

"It wasn't a promise. It was a guarantee," Hotch snaps.

Morgan simply raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"I told him about Haley, and how I found her. And about how Jack was just down the hallway in my office- the one place in our home that my work touched, even if he never found it- so now he can't be alone on New Years or Independence Day. I only said it because he told me I didn't understand what it was like. To have to do that."

No amount of surgery is ever going to fix the hole in Aaron's heart that Haley's death created. They could plant seeds of love and watch them blossom into flowers of acceptance and fearlessness in every other part of his body, but that one area could never be touched.

Derek knows this. He's seen it before.So he doesn't offer any words, because there are none. Instead, he takes Aaron's arm and he squeezes the elbow. It is Aaron's non-verbal method of saying thank you. So in that moment, it can also be his.

Aaron isn't entirely sure why Derek is thanking him, but he learnt long ago that when someone said something, you didn't push. You accepted their words- whether they were kind declarations of love or as sharp as knives- and you moved on.

When Derek lets go of him, he walks back over to the team, feeling slightly lighter and infinitely more grounded.

Kate tells him another woman had been taken, and the weight he thought he'd been able to let go off settles on his chest like a death threat. There is a single moment where she worries that this will be the thing that causes him to fall off the edge of the cliff he's been standing on for far too long, but then he stands up properly and it's like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't sleep, instead pouring over the case file whilst Rossi gently snores beside him. If Jason had been with the team. he would've somehow realised that Hotch was still awake, and told him to go to sleep. And Hotch would've obeyed. But Jason wasn't with the team. He was dead. And sometimes that knowledge knocked Aaron off guard, so he stopped focusing on that and started concentrating on the woman.

Their break comes the next morning.

Garcia hasn't slept either, and between the two of them, they have a name and a location. Everyone piles into the cars, vests on and weapons ready, because even though nobody had said it, there was no way this is ending without at least one shot being fired.

The door to the building is unlocked, and they have their unsub surrounded within seconds. Hotch suddenly feels like a bucket of ice has been poured over him, causing him to freeze, and the blood to start pounding in his ears. Nothing feels real to him. He tightens the grip on his gun.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old.

He is holding a gun because he is on a case.

The unsub is holding a knife to a woman's throat.

The woman looks just like Haley- no. He cannot think that. Not now. 

"Let her go," JJ commands softly.

"No," their unsub says.

What is his name? And why can Aaron not remember his name?

"If you put that knife down, and let her go, we can tell the courts that you cooperated with us. That'll be nice, won't it?" Kate adds. Her tone is completely level. Calming in a way that it shouldn't be.

The unsub grins, then presses the knife even closer to his victim's throat. She lets out a terrified whimper and closes her eyes. He yanks her hair, forcing her to open then, and he seems pleased with himself.

"I don't care about the courts. I care about the man I'm doing all of this for. He's going to be great, and he's going to make me great too. Just you wait and see."

This wasn't part of the profile. There was never meant to be a more dominant partner. The control Aaron has been clinging to in order to get through this case is slowly slipping away with each piece of information he either cannot remember or is introduced to him. 

"He? Who is he?" Spencer asks.

The man cocks his head. "Is it not obvious?"

Spencer shakes his head. "We're not like you. We need you to explain."

He nicks the skin slightly. Blood pools at the tip of the blade. Another digression from the previous pattern. No knives were ever used to cut the skin. The kills had been quick and clean. Why was everything changing?"

"I won't."

"The only way you get out of this alive is if you explain everything to us. Because this man, he won't make you great. Whoever he is, he only cares about himself. Not you. Certainly not your life. But we care about you. Just set the knife down," Derek says.

Aaron knows he needs to contribute, but he just can't do it. His tongue is like a useless knot in his mouth that he can't undo because his brain is twisted too.

"No," the man says, bringing it dangerously close to the woman's pulse.

"Aaron!" Derek shouts. "You're the only one with a clear shot. You need to take it. Or do something. Do you hear me? You are the only one that can do this. If he moves that knife, take the shot."

Aaron turns in the sound of the voice. Derek is telling him that he needs to take the shot, and he can see why. With the way they're stood, he is the only one that can possibly avoid hitting either the woman or another team member. 

He raises his hands, ignoring how they tremble. Front sight. Trigger press. Follow through. Three steps that he has been following since his days at the Academy. Three steps that mean he has never missed. Never failed.

The man smirks.

Aaron turns to make sure nobody else will get hurt, or can take the shot. But when he looks at Derek, it's not Derek.

It's Peter Lewis.

"No," he whispers, but in the silence of the room, he may as well have shouted at the top of his voice.

He turns to look at the man, and he sees that he is about to shoot Derek Morgan. The one person that has never been afraid of him. The one man that is still good and undamaged by his hands. The one man that can and has led the team without any sort of assistance with him.

"Aaron!" Derek's voice exclaims, but he still wears Mr Scratch's face.

Aaron does not know what is real anymore, but he knows he needs to minimise the damage. The gun falls from his hands, with the safety off. It lands on the floor with a clatter that is too loud to his ears.

Their unsub laughs, once, and slits the woman's throat. She falls to the ground, dead by the time she hits the ground. Derek- real Derek, whose hands have always been warmer than his- fires his gun once. The unsub also falls to the ground with a shout.

Aaron closes his eyes.

He hears his name.

He tastes copper.

He touches his own hand, startled by the coldness.

He sees Derek's terrified face.

He smells sage.

He smells sage.

He smells sage. And then the world goes black.

When he comes round, he does not know where he is. He does not know where the team is. He cannot ground himself in the moment or come up with five facts that prove his surroundings are real. 

He opens his eyes. The team is gone.

And he is covered in blood.

[aproxm]

on suffering

today, i am in pain. yesterday, i was in pain, too. one month ago, three months ago, and eight months ago, the same. but nine months ago, i was not. nine months ago, i started my final summer break drawing as fervently as i had since 2021 began--since i had found tegaki. but i started to notice a new sort of feeling after one extended session: palms on fire. had i pushed my right hand too far? after enough writhing and a promise to never spend so long on a piece again, i fell asleep. the days before i had drawn, i too hurt, and the days after, i hurt then, too. if six hours were too many to spend on art, that number slowly became 3, then 2, then 1. over the course of months and months, it became 30 minutes, down to 10, down to just daring to hold the pen at all.

and drawing was not the only hobby affected. gaming began to hurt, a controller no better than cacti. writing began to hurt, grading papers by hand a nightmare. typing began to hurt, grading papers that way awful, too. holding a steering wheel hurt. holding an umbrella hurt. and i write these in the past tense, but they are very much my current reality. drawing hurts. gaming hurts. writing hurts. holding hurts. typing hurts. typing this hurts.  there’s no grading anymore because i had to wrap up my degree, and then they gave me that degree and now it sits in a manila as useless and taunting as possible. how do you work a desk job when you can’t use the tools they hand you? how do you wear a blue collar when you can’t even hold a boxcutter? how do you apply to a job with the baggage of a sudden onset disability you can’t even name?

and that is a very good question, and one further is how to apply for assistance when your condition refuses identification. here’s the pain at its simplest: i can’t use my hands much. i can use them well--i’ve lost no strength. but i cannot exercise them without discomfort. this discomfort takes many different forms difficult to articulate. in the forearms, it’s a dull, burning ache, as if my arms beg to be stretched far past the meat allows. it radiates. in the wrists, it’s a stiffness, as if bones have grinded up against each other for just too long. in the hand--in the palm, in the individual fingers--it is some mixture of both. it’s an individual aching i am sure i make worse by following the impulse to crack them. in some cases, this pain builds up from overuse: from my wrist held above the keyboard for too long, from the peculiar positions it takes when trying to play the gamecube, from its use when drawing or laying on the tablet. but in other cases, the pain simply appears because time has passed. i can sit in my chair and watch movies. then, i might go for an hour long walk. when i return, i might bathe. i might eat, i might lay in bed with a rat, i might lay on the floor listening to music. despite the little to no use of my hands: pain. despite doing nothing: pain. i fall asleep to the pain at its peak and wake up to begin the cycle again. and waking up is interesting: it will hurt if i hold my phone too long while in bed, so it’s best i get out and begin my day as soon as possible. then, by dividing time between meals and activities--outdoor exercise and long baths--i can vaguely pretend to function like a human. besides mild discomfort, i’m not actively using my hands while walking, and so i can settle into what my earbuds play and feel like a person (left hand falling asleep after random periods of time notwithstanding). but when it’s time to lay my head on the pillow, it’s time to remember how things really are.

and that said, falling asleep has become more difficult than i realized it ever could’ve been. it is a battle now. on one front, i have to consciously ignore what hurts. on the other front, i have to wrestle with the thoughts that accumulate and clog. how long can i stay in this position before it’ll hurt? why does it hurt right now? how long will it hurt like this? what am i going to do for a job? what am i going to do for rent? am i dying? am i decaying? what am i going to do for money, and how am i going to pay the physicians, practitioners, chiropractors, orthopedics, and neurologists? the physicians, practitioners, chiropractors, and orthopedics who can only shrug at my condition, who can only throw best guess darts. soon i’ll meet with my gp again in a bid to be referred to a neurologist who will most likely waste my time as well and bill me as proof. the ortho before handwaved suggested possibilities--”it’s most likely carpal tunnel.” and then three unpaid bills later it became “well, it’s definitely not carpal tunnel.” great, so what is it? “well, here’s some meloxicam, see you in two months.” it still hurts, doctor. “we’ll do an mri for your right wrist, then--$500.” both arms hurt, doctor. “one wrist at a time, please.”

the worst part about writing a paragraph detailing my experiences with doctors is that it’s a paragraph--you can read through it quickly. but i waited for my non-answers with weeks and months in-between. i continue to wait as more appointments stack up on the horizon. the question always presents itself following phone calls: what am i meant to do in the meantime? i am not capable of much anymore. i can still cook myself meals, so i do that. i can still watch movies and shows, so i do that--as slovenly as it makes me feel. i can still listen to music, so i listen to much of it even if i’ve lost the hobbies i loved doing alongside. and i can still walk. i walk about 10,000 steps a day, if possible, though usually held hostage by the aforementioned falling asleep ticking time bomb on my left side. and that is about it. if i want to do more... if i want to chance a round of deep rock galactic, draw a quick colored abstract, articulate feelings on a piece of media, or write a lengthy blog post whining about my pain, i do so aware of the repercussions. i write this aware of how much it will hurt tonight and tomorrow. it is important i write this now before a day comes in which i no longer even have that choice. i despise how over-dramatic it makes me feel, but it’s one of the only things i have left.

i am miserable. if anyone has ever wished for me to be that way, they will be happy to know it is that way. i am battling with myself every day over a disease, disorder, infection, syndrome, or act of god that renders me uncomfortably near a vegetable. i wash down a handful of candy daily: turmeric, super b-complex, glucosamine chondroitin, and meloxicam, and i don’t know if they’re all useless or they fend off even worse pain. i have a stick of biofreeze, and sometimes it helps, and sometimes it exacerbates. i have some delta8, and sometimes it helps, and sometimes it exacerbates. i can’t drink because of the aforementioned ‘cam, and when i’m off the ‘cam there won’t be much to stop me from trying to seek out hope at the bottom of a bottle of vodka. i of course am aided by friends and loved ones who have offered their support, who will put on a thing for me to watch and who are willing to entertain me through this. my enduring misery should not reflect a failure on their part. it just simply hurts very much.

i am no spiritual person, and i have not sought a god in all this. i continue to brute force my existence because there are things i am desperate to see written in this world, art to be drawn, games to be designed. i have to tell those stories. i don’t want to let eight months undo twenty five years of living. but it is particularly depressing that i ended being 24 in pain and started 25 in worse. will i be 26 like this? surely not 27? what i am trying to articulate is the utter hopelessness this situation begets. i do not seek pity... i only want to be understood. in the longest winded way an art blog can write and conclude: i won’t be posting art for an indefinite time. thank you for reading.

[cordeliaflyte]

Would love to know your thoughts on the rutger bregman book when you finish it!!!

dearest merle! it took me months to answer this ask - something i'm ashamed of - but i finally got around to finishing the book today.

the below is a condensed version of the ten pages of notes i took while reading it, which are rather chaotic and repetitive at points - but in my defence, bregman repeated his own arguments too.

one of the main arguments that bregman makes is that "evil" or "immorality" - which we'll define as causing unnecessary harm - are rarely caused by the individual, but rather the society they live in. i agree - nothing exists in a vacuum. however, society, as a nebulous concept, isn't imposed on us by some imperceptible power - it is crafted by people. people in society have different levels of power, and the harm they can cause to others is directly proportional to said power - but be it on a micro or macro scale, our actions have an impact on others and while they are influenced by the society we live in, we must nonetheless strive to minimise the harm we cause - and few of us do.

bregman illustrates many of his arguments with heartwarming stories about people coming together in times of crisis - take, for example, natural disasters - and overcoming adversity, selflessly looking out for their neighbours. but crisis very often leads to the creation of divisions, an us vs them mentality, and a complete disregard for the safety of others. the current pandemic is a prime example - see the widening of class differences, the rise in racist hate crimes, and people refusing to take safety precautions because they are inconvenient to them.

another argument repeated quite often throughout the book is the fact that media cherry-picks the most sensationalistic and senseless acts of death and despair, because human suffering is simply more interesting that the mundane - people talking to friends, creating art, laughing and learning. again, i agree with him - many of the more tabloid-adjacent news outlets would have you believe that the everyday norm is dismembered heiresses being found on riverbeds and charming, precocious children being held for ransom in tiny basements. the news doesn't often focus on the mundane - but the mundane isn't just love and work and friendship and boredom and chores, it is also, for billions of people around the world, sexual violence, familial abuse, workplace and housing discrimination, etc. these things aren't sensationalistic either - they're frightfully common, frightfully boring, and thus, they're rarely reported on.

throughout his book, bregman mentions that when he told people what he was working on, they approached the idea that humans are good with a large dose of cynicism, simply because we are raised to believe humans are selfish (which isn't the case worldwide, not all cultures are individualistic). they pick the easier choice - accepting the image of the world and their fellow humans that they are presented with at face value. i'd argue that it is the tendency of humans to pick the easier choice, to obey, to avoid challenging their worldview that leads to - for a lack of better term - immorality (see definition in point 1).

often, when bregman presents his feel good stories about people cooperating in adversity, he also mentions troubling details that, again, show undue harm being done. one of the examples he used were six boys from tonga, aged 13 to 16, who were shipwrecked on an island, and instead of descending into a "lord of the flies" style madness, they built their small community on the basis of communication and cooperation, never resorting to violence, and acting mature beyond their years. after a year spent on the island, they were rescued - and promptly arrested, an event which was probably racially motivated. and the reason they were shipwrecked in the first place was attempting to flee their school, where, according to their reports, they were neglected.

bregman contrasted the example of the boys forming a peaceful society on a small island with the chaos that always ensues when adults in reality shows are put in similar situations. the contestants are pitted against each other by the show runners, who seek to frustrate them and make them lose control for the amusement of the audience. whenever contestants try to cooperate, form a mutually beneficial society for a short while - a radical idea - they are punished. "goodness" - i.e. harm reduction - and radical thought being punished just don't seem like particularly helpful examples for the "humans are inherently good" thesis

bregman seems to be a big fan of primitivism, constantly citing civilisation as a source of harm - a position i'm always sceptical about, because personally i love vaccines and dental care, but i know this is a knee-jerk reaction and bregman isn't plotting a return to a land without dentists. but what i do take ire at is the idea that humans are somehow "corrupt" versions of their natural selves and that our lives have grown too complicated, and only a return to "primitive" society can return us to the aforementioned natural selves.

tied to the previous point - his arguments remind me of the "noble savage"'... archetype? he seems to paint a picture of "primitive" indigenous people as role models for those "corrupted" by civilisation, who in turn must be saved by a return to their "purer" selves, instead of individuals with flaws and agency.

speaking on indigenous populations - bregman also invokes the inhabitants of the easter islands. for a long time, the world at large believed that a hundred years or so before colonization, the islanders effectively perpetrated a genocide, killing off a large proportion of their population - a claim which was later disproven. yay! humans can live in peaceful societies without committing genocide, and thus, are not inherently evil! disregarding the fact that european colonists later massacred a large part of the islands population, and sold most of the survivors into slavery?

i was very excited for one of the chapters, entitled "after auchschwitz". i was interested how bregman would reconcile his argument with the tragedies of the twentieth century - the holocaust, but also genocide, and to a lesser extent war in general.

(this chapter, i might add, was preceded by a quote by anne frank - you know the one, about the inherent goodness of people. i was hoping that bregman would comment on the fact that anne wrote the quote before she and her family were sent to a concentration camp)

so you can imagine my surprise when the chapter was not, in fact, about concentration camps or genocide. but rather about. unethical 70s sociological experiments.

no really! a chapter titled "after auchschwitz" was, in fact, primarily about the stanford prison experiment. an experiment that was, granted, inspired by concentration camps, but still. it's misleading to invoke "real", large scale violence, and focus instead on "simulated", small scale violence.

we all know that the stanford prison experiment was, as far as experiments go, rubbish to legendary degrees. it doesn't prove anything - but it does, perhaps, show that people under large psychological duress are capable of evil, even when they themselves are not "evil".

it is, i'd argue, the human tendency to obey authority and especially to conform to societies standards that poses the largest danger. disobedience is man's original virtue and whatnot.

and when he does briefly refer to concentration camps, bregman treats them like a very 1940s phenomenon, disregarding the fact that they have been around for much longer and still exist today.

in cases like that one experiment with electric shocks. you know the one. do not, perhaps, show an innate tendency to violence, but rather people succumbing to pressure. but history is full of unprovoked instances of violence, of pogroms and lynchings. there is usually an instigator, yes, but judging from reports, people in the right mindset don't need much persuading to butcher other people.

also re: electric shock experiment - those who thought they gave the assistant lethal shocks showed extreme guilt and some even cried but like... so what? what use is a conscience if it doesn't stop you from, to your knowledge, killing someone? are your feelings really more important than your actions?

he doesn't say this, but a lot of the arguments he presents do seem to boil down to "people aren't evil, they're just stupid!" which doesn't sound more encouraging, i'm afraid.

an alternative takeaway would be "people are good, unless they have power" - which isn't exactly a radical, revolutionary idea. most people have heard the maxim "power corrupts". but the thing is that almost everyone holds some amount power over others - the oppressed factory worker in a poor nation who works 12 hours a day for pittance might still execute power over his wife, who relies on him for money, and she in turn might hold power over her children, and so forth. and that power is often used to cause undue harm and exercise control.

he criticises machiavellianism, saying it doesn't reflect how society works, and one of his proofs is that his philosophies were espoused by bismarck, churchill, and stalin - hardly admirable figures in terms of (you guessed it!) causing harm. but i don't see how that discredits machiavelli? like all of the above were very succesful

and he keeps repeating the primitivism argument throughout the book which gets tiring. like i'm truly sorry you were born in the last 5% of human existence thus far when, in your opinion, humanity started going to the shits, but it's getting a bit tiring

he cites money and nations as concepts as harbingers of the current (negative) state of humanity, saying they're very recent concepts and have no basis in reality. they're artificial concepts, sure, but their effect is very much real, and while achieving a nation-less, money-less society is possible on a small scale, i think that at this point they are such large aspects of life that reigning them in seems impossible.

and invokes the noble savage again and again, showing himself in favour of tribal societies, depicting them as egalitarian - i'm sure many of them are, but many also have a strict hierarchy or like. practice fgm. once more he seems to treat tribal people as a monolith of goodness as opposed to... people.

he also cites prehistoric people, their egalitarianism and low rates of violence but. forgive me for my ignorance because i did not research this. how do people know. doesn't the definition of prehistory include a lack of records??

he also mentions that in small, tribal societies, conformism can be a good thing, as it makes people act for the communal good. this is another knee-jerk reaction of mine but i think of conformism as society's most significant vice, so this strikes very much against my beliefs

later on, he also says reproduction is another proof of humanities goodness. perhaps it's a controversial opinion, but i disagree. i find it hard to find reasons for reproduction that aren't egoistic. it's survival instinct, sure, but it's not an "inherently noble pursuit".

later yet, he brings up schools which grant large degrees of freedom to students and shows how they're good for developing their minds. this might be a me thing but i know from experience that when i'm granted freedom without structure, i do nothing - though perhaps that speaks ill of me, and not humanity.

there have, in fact, been many studies on schools like this being helpful to student development and i certainly won't argue with them - but let me nit-pick. bregman says that fewer students have adhd in these schools, as it is a condition caused by being locked inside a room all day which is not only offensive, but also just plain wrong

and also while showing how granting children freedom lets them develop (which i naturally agree with) he brings up that "dangerous playground" study. you know the one. this isn't a coherent argument, this is just my bias speaking , but as a child, i promise i had no desire to play with rusty nails in abandoned warehouses. i liked my boring playgrounds with wooden swings.

then there is a chapter on communism and how it could be a remedy to societies ailments. but bregman and i seem to operate on very different definitions of communism. he naturally starts with saying maoist china and stalinist russia and cambodia under pol pot weren't really communist which... sure, if you want to argue semantics, i'm all for it, but it's an old and essentially useless argument. if "real communism" has never been tried (as the author claims) - why?

and then we pass to perhaps the most bizarre fragment of the book. paraphrasing only slightly: "but why are we now so opposed to the word communism? when we pass each other salt at the dinner table, is that not communism? when we selflessly hold a door open for someone, is that not communism?" i.... no?? no it's not. that's not what communism is girl stop

he then also says facebook is actually communist in many ways since a lot of its value comes from photos people willingly share for free. i could not make this up if i tried.

i think that in most terms i agree with bregman on policy - direct democracy, school and prison systems, changes to the criminal justice system - and our reasoning is partially similar, but i don't think the information we both have access to proves that humans are inherently good.

and then come perhaps my least favourite arguments because i for one am a spiteful bitch but yes. it is time for christian ethics 101 and turning the other cheek.

he cites ghandi and mlk as examples of turning the other cheek working. i think ghandi went too far with his policy, what with saying "jews ought to have marched silently to their deaths or committed mass suicide to make nazis feel ashamed" and like. we do remember they killed mlk, right?

as an example of turning the other cheek, he cites humane prisons in norway, where prisoners are granted much larger freedoms than usual and are on equal footing with the guards, who aren't armed and act more as councillors. i don't really see how this is an example of turning the other cheek, though - the guards are not the victims of the inmates (it was a prison for violent offenders - many of them murderers). i agree with him that prisons, if they must exist, should treat inmates humanely and with respect, but i don't see how this relates to the turning of the cheek. statistically, many of these men probably murdered their mates in a drunken dispute, or killed their wives - and i don't think turning the other cheek would have helped their victims.

he also cites south africa in the sixties as an example of turning the other cheek, when anti-apartheid activists would meet up with pro-apartheid activists and talk - this included nelson mandela who had frequent talks with the leader of a white supremacist paramilitary organisation of afrikaners staunchly opposed to black south africans getting the vote. and it worked - the man, whose aim was starting a civil war, relented. but racism isn't a simple matter that can simply be solved by talking. and it is often a pragmatic policy which i don't disparage, but turning the other cheek and having to treat someone who refuses to acknowledge your humanity with an exorbitantly disproportionate amount of respect is inherently degrading.

skipping ahead, in the epilogue bregman lists ten rules he tries to live by, and one of them is, i shit you not, "don't punch nazis". and punching nazis doesn't stop them from being nazis, but turning the other cheek gets people killed

the rise of fascism is perhaps one the largest threats we are dealing with and fascists are not just isolated and misinformed (and in this day and age, ignorance is a choice). they are dangerous.

this is by no means an essay or an exhaustive list, just a slightly chaotic and much overdue collection of opinions which i don't know how to put under a read more. take care <3

[7wanderingpaws]

The Art of Shakiness

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: collegue AU, doctor AU, wee bit of angst, romance, fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 5.3K

A/N: I saw the pretty moodboard and asked dear Marie @iloveagain​ if I could attempt to write this for her! I hope so much you will like it, sorry it took me so long! I would appreacite any kind of feedback! I enjoyed this! ❤😭 and omg I apologise for  the terrible name of the oneshot, I am very bad at names :((( 

-

“Miss, your hand is trembling too much,” scolded the professor as he walked to your lab table where the dead frog was lying, his white belly cut open. He stood in front of you, tsk tsking at you as he shook his head disapprovingly. “How do you want to take out his spleen if your hand is trembling so much? It is a small organ surrounded with even smaller ones. You know a surgeon needs a steady hand.”

Pressing your lips together, sucking them in you didn't meet the eye of your professor, too ashamed to look at him and see the disappointment.

You have always been struggling with shaky hands, whether you were stressed or not. If you were stressed and held a thin piece of paper, you could be rest assured you wouldn't even be able to read from it, the paper shaking violently in your weak fingers. It was something you have been extremely self-conscious about, and you learned early on how to mask the discomfort on your face whenever you caught people staring at your shakiness. Of course, just like all the elementary school kids, you were no exception to jokes or teasing, but you could deal with that. Accepting the truth and being able to make fun of it was a mature treat of yours when you were young and unknown to the cruel human nature.

“Just look at the gentleman next to you,” pointed out the professor, his hand gesturing to no other than Byun Baekhyun himself. “Steady hands, precise clean cut, causing as little damage to the body as possible. Maybe you should learn from him.” He didn't even look at you as he continued his way down the path of lab tables, all filled with surgical equipment and focused (or rather stressed) students. “Just continue working, miss.”

Gritting your teeth, you tried hard not to give ANY attention to the male next to you. He was chuckling, while working through the intestines of the little animal. His hands were swift, steady and just like the professor described, precise. Although you would never admit it out loud, having steady hands on a male was something that could turn you on and have you stare at the steadiness of the hands for way too long. Plus point would always be, if those hands were handsome too.

But back to your main point.

You hated the male next to you. He was you working partner, sitting partner and there was not much you could do about it. He was a playful charmer, always getting the best (or worst?) out of you, driving you up the wall. He was the number one student in almost all practical seminars besides… well, general medicine. In that one class, you were the number one.

“It's cause all you have to do is memorizing,” he would retort.

Sure.

Of course.

You weren't aiming to be the number one student at all. No. He was competing with nonexistent competition.

Or was he?

Because maybe the utmost, infuriating fact about him was that he didn't have to as much as sit down and thoroughly study. No. He was the one, who could read the text once or twice and he would recite it backwards.

So, in the words of students and friends that you shared, he was a scarily intelligent genius.

And you had to agree, and you hated him for that. He was everything you weren't. He was relaxed, you were stressed. You were trembling, he was steady. You were angry, he was cheerful. You had different personalities because of which your exchange of opinions clashed. And as much as everyone adored him, you couldn't.

-

It was the presentation day.

Your stack of diligently prepared papers was lying on your table, ready to be presented to the audience consisting of your classmates and your professor, who definitely didn't listen to information about the consistency of DNA before at all (sarcasm). Heck, he was your professor. If there was anyone that knew his thing better about this subject, it was exactly him. So you researched and studied hard, went to various lengths to give a good impression. But there was one thing that was holding you back, a scar that was threatening to bust open once you stood in front of the big auditorium, your well-structured ppt screened on the vast wall behind you.

As you were holding the single piece of paper, ready to start, was when you noticed your stress had got the better out of you again. It was shaking, violently, and despite you being confident in your presentation skills, this threw you off guard.

The silence in the huge space was literally deafening, and you struggled to get your heart to beat in a regular pace again. You didn't want to show this side of you. For once, you wanted people to be awed at how good you were at this…

But it didn't work. No matter the determination, the desire and mental will power to control the paper and the shakiness, it did not stop. If anything, it would tremble even more.

Screaming inside, you just decided you wouldn't look at the paper, hoping your memory of the text you were supposed to present was still well engraved in your memory.

Taking a deep breath, you were about to start when someone cleared their throat and stood up. Someone. It was him. He was walking down the steps that led from his seat to the podium you were on, and you professor raised a questioning eyebrow at the slim figure that was now almost in front of you. Not even giving him a chance, you frowned, whispering: “What are you doing?”

Without a word, he handed you something. It was a clipboard. “Just take it. Use it,” was what he said, giving you an encouraging smile.

Staring at the clipboard, you saw his hand - the steady one, that was now trying to help you by easing your anxiety. “Stop staring and take it. You have an audience to impress,” he murmured but he was playful. Grabbing your hand, he pressed it into your sweaty palm. Before he let go of you, you felt his hand squeezing yours gently, causing your heart to jump painfully.

Winking, he turned around swiftly, and on his way back he spoke out loud to the class: “Our colleague forgot her support.”

Your professor chuckled and motioned for you to start. By hearing him chuckle, and then facing an encouraging face of Baekhyun who was now staring at you like a puppy with perked ears and a wiggly tail, you finally managed to have a peace of heart. Your hand got a bit steadier as you put the paper on the clipboard, and with no trace of shakiness haunting you, you presented.

-

He was always there to support you, yet you never gave it a thought. You never questioned his fond smile when he looked at you struggling with scalpel or when the memorizing of the muscles in latin wouldn't work well with your brain. You never even thanked him when he told you the easier ways to remember the difficult terms and you almost cut him open with your own scalpel when he helped you at autopsies.

Patiently, he would lean over the lab table you shared, his elbows on the surface as he clasped his handsome hands together. Wait. Did you just say handsome? N-no, you meant steady and good-look-NO! Just. Steady.

“And now grab the left side,” he murmured, his attention fully on the work at hand. His hot breath fanned the skin on your hand and the goosebumps caused a wave of shakiness overtaking your limbs.

“Woah,” he grabbed your hand gently before it would stab another organ. “Relax. We can't ruin-”

“I know,” you snapped, stepping away from the table and focusing your gaze upwards to ease the tension from focusing for too long. “I can't scratch the other organs, it needs to be precise, and I should take out the stomach, not the guts… I know it all, Baekhyun. You aren't the only knowledgeable person here.” You were still staring elsewhere, rolling your eyes to exercise the muscles.

Baekhyun frowned, not showing the hurt you caused with your snappy attitude. “I know you know,” he tried, straightening up to his full height, his lab coat in a funny angle around his broad shoulders. “I'm just trying to help. You only need to pass this one exam and then you don't have to do more autopsies, or surgeries.”

“No,” you replied resolutely. He went silent. “This isn't the only time. I want to be a surgeon, just like my father. I want to be as good as him.”

“You can do it,” he stated. He waited until you turn and finally look at him, but you didn't. It was making him sad to see you suffering and if it meant spending all his free time to help you, then so be it. “I know you can.”

“I can't! The professor will kick me out of this course at the exam!”

“Just trust yourself a little bit!” he insisted now, his voice louder as he took a hold of your shoulder, needing to see your eyes. He wanted you to see his, so that maybe you could understand.

Once you finally locked eyes with him, he spotted your teary eyes and he gasped softly, hating the view. He never saw you cry before.

“What?” you whispered, afraid to speak louder in case your voice would fail you. You already hated he was witnessing this side of you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you suddenly shook your head in dismissal, shaking his hand off of your shoulder. “No, don't talk. Don't. I can't stand you right now.”

And you left.

-

Pff, that idiot kept being annoying even more after that day in the labs. He wouldn't stop pestering you, always doing silly stuff to try to tick you off and it would end up in him laughing at you. Yeah. You always knew he was no good news.

It was next week when you had the last autopsy seminar at 7am before the final exam. You came in earlier, your thoughts still sleepy but soon to be woken by your determined self to pass the course and prove the world that even people with the worst shakiness in their hands could become amazing surgeons.

Baekhyun was already there, preparing the equipment and checking his notes when he heard you enter the silent room. The smell of disinfectant hit your nose once again, and you suppressed the disgust and negative emotions that were tied to the smell.

“Good morning,” he smiled at you and let his gaze rest on you until you reached the table on the other side. When you didn't respond, only letting out a grunt, he frowned. “That isn't your seat.”

“Well, now it is.”

Once again, he tried not to show the hurt he felt at your actions. He always had you next to him; throughout all the labs he could keep a secret eye on your work and amend issues quickly when you weren't looking. But now, sitting too far away from him and the exam literally around the corner, you couldn't afford to make a mistake.

“You should get tissues from the toilets then,” he said, feigning ignorance as he focused his attention back on his doodles of corgi dogs that he was scribbling until you interrupted his diligent work - the one you mistook for him studying his notes. “The table's dirty and I saw a piece of a finger not far away.”

Hearing his monotone voice, you didn't know what scared you more - the information he was providing you and made you flinch away from the table, or his sudden cold attitude. He was never cold with you.

“Sure,” you replied, turning to leave, giving him one last glance before exiting.

Baekhyun, hearing your absence, quickly stood up and took his water bottle, successfully pouring it on the chair made of light wood. Good, he thought to himself smuggly. Thanks to the light colour, it would be difficult to spot the puddle and plus, it wasn't like people usually paid attention to the chairs they were about to sit on, right?

You returned with some toilet papers, and quickly cleaned the table up, although it wasn't as messy as Baekhyun told you it was. Getting rid of the dirty papers, you finally sat down, wanting to just move on and start preparing when you felt it.

Wet coldness made itself inside through the textile of your jeans, all the way to your underwear. Letting out a yelp, you jumped up, turning around to see that, indeed, there was a puddle on the chair that you failed to notice.

Chuckles coming from the side couldn't be stopped, more so when you locked eyes with Baekhyun's laughing ones, his eyes half-moons turned downwards as he couldn't keep it in anymore and he started to laugh out loud, his mouth wide open.

“You-” you let out, seething from anger. “You did this?!” you shouted, your face growing hot, as angry tears made their way to your eyes. Disbelief in his actions was an understatement. How could he do this to you? “Are you freaking nuts? BYUN BAEKHYUN!!!” you screeched, letting out a loud, high-pitched scream as you closed your eyes and kept screaming.

Stopping abruptly, you opened your eyes, huge tears falling out of them. Taking your bag, you made three quick, big steps towards his laughing figure only for him to stop, surprised at the sight of your tear-stained face. “You,” you leaned in, so, so close that his eyes widened at the proximity, his heart jumping fast. “I,” you re-started, breathing heavily as you pointed your finger at him, poking it into his shoulder. “I. Hate. You. And if I see you anywhere near me, I will end you.”

-

You didn't fail that exam. But your professor didn't forget to mention the difficulties you would have once proceeding on with your field of study - an orthopaedic surgeon.

It left you so utterly devastated, disappointed and just overall bitter about your whole studies that you ended up locked in your room for days, crying.

You made sure, whenever you had to go to school and attend exams, you would make great effort in ignoring Baekhyun, who was so shocked at your cold attitude. You not even batting an eyelash at him, and he, just like you, ended up being bitter. He missed you, missed your presence. Despite you being grumpy with him, he never wanted to lose you. He admitted he might have gone too far with the wet chair thingy… He thought… 

What did he think? 

Well, now he could see it didn't bring you back to him. It officially made you hate him and he was hopeless. Trying to start conversations with you was completely fruitless. Surprising you with bouquets of flowers on your table didn't work at all. It had only one plus: he could see you genuinely smile until you recognized him hiding behind the wall, watching your reaction and you would realize the gift was from him. As much as you were touched, and it may have made your heart flutter, you couldn't stop the frown. You would stand up, leaving the bouquet there for Baekhyun to sadly walk over and retrieve it, watching your leaving figure.

The next semester he never saw you in the classes again. Did you give up? Or did you take a semester off? No, you couldn't have given up! You came too far for you to give up!

Contacting you was not working; apparently you changed your phone number.

Why other friends knew this, but he didn't?

Did you really hate him so much?

And what was this pain he was feeling? The darkness that was surrounding him, caused by your absence… it was hurting too much. He missed you.

He was, in fact, the entire time, hopelessly in love with you.

And you... 

You hated him.

-

5 years later

You were just walking down the corridor at your department, hands deep inside your pockets when you heard your name being called out. Turning, you saw your colleague Hana running down after you. “I have a huuuuuge favour to ask of you,” she sighed once she stopped in front of you, clutching her hip for support.

“What favour?” you asked, worried you might have to stay longer in the hospital again. Even though your department wasn't the one where overnight shifts were common (actually, extremely rare) but staying longer than 5-6pm was always tiring. “I have covered your ass way too many times, don't you think?”

Finally her breath evened out and she straightened up, giving you puppy eyes.

“No!” you pointed your finger at her. “Don't you dare do this to me!”

“Please!” she wailed, locking her hands together in a plea. “I swear this is the last time. Then you can order me around as much as you want.”

You sighed, pressing your index and middle finger to your temple, trying to ease the stress of the day. “You know I don't like ordering people around…”

“Whatever, you will have me at your mercy. But Sehun managed to get a reservation at this fancy restaurant-”

You heaved out another sigh, her words now completely draining you out. These people. Dating, meeting up, being romantic, intimate… everything that you barely ever experienced, and now as a working person, you swore you could say bye to finding any kind of love in your life. You work was your life. But you didn't love work. Did that mean you didn't love your life then...?

You waited until she finished and you gave her a grunt. “What do you want me to do? I can do the exercises with your patients if that's what you want.”

She smiled nervously, but shook her head slowly, obviously wary and suddenly hasty.

“What is it?” you frowned. “You are acting like I bite.”

She scratched the back of her neck, avoiding your gaze. “Well, it is a bit of an annoying work, that is why I am not the happiest about asking you…”

“You don't seem like it,” you scoffed.

She ignored you and went on: “Anyway. Remember there was this huge accident few weeks ago? With two parents and two kids... “

You nodded, already dreading what was coming. It was an absolutely horrendous car crash that had two parents falling out through the front window, leaving them in a terrible state, meanwhile the kids didn't get as much as a scratch. News reporters were flooding the hospital and there was a huge interest regarding the two parents who were now lying on the intensive care after going through lengthy, difficult and complex surgery.

“So both parents have trouble with walking as you know. They are now at the orthopedic department after getting another surgery few days ago.”

“Oh, I wasn't aware they moved them.”

“Well, yeah, because of the naggings from the TV stations it is being kept a secret. But anyhow… The boss put me under the recovery supervision. They require basic exercises to support muscle activity. Do you think you could go to the orthopedics department and do it for me?”

You were hesitant. Not because you didn't want to do it. Actually, you would gladly help that poor family that went through such tragedy. But there was something else holding you back.

After few seconds of tense contemplating, you finally nodded. “Okay. Alright. I will do it. Do you have the necessary documents?”

“Thank you so much!” she squealed, hugging you. “I prepared the docs, they are in the common room on my table.”

When you arrived at the orthopedics department, it was quiet given the time of the day you visited. Kindly asking for directions from the nurses, you finally found the patients in question. A doctor was turned with his back towards the entrance, tending to the patients and making small talk. You hesitated only for a second before entering, the doctor not familiar to you.

“You will soon fly, miss, forget about walking,” he joked as he laughed breathily and that was what made you freeze. That voice was familiar…

The patient's eyes fell on you, and that was what probably made Baekhyun turn in his spot, wanting to check who was behind him. His eyes locked with yours and you saw that his manly features that were now in a friendly smile froze as he took you in.

How many seconds have passed with both of you staring at each other? Why was this so painful?

You knew it.

You. Knew. It.

That he would be there.

But you still came to his department. Of course, if there was any department closer to orthopedics, it was yours - physiotherapy. You and your colleagues were the ones who put into practice what the surgeons in orthopedics pieced together. The two departments were so vital to each other, they would be almost inseparable.

“The nurse arrived,” chimed in a friendly voice of the father. “Welcome!”

“Our doctor is already bewitched, we see,” chuckled the mum as she exchanged looks with her husband lying on the bed next to her.

You cleared your throat, heat rushing into your cheeks, matching your pink lipstick that complimented your face, and your personality. Baekhyun would agree, without hesitation. Sweet. Smart. Pretty. And real. Right now. In front of him.

“I came to tend to the patients, following the post-surgery recovery.” You said, still staring at Baekhyun wide-eyed. “If you could brief me in on the details, I would appreciate that.”

You weren't sure what, but something was so different about him. It had been too long. Comparing him to the Baekhyun you saw last many years ago, he was now more chubby in cheeks, seemed very healthy yet buffed up in a way. Sporting a clean haircut with brownish hair, you could now see how his face stood out. Sparkly eyes were still the same. Lips, that were now slightly parted at the unexpected sight of you, still so, so honest when he finally let out: “Well, damn.”

He was their main surgeon. The youngest in the department. The youngest ever to accomplish such an outstanding surgery. And as you learned while you were doing exercises with his patients, he was also “very, very kind and even more funny.”

You chuckled, feeling warm inside. Yes. Just like you remembered him, even though at the time you never acknowledged him that way.

“You know, all the nurses are swooning,” whispered excitedly the wife as you gently took her leg and pushed it towards her chest slowly before straightening it back up. “But the way he went silent when he saw you - wow. Dr Byun never goes silent on people.”

“Trust me,” added the husband, winking at you from the other bed. “We have been here for a while to know.”

“Yes, you have been here way too long,” you heard the voice from the doors and you felt your heart skip a beat. He was leaning against the doorframe, amusedly listening. The husband and wife chuckled, while you calmly continued working. “You are finishing up now, right?” he asked, the question now directed at you.

You looked at him from behind your shoulder. “Yes. We will finish in a few minutes.”

He nodded, looking at the exercises for a bit before he cleared his throat again and straightened up. “Could you please see me in the office before you leave?”

Humming an approval, he left.

And so, when finished and parted ways with the kind patients, you found yourself in his office, sitting on a chair opposite him.

“You wanted to see me…” you mumbled, not sure what to make of him constantly gawking at you.

He shook his head slowly. “Ah, sorry. I wasn't… I never knew you are working in this hospital,” he started.

“Well, I am,” you smiled at him.

“You knew I was here,” he stated. “Yet you not once came to visit me. And, and… all those years ago you disappeared…” he trailed off, slight hurt still present in his features.

Sure, first loves always hurt. It wasn't a shame for him to admit he never really loved before he met you, as much as it was difficult to believe it. 

“Yes, I changed my university and my major, too,” you replied. “So I graduated later than you. I never knew you worked here until recently when you became the youngest surgeon to be successful at such a difficult surgery.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked, curiosity eating him away. He always wanted answers and he thought he would never get them. But finally, finally you were here. He could reach out and touch you, if he as much as wished so. “I thought we were friends.”

“Baekhyun,” you sighed before coughing. You knew he was asking about the past. “I mean, Dr Byun. It was a difficult stage in my life. I don't want to talk about it. I'm happy to know and witness you are doing well though. You became something I could never become.”

“You would have made it,” he replied passionately, speaking your name with such intensity it made you lock eyes with him immediately. “I had you all covered. I wouldn't have let you leave if you only talked to me!”

You were speechless as he slightly raised his voice, but not in a bad way. There was something bothering him, and you gently smiled at the hunch you were getting. “You always made fun of me, did you forget? You were my rival. I couldn't just be friends with you when you were the one having everything I ever wanted.”

Baekhyun went silent, heaving out a breath after your confession. “I never saw you as a rival.” Not even once.

“That doesn't matt-”

“I missed you,” he cut in, not letting his stare falter, and also sick and tired of keeping his emotions at bay when he had you in front of him. “You disappeared on me. Now you are the one who is doing the post-production of my work. Yet, you aren't even on the papers for the patients.”

“Yes, my colleague asked me to come in for her,” you replied, but your mind was racing at his previously uttered words. He missed you. It was true then. You knew it all along, and he confirmed it now. He liked you back then. Did he still like you now? “But I won't be coming back, don't worry. It was only for today.”

Baekhyun's eyes dropped on the paper in front of him. “I would like you to be the physiotherapist for my patients.”

You frowned and followed his gaze. “You want to change my colleague?”

“Yes,” he replied, his gaze carefully analyzing your reaction. “You belong to one of the best from your sort. So I want you with me. Would you accept it?”

-

You were seeing him everyday, just like back in university days. He was very busy, many times you caught him studying books and sometimes he came to check up on the exercises and the way you were practicing. He wanted to learn from you, so he asked you many questions, which always made the two patients chuckle. His funny remarks and entertaining commentaries made you laugh so much it hurt your belly and soon enough, he would ask you to come to his office where you would chat a bit longer.

Finally, you saw him in a different light. No enemy. No one to steal your place. Because he was complementing your work and you his. Drinking coffee or tea, you finally told him everything that was happening in your life and why you made the decisions that you made and you carefully explained him the way you saw him at the time.

Annoying.

Stupidly funny, which basically equalled annoying.

Handsome, which basically equalled ugly and disgusting.

Steady handed genius, which basically equalled handsome idiot…

Caring, which meant your rival.

But now, you could read it all backwards, and you would get the results that you saw now, but back then couldn't, blinded by your competitiveness. Funny, steady handed genius, caring, friendly, handsome and manly, and now in his attire, the title of the surgeon he worked so hard for, sexy.

He dared to make the first joke about your shaky hands after many years, and you laughed with him and showed him, that indeed, you were still just as shaky as before. But now you were shaking because of the butterflies he gave you. Oh yeah, shaky all for him. He would kiss away your tremblings whenever he got a glimpse of them... And you just trembled even more.

Seeing things now from a different perspective, you felt ashamed and embarrassed about how you used to behave around him back at university while he liked you.

It was almost two months after you first met at the hospital when he pulled you back into his office as you opened the door and were almost out. He closed it once he had you pressed against the wall next to it and his only approval of his doings was your bright, happy smile when he slowly leaned in and gave you a longing kiss. Smirking, he wanted to pull away, not having other intentions when you grabbed him by his cheeks and brought him back, wanting more than just a peck.

He was frozen for a heartbeat, but once back to his senses, he grabbed you by your hips bringing your bodies closer as he opened your mouth and explored more.

“I might have had a dream about you last night,” you whispered to him, chuckling again and he couldn't help but follow your chuckles because, goodness, this was actually happening. Once again, your sweet lipstick that tasted like strawberries, matched the colour of your cheeks and the stars in your eyes when you looked at him made him want to squeal from happiness. Because he had been dreaming about you all along. 

-

Secretly dating in a hospital full of gossiping nurses was a bit challenging for almost one year. But it became so unbearable and his secret visits at your department went almost unnoticed except the fact that a doctor like HIM had no business at YOUR department. It was always the physiotherapist that came to the surgeon.

“Baekhyun,” you giggled when he once again stepped into the common room of the physiotherapy department. You were just fetching yourself some tea for the short break before heading back to your work. Your colleagues gave you quizzical looks tinted with suspicion, but they had it all confirmed in a way; you two being a thing. It was all over your faces.

“Excuse me, I will have to steal her for a moment. Need to discuss a patient,” he exclaimed shamelessly before waiting for you patiently at the doors as you made your way to him with your cup of tea. Once out in the corridor, he looked around before taking the hot cup out of your hand, putting it on the floor quickly and grabbing you by your waist to give you a huge, loud kiss. You should have fought with him but you were past that stage. Let everyone see.

The college sweethearts, was what you heard in the gossips after you talked to Hana, telling her how you and Baekhyun first met.

Looking up at Baekhyun as he was smiling at you affectionately before leaning in for another kiss, you could confirm that it was true. College sweethearts. And now, lovers. 

“I love you,” he whispered into your mouth.

Hugging him, you meant it when you closed your eyes and your lips brushed his ear: “And I love you, my dear.”

Him, the best orthopedic surgeon.

You, the best physiotherapist.

The iconic duo of the hospital.

❤ 

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[veryvincible]

How’s Tony relationship with Wanda in comics? I wonder if there’s friction between the comic fans as well

Despite being on-off Avengers for a long, long while, they didn’t actually have much of a meaningful relationship until something called Force Works in ‘94. Even when they were teammates, most of their interactions were little bits of dialogue to acknowledge that they knew each other and would talk to each other if they happened to appear on the same page, but... not much else. 

I am not as well versed in Wanda as I am Tony, so keep that in mind.

Before going in-depth about the things they experienced together, there are some differences in ideology that don’t give them the best set-up in the world. They have different circumstances of birth, different “powersets”, and overall different approaches to things. Tony tends to be the oddball in most teams when it comes to his foresight and utilitarian mindset, but this is especially the case compared to Wanda, who sometimes doesn’t have the privilege of utilitarianism because of how her powers work; she’s capable of a lot, and on a daily basis, she exercises quite a bit of restraint. 

Tony’s biggest mistakes were directly caused by him making decisions that were, at times, devoid of feeling (not that he didn’t feel anything making those decisions, he just discarded his feelings entirely). It’s a common theme with him to assume that he needs to disconnect himself emotionally from the “right decision”, because the right decision is often something he can’t handle. And when he can’t handle something he thinks needs to be done, what does he do? He does it anyway, and he lets it destroy him. That isn’t to say that his decisions are never based in feeling-- he is an incredibly emotional person, after all-- but his predominant feeling is guilt, and it serves more as a motivator than something that directly impacts which conclusions he comes to in the first place. We can clearly see where his head’s at when it comes to certain conflicts based on Civil War and Civil War II, where CW was rife with him making decisions that broke him in order to avoid the worst possible scenario, and CWII showed a side of him that wanted to believe his choice was the right one, wanted to believe the conclusions he’d drawn were correct, but was willing to give that up if trusted friends told him it wasn’t worth it. At no point does he say “maybe my plans/views/conclusions are garbage!” because he’s always had a complex relationship with his own ability to find best possible outcomes. He doubts himself constantly, but still acknowledges evidence and probability where he can find it. What changes is how willing he is to go through with these plans. Suddenly, when CW backfires harshly, he’s more likely to ask the questions of, “is this worth it?” and “do people want this?”

And then there’s Wanda, who isn’t... like that. Her biggest mistake wasn’t actually that well thought-out, and it’s built more on a feel-good sentiment than anything; if there’s this awful, awful cloud of oppression hanging over the heads of mutants and conflict between mutants and humans, then the best thing to do to make sure no one has to deal with that would be to... forcefully break those barriers down, right? It’s worth mentioning here that she’s been through a lot at the time of this decision, and when you compare her “I’m going through a lot” decisions with Tony’s “I’m going through a lot” decisions, you can kind of see a huge, huge difference between them.

Tony ignores his feelings, ignores the pain and suffering he knows he’ll have to see, and goes for numbers games. It’s a coping mechanism he’s had since he was a child, and it lives on in his superhero-ing to some extent; when he is at his worst (barring when he’s not sober, because that’s a different, more self-destructive beast entirely), he tries (or tried? he still kind of does this, but again, to a lesser extent) to disconnect from himself and from others when problem-solving.

Wanda, on the other hand... does not and cannot really disconnect herself from that. The suffering of the people is on her mind constantly, and it’s the main thing she chooses to remedy as soon as it crosses her mind to. It’s a deeper look into the mind of a woman whose life has been damaged many times over by prejudice and discrimination. Her pleading with reality to give everyone a happy ending (which, ironically, I don’t think Tony actually got in the new reality? but I don’t think that’s meant to comment on their relationship at all. I may be wrong on that one) is understandable if you’re also from a marginalized group, or if you can empathize with them. Even if everyone’s in agreement that she really should not have done that, it’s not hard to understand why. She didn’t just live in the suffering, she took it on entirely, forcing herself to bear the burden of a world that wasn’t real in hopes that it would be preferable to the world that was.

Tony can be aware of marginalization (and, as someone who was physically disabled and is probably still mentally disabled, can empathize to some degree), but he can’t ever really feel what Wanda feels as someone who really can’t go two seconds without identity-based conflict totally obliterating her. On the flipside, Wanda herself can never feel what Tony feels-- a disconnect from identity for the sake of discussing “best case scenarios” where everyone’s still in pain, the ability to separate oneself from these conflicts and allow for vague concepts like “short term suffering/hardships” to refer to years, decades, generations, worth of struggling for the sake of a better future when there are struggling people now. That’s not to say Tony’s never sensitive to current issues (he tries very, very hard to help people who are struggling now, and pours a lot of money into it) and it’s also not to say that Wanda’s somehow incapable of rational decision making as a result of her constant oppression; neither of these things are true. But their gut responses to certain problems are different. On top of that, they can both afford different levels of consequences, and they’ll be viewed differently by people by exercising roughly the same amount of influence. They just aren’t the same, and where characters like Steve and Tony find common ground anyway, it’s harder for characters like Wanda to find common ground with Tony.

Now for what we’ve all been... waiting for...

Force Works!

This really isn’t my favorite run of all time. The writing’s kind of weird, the art is garish at best and totally problematic at worst, and though there are elements of characterization that are kind of true to the core of the characters involved, it’s still, uh... I don’t know, executed in a way that’s disconcerting? It’s kind of like if Civil War II did what Civil War II did, but then also made Carol wear a Warbird-style bikini, and also added cool plot elements like Tony saying, “Carol, you’re right!” right at the start and then... continuing to believe Carol is wrong, because that’s the plot. Oh, and then Tony kills some people and is later retconned to have not killed people, because that sucked of him and was super weird for his character.

There’s just a lot of weird stuff in Force Works. If you like it, it’s fine to like it (honestly, we’ve all flipped through pages of difficult-to-decipher art and less than flattering outfits for women for the sake of reading the stories we want to read), but. You know. Not my cup of tea.

Anyway, everything that I mentioned kind of comes into play with Force Works. 

Here’s the gist. The Avengers are having some conflict (when aren’t they?) and Tony runs off to make a team that works to prevent villainy, not a team that just fights it (despite prevention being part of the “fighting bad guys” in many runs up to this point, as far as I’m aware, but, sure, it works within the context).

And who does he want to lead that team?

Wanda Maximoff! 

He’s like, “Wanda, for realsies, I need your help.”

And Wanda’s like, “Shut up. Yes, I will do this,” but sexily, for some some reason.

And they have an issue of relative peace, until Tony starts to realize that he doesn’t actually like... not leading this time. And, sure, he said, “a partnership of skills leading the team together”, but he also said, “I want Wanda to lead the team!”

So, Wanda’s leading the team.

So, Tony’s not having a good time, because Wanda’s doing what he asked her to do. He probably should have seen that coming.

At some point, the Force Works band together to deal with some stuff in Slorenia, which is Marvel’s fun way of saying they’re going to have some commentary on the Bosnian war but they weren’t going to call it Bosnia, like they have commentary on the government without naming the president. Everyone knows what it’s meant to be, but they’re just not calling it that.

Already, you can see the differences in how Tony and Wanda's first interactions with the news go. Wanda has a much more personal connection to the place, and Tony’s thinking of it as a location for a mission, sharing what intel he has available. Tony’s not exactly being callous here-- it’s not inappropriate for him to say, “Oh, here’s what I know from owning the company I own”-- but he is starting off with less investment than Wanda.

This continues into the start of their mission, where Wanda’s taking charge and using her connection to Slorenia (the language, the knowledge of the politics, etc.) to make the mission run more smoothly. In the beginning, Tony actually falls in line, letting her take the lead without grumbling this time. 

(This isn’t important to anything, but I’d like to mention here that “hex energy” is kind of like the 90s Wanda equivalent of “transistor-powered!” objects for 60s Tony, which is... very funny.)

So, they deal with one antagonist in Slorenia, some things are resolved, and... Wanda would like to stick around to maybe keep helping people here.

And Tony says:

Tony’s argument is that the issue they’d gone to deal with had been dealt with, according to their funky computer that tells them when things are dealt with.

And Wanda’s like, “Well, I think what we just dealt with was part of a bigger thing! That we should deal with more!”

And Tony’s like, “Nope!” despite Wanda being the official team leader. So, they’re not having a great time there.

There’s a little more, but it’s all pretty much to do with the same kind of stuff (and then also the part where Tony kills people, but again, that technically didn’t... happen, anymore, so. Yay?)

And this kind of just... fizzled out eventually, and canon put things back together as canon often does, and now they don’t have much of a problem with each other again. They’ve had some positive interactions and on multiple occasions, they’ve been cool teammates who respect each other, so.

I don’t know.

What I can say is that, aside from House of M and Civil War (wherein people who aren’t familiar with Wanda and Tony use these two events to heavily criticize Wanda and Tony despite really having no stake in the argument, which is kind of a comics dudebro move that’s never been awesome for anyone the way it’s usually handled), Wanda and Tony fans don’t tend to... think much of each other, I guess? There’s really not enough basis in canon for either group of people to have longstanding personal gripes.

616 operates like that a lot; where the MCU has very clear relationships between characters, plotlines, and messages, 616 has... inconsistency and sometimes-poor writing and political commentary with characters literally changed at their core sometimes to fill a certain role (hence why some ships can seem to have totally different dynamics based on the fan you’re talking to, why primarily X-Men fans often don’t like the Avengers, and why some debates about characters will never be settled using only the evidence we have now).

Here’s something I’d like to say before closing out:

I think, due to the fact that this was a very specific kind of political commentary intermixed with some strange characterization choices, I don’t really think this needs to be the end-all, be-all of Tony and Wanda’s potential friendship. Sure, they have these differences, but Steve and Tony have very similar differences that they’ve overcome through mutual understanding. I’m not saying that Tony and Wanda would be friends, nor am I saying that they should be. All I really want to say is that they certainly could be with the right plot beats and characterization, and that’s a nice thought.

So, if there’s any desire at all out there to write a very positive Tony and Wanda relationship, I’d say go for it, 100%. There is some canon basis for it, despite most of it being in between the lines or... contained within one or two scenes. We could all use more friendships to gush over. :)

[anboringday]

A Morning With Lenny | Part 2

Summary: After a long, hot night of passion, Lenny and the woman he loves spend the following morning sleeping in...and things get heated again.

Pairing: Lenny Summers x f!Reader/OC

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Tags: Smut, lots of oral, foreplay, dirty talk, face humping, fluffy feelings sprinkled in, doing the usual kinky stuff with the cutest cowboy outlaw ever

Note: Being relatively new to the rdr2 fandom, I wrote this for myself because there just wasn’t enough Lenny fics out there and I HAD to change that. I love him so much and I hope you guys enjoy this! 

Read on ao3                                                                            

Part 1| Part 2

I woke the same way I’d fallen asleep, cuddled up to Lenny’s warm, gloriously nude body, his arm draped over me. His hazel eyes were glued to the pages of a book. My all-time favorite romance book!

“Lenny!” I snatched the novel away from him. “That’s mine!”

“Hey!” He tried to grab it back, but I rolled to the other side of the bed. “I was reading that, you know. It was getting good too, they were about to kiss—”

“Really now?” Giggling, I stretched my arms over my head. Through the sheer, linen window curtains, the gray dawn streaked the sky. “But you’re an intellectual, the harshest critic of the written word I know. I thought silly love stories were beneath you.”

“Nah, that ain’t true. Not all literature needs to be a thought-provoking masterpiece. Sometimes it’s all about the way it makes you feel, if you can relate to the context, and whatnot. Honestly though, I was just reading it ‘cause I knew you did. Can we…” He paused, a rush of red stained his cheeks. So cute. “C-can we read it together? From the beginning?”

“Yes!” Warmth flowed through me at the proposition. I handed Lenny the book and snuggled against him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin, my head propped on his hard chest. “Are you going to read to me, Mr. Summers?”

“Sure. Anything for you.” He clasped my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm before opening the book, raising it to an angle suitable for the both of us to easily view the pages.

Lenny began reading aloud, his soft-spoken voice cultured, smooth, the long vowels of his words was damn near mesmerizing, sensual as sweet melted chocolate. Playing with the ends of his thick, curled locks, I drank in the beauty of his darkly stubbled face as I listened. His chest rose and fell with every breath, the crisp hair against my cheek tickled. I ran my palm down the rigid planes of his stomach, gently caressing the well-exercised muscles. His lean body was a work of art designed purely for female pleasure, and I enjoyed every moment of touching him.  

We remained connected throughout the morning, his fingers threading through my hair soothingly as he spoke such lovely sounding words. I yawned, closing my eyes, my body lax in his embrace. Through the haze of sleep, I felt his weight and heat come down on me, his full lips brushed over my cheek.

“Hey,” Lenny said. “Dozing off on me already?” His fingers brushed over my sides, tickling me.

“Lenny!” I squirmed and threw my arms around him, burying my grinning face against his shoulder. “Stop that!”

His sensuous mouth twitched with amusement. “Sorry, it’s just so tempting. You’re so ticklish, it’s cute.”

“Shut up.” I pecked the tip of his nose. “Can’t we sleep in today?”

“I wanted to take you into town, catch a show, browse some of the stores, have a nice dinner at the saloon…” He planted a quick kiss on my lips. “But I reckon that can wait if you rather stay here. A day of rest and relaxation with my favorite lady sounds like a mighty fine idea to me.”

“I’m your only lady,” I corrected, raising my hand in a proud display of the platinum promise ring he gave me.

“The one and only. Since the day we met, you were all I ever wanted. All I could think about. All I could see. It’s always been you—my everything.” He caught my hand with his, our fingers intertwined. “Sometimes I look at you and wonder how I got so damn lucky.”

My heart thumped with a tender ache in my chest. Lenny could say such sweet things, wonderful things.

“We can’t go into town,” I said. “What if someone recognizes you from Blackwater? I just got you back. I won’t lose you again.”

His amber gaze drifted over my face, searching. “Running with gang kept me away from you for a long time. We lost everything in Blackwater, and I got so caught up in Dutch’s blood feud with the O’Driscolls—lying, cheatin’, and robbin’ fools from Valentine up to Saint Denis, trying to get the crew back on their feet…I wish I came back to you sooner.” Sighing deeply, he grew silent.

“You’re here now.” I stroked his cheek. “That’s what matters.”

“Maybe so. My dad used to say dwelling on the past is something like beating on a dead horse, ain’t no good ever come from it.”

“Your father was a smart man.”

“Sure was. An educated negro like him, good and kind, ain’t long for this world. It was only a matter of time.” His eyes glittered, wet with a deep-rooted pain for a split-second before he blinked it away.

My heart clenched. My poor, sweet Leonard…

He had suffered so much tragedy throughout the course of his life. Most of the time, he seemed unfazed, strong despite the pain lingering in his heart. But I knew better. He lived in a world that didn’t want him, didn’t accept him. His color didn’t suit their fancy and the scars of rejection ran deep, the hurt and loss probably ate at his soul on the daily. Wounds like that will never fully heal, but there were ways to lessen the sting.

“Lenny Summers,” I cupped his chin. “You’re gonna stop thinking those bad, silly thoughts right this instant. Look at me.”

He complied. Our eyes locked.

“You’re a good man,” my voice were clear, and distinct, without a shred of doubt. “Do you understand me? You are good. Perfect. You have every right to be here, to live freely, to laugh, to love—no matter what anyone says, no matter what they do—you’re a goddamn human being and that’s the end of it. You’re important. And I love the hell outta you. I always will.”

Blush deepening, muscles tensed, his mouth gaped open like a fish out of water, visibly struggling to find words. He was speechless, reeling from my praise. His shaken reaction was probably the most adorable thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.

“Say something,” I urged softly, brushing over his cheek with the backs of my fingers.

Lenny took my hand and held it to his chest, his heart thumping, racing. He was apprehensive and impassioned. But why? What was he thinking?

Finally regaining his composure, he asked, “Do you feel that?”

“Yes.” The speedy rhythm of his heart didn’t let up.

“This is what you do to me. You have power over me, a hold—it’s like a snare I can’t escape, like a spell I can’t break.” He chuckled dryly, bitterly. “I never felt weak a day in my life until I met you.”

“You’ve been a wanted man for a long time, struggling to survive, fighting an endless war with the world around you. But you don’t have to be on the defensive with me. It’s okay to let your guard down. There’s more to life than being an outlaw.”

His eyes brightened. “Oh yeah, of course. There’s strong whiskey, fine music, good books, an oiled gun, gold nuggets and silver bullets.”

“Lenny…”

“But regardless of all that, you’re the best part.” Sweetly, he nuzzled my nose.

I giggled. “Well now, aren’t you charming?”

“Ain’t that the reason you love me?”

“One of the many.”

His full lips curved into a slow, breathtaking smile, dazzling against his deep brown skin. Sunlight dappled over his face, illuminating that strong, flawless jawline of his. Goodness, he was so very good looking, impossible to resist, and my love for him intensified by the day. I was helplessly addicted to Lenny Summers, the hours we spent together felt like minutes. I could never get enough.

My cheeks heated. “God, how do you manage to turn from cute to sexy in a matter of seconds?”

He smirked. “It’s a gift, part of my charm.” His hand touched my waist, sliding downward along my thigh. A curse hissed out between his teeth once he reached my lace garter belt. “You’re still wearing those?”

“You didn’t take them off me last night.”

“I don’t plan to.” Lenny rose to his knees, hovering over my scantily clad body, eyes smoldering as he stared down at me. “Keep them on. You look so, so, so pretty just like that.”

“Don’t you mean fuckable?”

“Hey, language!” He mocked me with a lopsided smile. “That’s no way for a lady to speak.”

“Oh, forgive me, Mr. Summers,” I said, my tone laced with sarcasm. “For a lying, thieving outlaw, you’re quite the prude.”

His nose wrinkled in protest. “Me? A prude? No, I’m more of a hopeless romantic with a love for dialect and vocabulary.” He drew close, his tongue traced the shell of my ear. My breath caught in my chest. “If you say things—the right things—you can put anyone in the mood.”

I shivered, hot and bothered, a heated ache between my legs. It wasn’t particularly the context of Lenny’s words that turned me on, but the sound…the huskiness in his voice, the way he dragged the vowels, sensual and rich with passion. His voice was smooth as velvet, unbearably sexy in my ear, sending vibrations deep into the core of my body.

He could talk any woman out of her clothes and into his bed without much effort. Not that he would though, he was much too tenderhearted, too sympathetic to be a womanizer.

He was truly one of a kind. And all mine, by some miracle.

A distinct warmth flooding my core, I shoved my hands into his hair and kissed him. I loved how soft his lips felt against mine. His arms enveloped me as he kissed me back, his tongue glided over mine with hot, savory licks that left me breathless and yearning for more. I could only imagine how amazing that firm mouth of his would feel in other places…

I moaned, feeling the prod of his impressive erection against my thigh. I wrapped my fingers around him, and he bucked his hips on contact, thrusting into my hand.

He groaned into my mouth, still ravaging my lips. The scent of our lust was heavy in the air, the heavy weight of his tense, magnificent body pinning me down. He was hard as stone, and hot. I stroked him from root to tip, my palm slick with precum.

“Ah, damn…” he uttered between kisses, lazily fucking my hand. “That feels good.”

“It feels better inside me,” I murmured against his lips.

He broke the kiss, parting me with his finger. “Not yet. You ain’t ready for me.”

With a feeble sound of protest, I buried my face in his neck.

“Hey, no pouting,” he clasped my chin, forcing me to look into his beautiful hazel eyes. His voice softened. “You’re so tight. I’ll bruise you if we don’t take it slow, okay?”

My gaze glued to his fiercely handsome face, an abrupt gratitude filled my soul. “I love you.”

He beamed, kissing my lips one last time before his tongue seared a path down my neck to my breast. Once he caught my nipple between his teeth, I flinched.

Lenny quirked a brow. “You’re sensitive.”

“I still haven’t recovered from last night,” I said.

“Relax, Sugar. I’ll be gentle.”

I blinked, perplexed by the endearment, although I adored how sweet it sounded from his lips. “Sugar?”

He uttered a soft assent, and returned his attention to my breasts, wrapping his mouth around my nipple, sucking lightly. His finger circled the other, the tantalizing caress brought a mist of perspiration to my skin. His tongue moved slow, exquisitely tender over my swollen flesh, soothing like a healing balm. Relishing the sensation, I closed my eyes.

I combed my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. “Is there anything you can’t do with that tongue of yours?”

Lenny flashed a wicked smile. “That sounds like a challenge.” His palms slipped under my hips, he yanked me to the edge of the bed, and dipped low. I slapped a hand over my mouth, smothering a gasp as his tongue fluttered over my clit. Two of his fingers inched inside me and I clenched eagerly around him, my leg draped over his shoulder. Heat swept over me, my heart slammed erratically in my chest.

The delicate rhythm of his stroking, curving fingers was wonderful, but it was his mouth that drove me crazy. The tip of his tongue lapped at my throbbing clit tirelessly…relentlessly. My hips churned, a violent shiver moved through me. He knew my body so well, exactly how to please me, everywhere he touched left a blazing trail of warmth behind.

I bit back a cry at the sweltering heat and lash of his tongue, my core convulsing with every tender lick. Dizzy, drugged and near mindless with sensation, my hands ached for his touch, gliding over his sweat-damp skin, tugging at his hair. He captured my palm with his free hand, our fingers laced together.

“Yes, Lenny, like that,” I urged. “Make me come.”

And he did, with the soft suction of his lips and measured thrusts. I shuddered, tingling, pleasure pulsated through me. Lenny didn’t stop. His tongue continued to work my clit as I rode his fingers shamelessly, my limbs trembling, my climax rolling on and on. I was melting, drowning in sensation. Tears stung my eyes, the walls that kept my emotions at bay breaking at the seams. Swept away by the ongoing waves of ecstasy, I wept silently.

Licking his lips, Lenny rose, lifting my sweaty, limp body along with him. His gaze searched my face with concern. “You okay?” I heard his question just barely past the blood rushing in my ears.

I managed a nod. Carefully, he set me down on the center of the bed, my head hit the pillow. He crawled in beside me, wiping the tears from my cheeks with a light sweep of his knuckles. “Was it too much?”

“No.” Pleasantly aching, I sighed. “You were perfect.”

His eyes studied me for a few beats. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Dazed from the toe-curling, spectacular climax he gave me, I shut my heavy eyelids for a moment. “It’s your turn now.”

“We have all the time in the world to make love. Why don’t you get some rest?”

My gut kicked. I forced myself up to face him. “No, we need an equal exchange. I don’t want you to feel used—”

He pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. “I don’t feel used. That ain’t what this is. It’s just…I don’t wanna push you—”

I swatted his hand away. “Well, I’m not going to sleep until you come.”

His brows rose. “Okay, fair enough. I got an idea.” He shifted to his knees, the blunt tip of his throbbing cock nudged my lips. With a toothy, iconic grin smeared across his face, he requested sweetly, “Lubrication please?”

I gladly drew him in until he hit the back of my throat and was rewarded with a sultry burst of more precum. A pleased murmur escaped me as I savored the taste. He swelled, growing thicker and larger under the flat of my tongue. His balls were big, heavy, a bold display of potent virility. I played with them, rolling the weighty pair in my hand, feeling them tighten.

My eyes were riveted to Lenny as he tipped his head back, muscles rigid and breathing ragged. A deep groan of delicious agony rumbled in his chest. “Goddamn, your mouth…fuck.”

Lenny was the most calm tempered, well-composed man I knew. Watching him unravel like this, face flushed with lust, cursing, the pleasure threatening his control—it was so very satisfying. And sexy.

He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. “Okay, I-I reckon…that’s good enough.” He pulled out, altering his position, his knees came down at my sides.

I stared at him quizzically as he knelt over me, his slobber-coated cock stood erect above my heart. “What are you doing?”

“Something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. Since the day I laid eyes on you.” He cupped my breasts in his hands, kneading them, rolling my nipples into tight points between his forefingers and thumb.

I whimpered, arching into his hand, unbearably sensitive. His rigid length slid between the valley of my breasts, and I gasped, squirming. Why not use my mouth for pleasure instead? “Lenny—”

“I need this.” His eyes were heavy-lidded with desire as he began moving his hips, his big cock gliding between the softness of my chest. “I love you.”

The tender words rolled off his tongue with a quiet, yet passionate intensity. A bubbly sensation struck my heart. “Feels that nice, huh?”

A wry smile pulled at his lips. “I might have an unhealthy obsession with…you know.” He smacked my breasts playfully. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me, handsome.”

His blunt crown brushed my mouth with every stroke. I kept my lips puckered, kissing the tip, loving the unique taste. The rhythmic slap of his balls against my tits had my clit aching for attention once again, but I didn’t care. Right now, nothing in the world mattered more than satisfying him. I wanted to do this for him, he deserved it for being so good to me.

The arousing sight of his sharply sculpted abdomen and lean, pumping hips was enthralling, his sweaty, beautiful brown skin shined and glistened like priceless jewels beneath the light. He was stripped bare to the primal desire where only the race to climax mattered and still, I was spellbound by his beauty. Swooning. He was divine. Heavenly. Fitting of worship.

“I’m close,” Lenny trembled, his voice was a guttural rasp.

“Give it to me.” Grasping his straining thighs, I propped myself up on my elbows and opened my mouth.

I took him in, hungrily sucking his solid length, my cheeks hollowed with the strength of my all-consuming need to pleasure him. He gripped my hair, frantically thrusting—punishing my throat with his big cock. My eyes stung and my lungs burned, but I was too turned on to give a hell. The sounds he made and the loving praises that slipped from his lips made it all worth the effort.

He emptied himself into my greedy mouth, the first spurt of his load so thick, it was a hassle to swallow. His entire body shuddered as I eagerly drained him of everything he had.

I licked him clean afterward. He curled up next to me, pressing tiny, appreciative kisses to my shoulders and neck. “I’m gonna need you to do that more often,” he uttered, and then added sweetly, softly, “Please.”

The vivid blush on his cheeks warmed my heart. “Of course I will, but first, I’m going to need some real food in my tummy.” My stomach rumbled. “As scrumptious as you may be, I can’t live off you alone, Lenny.”

“Your wish is my command, Sugar.” He pulled away and reached for his satchel on the nightstand. “Luckily for you, the last stagecoach I robbed had all kinds of goodies—”

I clutched his stubbled chin, drawing him back in. “Forget that canned slop. Wouldn’t you prefer a homecooked meal?”

“Cook?” His brows scrunched up. “Uh…I’m not—I can’t—”

“Sure you can. I’ll teach you. We can whip something up in the kitchen together.” I cupped the side of his cheek, looking into his eyes. “As long as we have each other, there’s nothing we can’t do.”

His gaze sparkled, the golden flecks wildly radiant and alluring as always.

[wr173r-8l0ck]

What if My Hero Academia Characters were in the Riordanverse pt. 1: Students

Yeah, yeah, this is just MHA students for now, I’ll have other characters soon, okay! Anyway, here’s MHA students of 1A and 1B (including Shinso) as demigods in the Riordanverse!

Yuga Aoyama: Son of Aphrodite. Not even a good one, unless you need someone blinded by his glitter-gun. Oh yeah, he has a glitter gun with lasers for maximum flare. Is he completely over-the-top? Absolutely. But is he good in a fight? Surprisingly, yes, kind of very, turns out glitter confuses monsters very well.

Mina Ashido: Daughter of Hermes and legacy of Hecate, capable of inhuman movements and can produce a slime that magically dissolves anything. She also tattooed her eyes black and yellow for some weird masochistic reason that no one, including herself, doesn’t understand. She’s still neat though.

Tsuyu Asui: She’s a frog-turned-human by Ochako. She still has her tongue, leaps, hops, camouflage, a reversible stomach and poison that can kill a group of whales. And he can still inflate her throat like a balloon, which makes for good scares. Very good scares…

Tenya Iida: Son of Mercury, he never skips leg day. Never. Seriously, have you seen those legs? He could crush a car with those puppies! Or crush monster heads with those thunder thighs! Which he actually does quite often. He doesn’t skimp out on upper body exercises either, but LOOK AT THOSE LEGS OF THUNDER!

Ochako Uraraka: Daughter of Hecate, she specializes in a set of spells that manipulate an individual object’s or being’s gravitational pull. It’s gotten to the point where she makes anything she touches with five fingers on one hand, it will float, no matter what, which is why she wears gloves all the time. She likes floating whoever she finds particularly annoying way up into the sky.

Mashirao Ojiro: Son of Mars, he’s an expert martial artist and very, very good at multiple of them. He’s lost multiple sparring partners because of his profinity with a number of weapons, and his lethality without any weapons. Seriously, he once defeated a Drakon with his bare hands! And another dead drakon’s teeth!

Denki Kaminari: Legacy of Zeus and Apollo, each by about 50 generations. About as bright as his godly ancestors (not very), but he still makes one Hel of a lightning bolt, and he’s also pretty good with a guitar and lyre. And classical literature and culture, like Apollo’s Kettle, who taught him all that?!

Eijiro Kirishima: Son/creation of Vulcan, his blood and skin are pure liquid gold, bronze and diamond he can infinitely harden for a period of time. It also obtains unnaturally sharp edges, and given his tendency to go hard when excited, he has made his friends frequent the infirmary for cuts and broken ribs.

Koji Koda: Son of Actaedon, he can talk with wildlife. He’s also a Legacy of Heracles, hence his size. His hugs are nice, war and gentle. Unless you’re an enemy, his bear hugs can break spines and it’s fucking terrifying.

Rikido Sato: Son of Mars, this guy has a serious sweet tooth. He’s also surprisingly gentle for a guy that can decimate an opponent with a single hit. Oh yeah, he can one-shot a hellhound with one punch (que the epic op) to the head.

Mezo Shoji: Son of Ares, he’s surprisingly level-headed. And malicious. Seriously, this guy always has at least ten different weapons on him, on top of him knowing a variety of potentially lethal moves. His arms are known as the Anacondas for a reason. Well, he lost his two precious anacondas in battle, but now he has six bronze automaton anacondas, fuly articulated and loaded up with all kinds of weapons for maximum effectiveness in battle! Actually fuck that, he’s way more terrifying now, who let him get all that stuff?!

Kyoka Jiro: Daughter of Apollo, she’s a top-tier musician, singer and is moderate with a bow and arrow. She can whistle in the ultrasonic range, clap like thunder, sing and play like either a sweet little bird or a whole-ass heavy metal choir without ruining her vocal cords, and she gives the opposite amount of fucks that Zeus does (ie. zero).

Hanta Sero: Son of Hermes, he inherited a pair of magical tape dispensers that can dispense any tape in any amount of any properties he chooses. He uses them to swing around like Spider-Man, which made him a regular visitor of the infirmary until Momo made him a special harness to keep his joints from dislocating. Somehow, he still gets his shoulders dislocated.

Fumikage Tokoyami: Son of Erebos, he suffers from split-personality disorder, but it’s fixed nicely by his inner demon incarnate made of pure darkness he calls Dark Shadow. They have a strangely healthy and wholesome relationship for a boy and his literal inner demon, and they even help each other (or embarass, take your pick) in social interactions.

Shoto Todoroki: A Legacy, descendant of Hel and Surtr, capable of making ice that freezes fire, and fire that burns ice. He gives so little shit he’s actually oblivious to social cues, which makes for more than a few funny moments on quests with him.

Toru Hagakure: Legacy of Iris, she can manipulate light around her to turn invisible or project bright flashes. Campers often say hi to her even if she’s not there just in case.

Katsuki Bakugou: Son of Ares, with rage and instincts of combat so strong and powerful he can convert his sheer rage and passion into explosions in the palms of his hands. He generated more than one explosion with the explosive yield of a nuclear weapon in his life. How he hasn’t gone deaf yet is beyond most people, though he does still know a variety of sign languages in case he does go deaf.

Izuku Midoriya: Son of Athena that was gifted the Spartan Spirit, a powerful enchantment formed by Kratos, Nike, Bia and Zelus, to protect humanity in its greatest times of need, and bestowed upon the most well-meaning and kind-hearted individuals of an era. He ends up breaking his bones an absolute shitton, and is a regular at the infirmary. The healers and smiths absolutely loathe him by now.

Minoru Mineta: Died on a quest. His quest-mates say ‘by accident’. Everyone knows it was very deliberate, but then again, everyone hated him and is fine with him dead. Some people wanted to be the ones to kill him though.

Momo Yaoyorozu: A Legacy, granddaughter of Hephaestus and Athena, capable of making virtually any machine. She’s also very fidgety, and once made an entire army of fully autonomous grass soldiers that went on to terrorize the other campers for a bit. In thirty minutes.

Yosetsu Awase: Son of Hephaestus, he also likes to make stuff. Though mostly he combines already existing tools, gadgets and machines, and makes weird amalgamations. He once fused an automaton bull, an automaton dragon and a school bus, and it actually, somehow, despite all logic and reason, fucking works.

Sen Kaibara: Son of Ares, he’s pretty chill compared to his kin (especially Katsuki and Setsuna), mainly due to him bottling up his anger. Which he can unleash as tornadoes around his limbs, which he can use to drill through walls. Thank gods he doesn’t lose it too often.

Togaru Kamakiri: Son of Ceres, he likes farming tools. Especially ones with blades. That’s lead to him using all kinds of sickles, scythes (both farming tools and war scythes) in combat, and even axes, shovels, various lawn mowers...

Shihai Kuroiro: Son of Nyx, him and Tokoyami get along exceptionally well. Given his ability to shadow-travel and use shadows and darkness as materials to make some pretty nifty weapons only he can use, he’s strangely bright and like a Sun. At least among the two stepbrothers of darkness, and the bar for eing the sunny one is set very low.

Itsuka Kendo: Daughter of Athena, she excels in critical thinking and a variety of martial arts. And knocking out her piers with precise attacks when they start to get exceptionally annoying. Mostly Monoma. Scratch that, especially Monoma. Okay, nevermind, only Monoma.

Yui Kodai: Daughter of Trivia. She excels in potions and spells that manipulate the size of objects, so much so that she has to resort to gloves because she now naturally makes things smaller with her left hand, or bigger with her right hand. She’s the calm one of the 20 people here.

Kinoko Komori: Daughter of Demeter, she has a soft spot for fungi and mushrooms. Which she can make grow rapidly. Very rapidly. She’s fun at parties.

Ibara Shiozaki: Daughter of Demeter, she dyes her hair green with actual chlorophyll for some reason (“To feel one with the beautiful plants,” she says), but she can also grow and manipulate vines and other vine-like plants, along with trees, quite effectively, and she has some rose and poison oak (she’s immune to it) seeds in her hair. Don’t ask, her answers are just as ridiculous as the chlorophyll-dyed hair.

Jurota Shishida: Son of Mars, he’s been cursed by most likely Hera to be a humanoid boar/dog thing. He’s especially good at wrestling, and is very diplomatic in his approach. Until he gets pissed, then he charges like a boar and yes, he keeps those tusks of his sharp.

Niregeki Shoda: Legacy of Hermes, son of Hephaestus, he likes to make explosives and plant them everywhere. More than a few campers were scared. Except Katsuki, who tried to outdo the ground (Niregeki’s mine) in explosive yield and put skylight access in the roof of Bunker 9. Niregeki had to repair it.

Pony Tsunotori: Legacy of Poseidon, she can shapeshift. She likes to shapeshift into horses, bulls, deer and goats (including mooses and buffalo), and she has a nifty gadget from the Hephaestus and Vulcan campers in the shape of horns that transform with her, giving her detachable remote-control horns. 

Kosei Tsuburaba: Legacy of Jupiter, son of Ares, he’s competitive and can make walls and blades out of air. Especially annoying for monsters because they can’t get to him, period, and every time they try, they don’t get past his walls of air for a whole minute before someone either cuts/hacks/slices them to bits, freezes/burns them alive, blows them up with their fists/explosives/expanding stones they previously ingested or some other way of disposing of a monster.

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu: Son of Vulcan, capable of turning to pure steel over his entire body, also increasing his strength. Because of this, and his tendency to go hard whenever he’s excited, he’s made his friends frequent the infirmary for bruises and broken ribs. Except Kirishima.

Setsuna Tokage: Daughter of Ares, she’s actually been hurt pretty badly in one of her fights (she went on a Quest with Katsuki, and no, it wasn’t him who hurt her, and yes, no one really believes that story either) and had to have automaton grafts to replace her limbs, a part of her lower jaw, her eyes and the muscles around her spine, along with parts of the vertebrae. Which she asked to be detachable and splittable in as many pieces as possible, which she can control telepathically and uses to troll other campers. A lot. Especially two certain sons of Vulcan and her half-siblings.

Manga Fukidashi: No one knows what he is, they just know his head is a speech bubble and he can make anything he writes real.

Juzo Honenuki: Legacy of Gaia, he can virtually liquify the ground (does not work on metal or wooden floors). He trolls a lot with this ability. And I do mean a lot.

Kojiro Bondo: A golem? A person? His head makes it hard to tell whether he’s a demigod or a monster to be honest. And his glue-like spit doesn’t help much either.

Neito Monoma: Legacy of, you guessed it, Zeus! He has a superiority complex because of this, and he frequents the infirmary on the basis of Itsuka or whoever he was annoying KOing him constantly. All that brain damage probably isn’t helping his mental issues…

Reiko Yanagi: Daughter of Hecate she can make things she touches float and fly around using some sort of incantation. The biggest she can do is double her own body weight, but that doesn’t stop her from delivering high-speed flying punches and scaring other campers.

Hiryu Rin: Son of Mars and Legacy of Poseidon, he can shapeshift into various animals. Most notably a mix of human, hedgehog and a lizard. Sharp, painful and deadly precise. And also meditating. And a lot of it.

[ojpovkjopsk]

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